First I want to say no hate to cheerleaders as a whole, and am actually friends with some, but our Varsity squad at the first football game of the season seemed particularly skanky. I have little to hold against cheerleaders, seeing as I tried out last year (Note: Falling flat on your butt will not land you a spot on the squad), so saying I hate them ALL would just be dumb.
"Oh, Hannah, it can't be THAT BAD."
Oh, Reader, yes it was.
Looking at the big picture, it made the average Miley Cyrus performance look like some skit on Sesame Street, and not one of the unintentionally perverted ones, either.
When you go to look at the little details, you'll notice they're wearing sailor costumes. EFFING SAILOR COSTUMES. Effing sailor costumes that were shorter than the shorts on the sixth graders behind us who were trying to be cool by wearing denim unders. Which, by the way, is disgusting and impresses no one, because you ALL LOOK THE FRICKING SAME.
Next thing you see is that they're not really dancing. They're just like... Jumping. And squealing and performing a lot of unorganized arm-flailery for no real reason. At these point, one of my cheerleader friends said, "If they ever make us do something like this... I'm not doing it."
The only reason I actually watched the rest of the performance is because our school has a very skilled Michael Jackson impersonator and he was dancing in front of all of the cheerleaders. I only knew he came on because everyone was cheering. The way my school works, you would figure someone like, pantsed a football player or something, but it turns out the Michael impersonator had come out from nowhere (people just kept falling from the sky. I say this with all seriousness.).
The rest, I don't really feel like recounting. It just made me very ashamed to be female.
Anyway, the way I'm making this blog is because it's almost 5 AM and I have an auditon for Hairspray tomorrow for which I must be up at 8 AM, and I can't sleep. My brain is just in far too talkative a mood, so I chose to take it out on you. You're welcome.
What was that?
Did I just start dozing of a tad?
I believe so!!
G'night, friends!
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Murder and Bedtime Stories Go Together Like Peanut Butter and Jelly: My Insane Childhood
If this hasn't already been gathered from my previous blog posts, I'm not the sanest eye of newt in the jar.
So, if one was to show the average psychotherapist my posts, they'd probably say something along the lines of, "Such behavior MUST have been caused by a turbulent childhood!"
They're right. Although, I really don't think "turbulent" is the right word for it. I mean, I was fed on a regular basis and was never hugged with a knife or anything, but my childhood was, without a doubt, far from normal.
I really could go on for ungodly amounts of paragraphs, but I'm not going to, because such a strange childhood just kind of induces laziness. No, not really. I'm just naturally like this.
I'm an only child. Don't think I didn't hear the "Oooh, LUCKY!". Well, it's not as good as you'd think. Apparently my mother is the only woman in town with the Anti-Weasley Uterus (Malfoy Uterus? I dunno), so I know like, 1 other only child.
This led to quite a bit of my oddness. And anti-social nature.
It also led to a rather racist game the teachers had us play at school. But that's a different story for a different time.
Not having a sibling to play games with, I usually played board games by myself. I innovated ways to play Candy Land alone, a Sesame Street thingamajig, then soon a Wizard of Oz game. Most of the time, I didn't play the game like a normal, sibling-having person would. I'd take the little game pawns and play with them, and make them actually do the challenges. In other words, during my childhood, whilst you were busy eating paste, I invented reality TV. Only-Child-ness: It gets stuff done.
Now that you want to spork my eyeballs out for inventing reality TV, I think you should know that by the time I started going to Kindergarten, I always played the games my way as opposed to the way other children were taught to play.
I distinctly remember playing Candy Land with Rachel in kindergarten, and she was just like, "Hannah... That's not how you play. At all."
Speaking of Rachel, the only person I know with a single ounce of sense, I remember in Kindergarten when apparently no one discussed Halloween costumes. See, I'm the type of girl who starts planning her Halloween costume around late December or so, and flip out around February if I don't at least have a few ideas narrowed down. I have literally had people ask me to please shut up about Halloween. Several times. Why, if I had a dime for every time that happened, I swear... I COULD BUY EVERY HALLOWEEN COSTUME EVVEEEERRRR *has puppies* Wow, I got off track. Anyway. Rachel. Halloween. We didn't discuss our costumes in kindergarten.
I was gonna be Rapunzel, my IDOL. Frankly, my almost-butt-length blonde hair WAS NOT LONG ENOUGH GOSH DARNIT. So, I did what any girl would do.
I tied a freaking jumprope to my hair.
It was so easy, all I did was throw on my favorite princess gown, place my crown atop my head, put my hair in a ponytail, tie jumprope to said ponytail...
Yeah. You get the picture.
