Sunday, March 25, 2007
Peace, Paths, and Pedos
Ouch. Owie. My ass is so sore I can barely sit down. :( No, not like that, you nasty-minded people. I just went biking over the weekend and I swear the bycicle seat is firmly etched onto my ass.I just spent the weekend at Paula's farm, down in what used to be the country south of Atlanta, and is now The Giant Traffic Nightmare of Overdevelopment. In other words, where all overzealous developers go to receive their eternal rewards. But Paula's farm, surrounded as it may be by the giant lights, gas stations, and McDonald's that replaced the once-gorgeous pastureland, is still a tranquil haven. Coming into their home after a long, gruelling drive from Atlanta feels like a drink of cool water after a long thirst. They're so peaceful, somehow. I don't know how they do it. Paula's family, I mean.
Paula is my friend. Funny how inadequate that sentence seems. We've known each other quite literally all our lives. Seventeen years, to be precise. Well, maybe not quite seventeen. She is, after all, six weeks older than me. But who's counting? Anyway, I've always loved coming down to her farm, because it's so peaceful and she always spoils me and somehow makes me want to be a better person. Makes me feel like maybe it's all worth it, after all.
So on this particular weekend, I battled the traffic down to her place, from whence we set out to the Gardens, which are a huge expanse of, well, gardens with all sorts of paths for walkers and bikers, lakes, trick waterskiing, butterfly houses, picnic grounds, you name it, as long as it has something to do with nature. Usually I don't like nature. Too buggy and hot. Plus, my family is very, shall we say, delicate. As in, any contact with nature whatsoever will cause us to break out into One Giant Itching Rash. And bleed like stuck pigs, no matter how lightly we prick ourselves.
But this nature was gorgeous. Early spring in the South is a sight to behold. Forsythia, cherries, dogwoods, huge azaleas, daffodils, and all sorts of flowers that I don't know the names of since I usually tend to avoid nature, all in full bloom. Or should I say explosion. The temperature was perfect, almost, but not quite, hot. And the full humidity hasn't plopped itself down yet. If it weren't for the vast amounts of pollen....
So Paula and I rented bikes and went off into the wild brilliant green yonder. Well, if staying on carefully paved bike paths counts as "wild." At first, we intended to take a path that went around some lakes, a little over a mile and half, all in all. Things didn't exactly work out that way. First of all, actually finding the damn path took some doing. After several false leads, we finally turned around and found the right one. By the grace of God alone, I'm sure, because at that point we couldn't read the confusing maps to save our souls. Once on the path, we then sped off, merrily biking up hill and down dale, exclaiming at ducks and turtles, flowers, and whatnot. We had to backtrack briefly to find a store when I discovered that I was VERY thirsty (also, I'm afraid to admit, one of us was starting to moan "I'm gonna DIE!" whenever we biked uphill, without regard to the hill's actual steepness. I won't say who, but it was not Paula). After going on our way once again, we encountered no problems (barring a few mishaps like near falls and Hills of Doom), until the last quarter, when our path rejoined its fellow paths and we had to start consulting the Really Unhelpful Map again. Becoming frustrated, I simply started following the signs, calling to Paula that it was much easier. And it is, as long as you remember to actually READ the signs. At one particular fork in the road, I glanced briefly at the signs, and sped on. "Shouldn't we consult the map?" Paula, who actually had a brain, asked. "I don't care, this way's downhill!" I called over my shoulder as I blithely pedalled away.
Broad is the path that leads to destruction. They don't tell you it's also downhill. Unless I'm misremembering my quotes, which I could easily be. Anyway, after following that path for a few minutes, it finally ended, and a new one began. A new...dirt...one. "Um, Paula? This might not be for bikes." But we continued anyway, assuming that maybe the path had made a mistake and we were right after all. But it proved itself right in the end with a large sign that said Bikes Not Allowed. So, feeling a bit silly, we turned ourselves around, said hello to two little old ladies that we'd definitely seen before somewhere on the paths (either they were teleporting, or they were Olympic Walkers, but damn, those little old ladies got around. That was not to be our last meeting with them, either). After leaving the not-for-bikes path, we finally found a for-bikes path. After pedalling for what seemed like an eternity, we came to the end of it. And to the end of the ground. Yes, it was a dead end. Led right up to the lake, where they had a handy-dandy little docking place for a bike ferry that was Not Running Today. We sat there, discouraged and panting, before we could brace ourselves to go all the fucking way back. Which we did, I'm proud to say, although a few more "I'm DYING!'s" were heard before we finally reached the right path again. The uphill one. Straight and narrow. Scriptural and proper. And, wouldn't you know it, there were the little old ladies. "My, you're getting around today!" one of them exclaimed. Likewise, I'm sure, I thought about calling out, but I was too aware of my muscles at that point to care.
Well, we did it. We FINALLY reached the end, after going at least a mile more than we meant to. Then we sat on the tram and fell asleep as the pretty flowers went by. Ah, the sense of accomplishment.
I had to return home early on Sunday because of my damn Latin lesson, so the peaceful feeling didn't last as long as it usually does. And it definitely died with a vengeance today, when I went back to school. School's just so fucking pointless and I can't talk to anyone there or see why I should try and I hate all those rich jokers and I just end up missing Lauren and feeling sorry for myself because everything's my fault and life sucks, dammit all. Sniff. What certainly didn't help was that a guy I liked in my class had been caught doing some highly inappropriate things with a couple of eighth-graders, and it was all over the school. Which I neither can nor want to imagine. Him and the eighth-graders, not it being all over the school, I mean. My friend is a pedo. Fucking depressing.
So that just put the cherry on the cake, as they say. Wait, do they say that? Is that the right expression? Shit, I don't know.
Spudge at 8:59 PM
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
In Which, Spudge Proves Her Skill at Rambling
This week has been weird, for some reason. Very slow and long. And depressing, especially when you consider how happy last week was. I guess it figures. Seems like you always get slapped in the face right after a good time.I have absolutely nothing to talk about. Nothing's happened to me, particularly. Well, no, that's not true. A lot of shit's been going down, but a) I don't want to have to rename this blog Online Bitching, and b) second-hand gossip's really boring. Especially to read. And especially if you don't know the people involved. Which a lot of you don't.
Mainly this week, I've been sleepy. The effects of the lock-in and the time change, no doubt. One of these years, I'm just not going to go along with that stupidass time change. All it does is fuck with your mind so that you're constantly sleepy, grumpy, and yet one more step on the way to the psychiatric ward. Seriously, folks, on Monday we had a confirmation Mass (at school, in case you were wondering), and it got so bad that I fell asleep in Mass and slept right through the actual confirmation ceremony. I don't even fucking remember it! I closed my eyes for a moment during the sermon, only to awake with a jerk, thinking "Wait, weren't they supposed to get confirmed?" They were. And they did. But I missed the whole thing. So thank you very much, but I'll take showing up an hour late for everything over slowly driving myself over the edge from lack of sleep and frustration.
Oh, well. Could have been worse. Could have been raining. At least I'm not all that close to any of those kids (the confirmands. Or maybe it's confirmandi. Who knows. These high-falutin' names), mostly juniors and sophomores, so it's not like I slept through my best friend's confirmation.
Shit, I'm being boring today, aren't I. I'm too tired to be entertaining right now. I can't seem to stop yawning. Which has been an ongoing problem all week. My biochem teacher probably thinks I hate her class. Not true, I assure you. I do, in fact, enjoy experimenting with dangerous chemicals. Likewise, I enjoy architecture (we're building a frame for a house. Not a real frame, just a model of a real frame. But still cool!), religion (we just sit around and talk about Aristotle and Groundhog Day), english (where I'm usually full awake because my teacher's so damn interesting), and calculus (although only because the teacher totally rocks, and I like the actual subject matter of calc). I do hate my history class (I have learned absolutely nothing. It's the most boring class on God's green earth. The teacher just sits there and goes off on tangents that bore you to the point of compelling you to distract yourself with something for fear of your eyeballs falling out of your skull with the sheer boredom of it all). And I absolutely despise Greek.