So, I walk into the girls' bathroom where everyone's getting ready, and I'm talking to Rachel when I noticed her put this crown-ish thing that was all sparkley and whatnot with little streamers coming down on her head as I tied my jumprope to my hair.
I remember Rachel having a WTF moment but still really calm about the fact that her best friend had a jumprope tied to her ponytail, a feat few people can pull off.
"What are you?" One of us asked. Which one, I don't know.
"Rapunzel." The child who didn't ask the question said.
"Me, too!" The asker of the question said.
Great minds think alike. Blonde children put jumpropes in their hair. Remember this.
Throughout my childhood, I forced my dad to write fanfiction. You may call it "Bedtime stories". Meh, same flippin' difference.
Basically, Arthur, DW (characters from children's TV show), and myself would often go on mystery-solving adventures with the Scooby Doo gang, in the Magical Mystery Machine. God, that sounds like a play on "Magical Mystery Tour" or a type of LSD... Anyway, moving forward.
One of the more memorable times was when my dad had either spent too much time in the Magical Mystery Machine or was incredibly sleep deprived, and in the middle of the story, he just shouts things out, like:
"BEV IS A TERRIBLE DRIVER!!!" (Bev's my mom. I don't argue with this notion)
"And then, *mumbles* The happy dancing tree people were happy and rejoiced."
"Then the men started unloading tile from the truck..." (My dad's a construction contractor)
This was a story that I believe involved Pokemon and the board game Mousetrap. Nothing involving my mom being a driving tree-person unloading tile from a truck.
There was one bedtime story that made me ask the question, "Daddy, what's murder?". The mental image that came to my head when I'd heard the word didn't look anything like this at all. Actually, it kind of did. A lot.
In my minds eye, I saw a mother holding a baby tight.
DUDE THAT'S WEEEIIIIRRRRDDDD EVEN FOR ME.
And this is coming from the girl who once had neighbors with a little girl who liked to put a bucket over the head of herself and strangers and then hit the bucket with a freaking shovel.
That was my childhood.
So, if one was to show the average psychotherapist my posts, they'd probably say something along the lines of, "Such behavior MUST have been caused by a turbulent childhood!"
They're right. Although, I really don't think "turbulent" is the right word for it. I mean, I was fed on a regular basis and was never hugged with a knife or anything, but my childhood was, without a doubt, far from normal.
I really could go on for ungodly amounts of paragraphs, but I'm not going to, because such a strange childhood just kind of induces laziness. No, not really. I'm just naturally like this.
I'm an only child. Don't think I didn't hear the "Oooh, LUCKY!". Well, it's not as good as you'd think. Apparently my mother is the only woman in town with the Anti-Weasley Uterus (Malfoy Uterus? I dunno), so I know like, 1 other only child.
This led to quite a bit of my oddness. And anti-social nature.
It also led to a rather racist game the teachers had us play at school. But that's a different story for a different time.
Not having a sibling to play games with, I usually played board games by myself. I innovated ways to play Candy Land alone, a Sesame Street thingamajig, then soon a Wizard of Oz game. Most of the time, I didn't play the game like a normal, sibling-having person would. I'd take the little game pawns and play with them, and make them actually do the challenges. In other words, during my childhood, whilst you were busy eating paste, I invented reality TV. Only-Child-ness: It gets stuff done.
Now that you want to spork my eyeballs out for inventing reality TV, I think you should know that by the time I started going to Kindergarten, I always played the games my way as opposed to the way other children were taught to play.
I distinctly remember playing Candy Land with Rachel in kindergarten, and she was just like, "Hannah... That's not how you play. At all."
Speaking of Rachel, the only person I know with a single ounce of sense, I remember in Kindergarten when apparently no one discussed Halloween costumes. See, I'm the type of girl who starts planning her Halloween costume around late December or so, and flip out around February if I don't at least have a few ideas narrowed down. I have literally had people ask me to please shut up about Halloween. Several times. Why, if I had a dime for every time that happened, I swear... I COULD BUY EVERY HALLOWEEN COSTUME EVVEEEERRRR *has puppies* Wow, I got off track. Anyway. Rachel. Halloween. We didn't discuss our costumes in kindergarten.
I was gonna be Rapunzel, my IDOL. Frankly, my almost-butt-length blonde hair WAS NOT LONG ENOUGH GOSH DARNIT. So, I did what any girl would do.
I tied a freaking jumprope to my hair.
It was so easy, all I did was throw on my favorite princess gown, place my crown atop my head, put my hair in a ponytail, tie jumprope to said ponytail...
Yeah. You get the picture.
So, I walk into the girls' bathroom where everyone's getting ready, and I'm talking to Rachel when I noticed her put this crown-ish thing that was all sparkley and whatnot with little streamers coming down on her head as I tied my jumprope to my hair.
I remember Rachel having a WTF moment but still really calm about the fact that her best friend had a jumprope tied to her ponytail, a feat few people can pull off.
"What are you?" One of us asked. Which one, I don't know.
"Rapunzel." The child who didn't ask the question said.
"Me, too!" The asker of the question said.
Great minds think alike. Blonde children put jumpropes in their hair. Remember this.
Throughout my childhood, I forced my dad to write fanfiction. You may call it "Bedtime stories". Meh, same flippin' difference.
Basically, Arthur, DW (characters from children's TV show), and myself would often go on mystery-solving adventures with the Scooby Doo gang, in the Magical Mystery Machine. God, that sounds like a play on "Magical Mystery Tour" or a type of LSD... Anyway, moving forward.
One of the more memorable times was when my dad had either spent too much time in the Magical Mystery Machine or was incredibly sleep deprived, and in the middle of the story, he just shouts things out, like:
"BEV IS A TERRIBLE DRIVER!!!" (Bev's my mom. I don't argue with this notion)
"And then, *mumbles* The happy dancing tree people were happy and rejoiced."
"Then the men started unloading tile from the truck..." (My dad's a construction contractor)
This was a story that I believe involved Pokemon and the board game Mousetrap. Nothing involving my mom being a driving tree-person unloading tile from a truck.
There was one bedtime story that made me ask the question, "Daddy, what's murder?". The mental image that came to my head when I'd heard the word didn't look anything like this at all. Actually, it kind of did. A lot.
In my minds eye, I saw a mother holding a baby tight.
DUDE THAT'S WEEEIIIIRRRRDDDD EVEN FOR ME.
And this is coming from the girl who once had neighbors with a little girl who liked to put a bucket over the head of herself and strangers and then hit the bucket with a freaking shovel.
That was my childhood.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
I'm Going Away For Awhile
My aunt and cousin who live across the country were recently been in an awful car accident and my mom is flying down to Florida today to go help out for maybe a week or so. I'm going to be staying at my grandma's, or possibly between friends' houses while she's gone. Internet access will be VERY limited, and I'll be on when I can. Real-Life friends, please call or visit me as much as possible, without Internet I can assure you I will be bored out of my mind.
There's a slim chance there may be Wi-Fi at my grandma's, in which case, I'll probably delete this.
Sorry for probably failing to do Blog Every Day in August :(
There's a slim chance there may be Wi-Fi at my grandma's, in which case, I'll probably delete this.
Sorry for probably failing to do Blog Every Day in August :(
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
More Appropriate School Awards
If you haven't yet had to endure me squealing about how excited I am to be doing Yearbook Club next year, then you need to imagine Hermione given free roam in the Library of Congress. Got the mental image? Good.
So, every year, they have awards they give to the Eight Grade class. They're usually pretty stereotypical awards, like: Prettiest eyes, Nicest, Most School Spirit, Best Laugh, Biggest Beach Bum (Really, school? Really?), Loudest... You get the picture.
But when I masterfully start my reign as the unofficial dictator of Yearbook Club... the possibilities will be endless. And possibly illegal. But that is besides the point.
Now, I shall list for you what I think would be better in the awards categories.
1. Best Shampoo
2. Most Likely to Come Back and Teach
3. Most Detentions
4. Most Likely to Win Against Chuck Norris in a Cage Fight
5. Most Likely to Invent a Time Machine
6. Best Bangs
7. Most Glares from the Vice Principal
8. Best Locker
9. Most Likely to Provoke the Zombies
10. Funniest Classroom Interruptions
11. Best Impression of a Teacher
12. Best Braces Color Combinations
13. Most Likely to be the Next Hitler
14. Most Likely to Help an Old Lady Cross the Street
15. Most Likely to Die in a Mysterious Tennis Ball-Related Accident
16. Worst Pick-Up Lines
17. Future Soccer Moms of America
18. Best Screams of Terror (I have this one IN THE BAG. No, really. They love me at haunted houses)
Have anything you think should be added to the list? Tell me in the comments!
So, every year, they have awards they give to the Eight Grade class. They're usually pretty stereotypical awards, like: Prettiest eyes, Nicest, Most School Spirit, Best Laugh, Biggest Beach Bum (Really, school? Really?), Loudest... You get the picture.
But when I masterfully start my reign as the unofficial dictator of Yearbook Club... the possibilities will be endless. And possibly illegal. But that is besides the point.
Now, I shall list for you what I think would be better in the awards categories.