It occurs to me that if I go on in this vein (vane? vain?), this really will turn into Online Bitching. Wait, what the hell did I think it was going to be? I mean, it's a fucking blog about my life! What the fuck else am I gonna do on it? Really, teenage girl plus blog plus power to vent equals ZOMG MY LIFE IS LIKE SO SUCKING RITE NOW AND I DONT NO WUT TO DO!!!!!!!!!.?!!/!?!.!?! Or, depending on what type of girl we're talking about here, it could be something more like: my parents told me to take out the garbege. i hate my parents. i look at the blak garbege bag and my sole is blak like the blakness of the blak garbege bag.
Wow. I just now realized how long this post is getting. And in the beginning I said I had nothing to talk about. I thought I didn't. But what I think is often very different from reality. Besides, most of this is about nothing. Just me wasting everyone's precious time and rambling on without knowing when to shut up.
So I shut up now. :D
Spudge at 5:38 PM
Saturday, March 17, 2007
Teenagers On The Loose
So hello there. I'm Spudge. You'll get to know me if you stick with me, so I won't bother with any long boring introductions that end up making me sound far more egocentric than I actually am. Suffice to say, I am your typical teenage girl. Who goes to a school filled with rich people. Rich boring people. And yeah, part of that's sour grapes because I am not rich.Fish Fillet, known on here as Abused Mollusc, is my bestest friend in the whole wide world. She is also quite the boy-magnet. In fact, let me tell you a little story about that. Last night I went to the hockey game with her and the rest of my family, but we weren't sitting with them. Not because we think we're too cool or anything (well, actually, we do, but come on, what teenager doesn't?), but because Dad bought seats on opposite sides of the rink. So the last thing my Dad said to us was "Now don't pick up any guys!" "Ha ha," we replied, and headed on. Famous last laugh. Because, you see, there was this guy sitting in front of us who kept turning around and flirting with us the whole time. He was really funny and a total dork, which, in my book, are two points in his favor. At first, his interest definitely lay more in Fishy (after all, she's the boy-magnet. I'm usually the one excluded), but when she informed that she had a boyfriend, he mentally crossed her out and turned his full attention on me. So I had a very good time.
We walked out with him when we left, and when we met up with Dad, Fishy grabbed the guy's arm and said, "I picked up a guy!" Dad was in a good mood because the Thrashers had won (The game was fucking awesome, by the way. Thrashers v. Rangers. We won by one goal in the last minute of the game. Oh, and there was an amazing fight, which the refs actually didn't interrupt until our Thrashers guy had kicked the other guy's ass. Can you tell I like hockey?) so he just laughed. The funny thing, though, was that he and the guy (I never got his name, but Fishy did get his number, so we'll have to see) hit it off right away. In fact, he talked to him the whole way out.
I guess I should explain that my parents are rather protective of me, so I really had no idea how Dad would react. But all went well in the end, proving my worries needless.
But I was dead tired. I had had exactly half an hour's worth of sleep the night before. It was the senior lock-in at our school. Much wackiness ensued. As you can only imagine when you put a group of very silly and hyper teenagers together. I don't want to go into much detail, but let's just say the night included a Connect-Four marathon; looking in the ceilings and damaging school property while hunting a gargoyle (we found it twice within the space of 40 minutes. We are so smart); steak; throwing soccer bags at the ceiling; throwing basketballs, volleyballs, footballs, and you name it at the ceiling in a futile attempt to get soccer bags down; climbing ladders and poking at soccerbags with long poles made of several brooms/mops taped together; Groundhog Day; tickling; giggling; stealing the teacher's academic robes and running around with our arms out all immature and teenage, yelling "WOO I'M BATMAN!"; trying in vain to sleep on the hard, cold, religion classroom floor; wandering the halls with a severe case of insomnia; giving up and heading to Starbuck's at 6:15; cursing more than usual when it hits us that we have a long, long day of school ahead of us...; and etc.
Any questions as to why I was tuckered out? Not to mention that it was St. Patrick's Day festivities, and we ended up in danger of catching pneumonia by standing outside in the cold watching teachers get pied in the face. Not that I'm complaining, mind you. Watching Miss K take a pie paid for every fucking thing she made me suffer throughout junior year. And Mr. P's turn paid for the entire time I've spent at that Prep Paradise.
Yep. That's my school. And that's me. *bows* Thank you all.
Spudge at 8:58 PM