1. Best Shampoo
2. Most Likely to Come Back and Teach
3. Most Detentions
4. Most Likely to Win Against Chuck Norris in a Cage Fight
5. Most Likely to Invent a Time Machine
6. Best Bangs
7. Most Glares from the Vice Principal
8. Best Locker
9. Most Likely to Provoke the Zombies
10. Funniest Classroom Interruptions
11. Best Impression of a Teacher
12. Best Braces Color Combinations
13. Most Likely to be the Next Hitler
14. Most Likely to Help an Old Lady Cross the Street
15. Most Likely to Die in a Mysterious Tennis Ball-Related Accident
16. Worst Pick-Up Lines
17. Future Soccer Moms of America
18. Best Screams of Terror (I have this one IN THE BAG. No, really. They love me at haunted houses)
Have anything you think should be added to the list? Tell me in the comments!
Monday, August 2, 2010
RACHEL IS NOT CHINO!!
Since I don't really ever DO anything, for the most part of my Blog Every Day in August-ery, I'm probably just going to give you updates on my dreams, because weird dreams are the one consistant thing in my life.
In my dream, I was at school. It was still my school, but slightly modified. Also, the front of it, for some reason, was exceedingly similar to the front of the only good mall within 100 miles of town.
It was like a Pretty Little Liars/West Side Story/Peter Pan crossover, but with my friends and me in it.
The first thing out of the ordinary was that Ian Harding (mega sexy actor whom I recommend you Google) was a teacher at my school, and apparently we were together, and honestly, if I were ten years older, I would be SOO there.
Apparently he decided to wear my glasses (Yesh, I have glasses, I just don't wear them) to make him look "Unhandsomified" so no one would suspect that we were together, even though he still looked pretty hot. How that makes sense, I don't know.
Then, I recieve word that Chino from West Side Story is in the school and he's going to kill Ian Harding and I'm like "NOES!!", so I rush out to the front of the school and I see him and stab him. For whatever reason, I'm dressed in Colonial men's clothing. I guess, so no one will see me? I don't really know. Then, I take that off and am apparently wearing leggings and a dress-y shirt underneath. As well as my glasses, which just magically appear.
At some point, I run into the school and learn that I'm too late, and Chino killed Ian Harding but his ghost is here and wants to talk to me. So, we hide in an empty classroom and he talked to me. I don't remember what he said, I just remember those perfect, perfect dimples, and swirly, swirly curls.
Oh, drat. I got drool on my keyboard again.
After that, I'm pretty much just completely devestated and run outside to hitch a ride from someone's parents' taxi. Yes, in this world, everyone's parents have taxis. With their kid's Polyvore icon on them. So, I see Rachel's mom and I'm like "O hai can I have a ride" and she's like "SOMEONE KILLED RACHEL!!"
And it turns out, who I thought was Chino was actually Rachel. So then I was REALLY depressed, having just lost the guy I loved and my best friend. Then, I went to throw myself into the crocodile from Peter Pan's mouth. Then I woke up, because apparently you can have a shock attack in a dream.
In my dream, I was at school. It was still my school, but slightly modified. Also, the front of it, for some reason, was exceedingly similar to the front of the only good mall within 100 miles of town.
It was like a Pretty Little Liars/West Side Story/Peter Pan crossover, but with my friends and me in it.
The first thing out of the ordinary was that Ian Harding (mega sexy actor whom I recommend you Google) was a teacher at my school, and apparently we were together, and honestly, if I were ten years older, I would be SOO there.
Apparently he decided to wear my glasses (Yesh, I have glasses, I just don't wear them) to make him look "Unhandsomified" so no one would suspect that we were together, even though he still looked pretty hot. How that makes sense, I don't know.
Then, I recieve word that Chino from West Side Story is in the school and he's going to kill Ian Harding and I'm like "NOES!!", so I rush out to the front of the school and I see him and stab him. For whatever reason, I'm dressed in Colonial men's clothing. I guess, so no one will see me? I don't really know. Then, I take that off and am apparently wearing leggings and a dress-y shirt underneath. As well as my glasses, which just magically appear.
At some point, I run into the school and learn that I'm too late, and Chino killed Ian Harding but his ghost is here and wants to talk to me. So, we hide in an empty classroom and he talked to me. I don't remember what he said, I just remember those perfect, perfect dimples, and swirly, swirly curls.
Oh, drat. I got drool on my keyboard again.
After that, I'm pretty much just completely devestated and run outside to hitch a ride from someone's parents' taxi. Yes, in this world, everyone's parents have taxis. With their kid's Polyvore icon on them. So, I see Rachel's mom and I'm like "O hai can I have a ride" and she's like "SOMEONE KILLED RACHEL!!"
And it turns out, who I thought was Chino was actually Rachel. So then I was REALLY depressed, having just lost the guy I loved and my best friend. Then, I went to throw myself into the crocodile from Peter Pan's mouth. Then I woke up, because apparently you can have a shock attack in a dream.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)