I realize that it's been awhile since I've updated my blog, let alone been on blogspot. But looking back on my last post... Wow. Just wow.
Turns out that guy is a total ARSEFACE, and I'm completely over his sorry bum.
In case you're new to this blog, my last blog was uber-girly and embarassing and if you accuse me of anything stated in it, I will deny you.
Now to get on with some more interesting topics.
I have a surprise for you.
I'M WRITING A NOVEL!
Well, technically two. And like, three plays. And one novel I'm seriously considering turning into a play.
How is this possible? Well, you see, when a mommy and daddy love each other very much...
Wrong monologue.
Anyway, just because of the new addition, this doesn't mean that I love you any less.
STILL THE WRONG MONOLOGUE.
Reguardless, I don't have as much time for this blog anymore.
Howver, I DO plan to continue blogging more often :)
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Hannah Undisclosed-Surname and the Forgotten Remembrall
What kind of person forgets a remembrall?
-points to self-
This girl, right here. She forgets a remembrall.
To clear things up, my mom believes that shipping and handling is evil, so I'm only allowed to order things off the Internet in emergencies, like if I want a pair of footie pajamas, so therefore, I do not have an actual remembrall.
However, my iPod comes pretty darn close to being a remembrall.
Whenever I need to remember something, be it a story quote or a possible band name, I jot it down in the notes section of my iPod. Oh, ad there's also this feature on the iPod that plays music, and it's kind of like my life support.
I left my iPod at school. I brought it in my backpack to listen to o the bus and kept it in my backpack, howeer, I never actuallly listened to it because I didn't have time. Then as I was packing up all my stuff to go home at the end of the day, I chose not to bring my backpack home because I didn't have much homework and didn't need it. Oly when I got on the bus did I realize that my FREAKING iPOD was in the backpack I left in my locker.
-points to self-
This girl, right here. She forgets a remembrall.
To clear things up, my mom believes that shipping and handling is evil, so I'm only allowed to order things off the Internet in emergencies, like if I want a pair of footie pajamas, so therefore, I do not have an actual remembrall.
However, my iPod comes pretty darn close to being a remembrall.
Whenever I need to remember something, be it a story quote or a possible band name, I jot it down in the notes section of my iPod. Oh, ad there's also this feature on the iPod that plays music, and it's kind of like my life support.
I left my iPod at school. I brought it in my backpack to listen to o the bus and kept it in my backpack, howeer, I never actuallly listened to it because I didn't have time. Then as I was packing up all my stuff to go home at the end of the day, I chose not to bring my backpack home because I didn't have much homework and didn't need it. Oly when I got on the bus did I realize that my FREAKING iPOD was in the backpack I left in my locker.
Monday, September 27, 2010
School Carpet Theory
Dibs on the band name.
I'm home sick and have been meaning to blog, so I figure, what better time to blog than now?
A couple of years ago, I saw on the profile of several people on Fanfiction.net (since most people have THE EXACT SAME FREAKING PROFILE) that they wondered what happened to the little eraser bits. I do believe I have found an answer.
I was bored in Social studies, and had fallen asleep ever so slightly whilst holding an opened orange highlighter, and as my head began to bob, I highlighted part of my face. I only noticed when I felt something wet go across my face, and for a moment, I thought someone was licking me. However, there was an orange highligeter in my hand and no one within a close enough proximity to me to have been the licker, so I concluded that I had just turned a portion of my face orange. Then, I got to wondering, "Is this how the 'Orange Skin' trend got started?". As groundbreaking as that was, it is not the theory about where all of the little eraser bits go.
Not wanting to fall asleep again and become more Snooki-fied, I began studying the carpet. All school carpets look the same, you know. I don't care what grade you're in, the economic standing of your school district, the climate of the area in which you live, how dead or not-dead you are, ALL SCHOOL CARPETS LOOK THE SAME.
I began pondering, "Hmm, WHY could all school carpets look the same?" and then it hit me.
OBVIOUSLY, the carpet is scientifically designed to absorb all of the little eraser bits. I mean, DUH! Why hadn't I thought of it before?!
Icky! I just puked a bit. Usually, I wouldn't tell you that, because I am a lady, but it leads to another topic: People with bad taste.
Displays of Bad Taste I Have Recently Witnessed
1. The douchebag shell of a guy I once was friends with choosing '69' as his football jersey number. *groans*
2. The boy at a football game who asks a girl for her phone number the second his girlfriend leaves to go get popcorn or something.
3. People who ask other people to take pictures of them as they are texting. WHY?
4. My dad sending my mom a card for her birthday and asking why they don't make cards for ex-wives.
5. A certain 9-year-old mop-headed overrated teenage popstar calling himself the Kurt Cobain of his generation.
6. Algebra teachers in plaid shirts always finding little ways to make me redo my work.
7. Girls who talk about a guy's girlfriend badly just because they want him, too.
8. You don't want to know.
9. People who use the duckface in pictures.
10. Girls who think it's cute to jump up and down and scream during class while I'm trying to learn because they know the teacher won't call them out on it, however, if I start reading a book during that period before the begining of class when nothing happens, it gets confiscated.
So, I found some Playboy Bunny perfume by my locker and figured it was a girl's. So I brought it on the bus with me to show my friends and planned to put it in the Lost and Found the next day because even skanks deserve to find their lost perfume. It turns out, it was a guy's. OOPS.
I'm home sick and have been meaning to blog, so I figure, what better time to blog than now?
A couple of years ago, I saw on the profile of several people on Fanfiction.net (since most people have THE EXACT SAME FREAKING PROFILE) that they wondered what happened to the little eraser bits. I do believe I have found an answer.
I was bored in Social studies, and had fallen asleep ever so slightly whilst holding an opened orange highlighter, and as my head began to bob, I highlighted part of my face. I only noticed when I felt something wet go across my face, and for a moment, I thought someone was licking me. However, there was an orange highligeter in my hand and no one within a close enough proximity to me to have been the licker, so I concluded that I had just turned a portion of my face orange. Then, I got to wondering, "Is this how the 'Orange Skin' trend got started?". As groundbreaking as that was, it is not the theory about where all of the little eraser bits go.
Not wanting to fall asleep again and become more Snooki-fied, I began studying the carpet. All school carpets look the same, you know. I don't care what grade you're in, the economic standing of your school district, the climate of the area in which you live, how dead or not-dead you are, ALL SCHOOL CARPETS LOOK THE SAME.
I began pondering, "Hmm, WHY could all school carpets look the same?" and then it hit me.
OBVIOUSLY, the carpet is scientifically designed to absorb all of the little eraser bits. I mean, DUH! Why hadn't I thought of it before?!
Icky! I just puked a bit. Usually, I wouldn't tell you that, because I am a lady, but it leads to another topic: People with bad taste.
Displays of Bad Taste I Have Recently Witnessed
1. The douchebag shell of a guy I once was friends with choosing '69' as his football jersey number. *groans*
2. The boy at a football game who asks a girl for her phone number the second his girlfriend leaves to go get popcorn or something.
3. People who ask other people to take pictures of them as they are texting. WHY?
4. My dad sending my mom a card for her birthday and asking why they don't make cards for ex-wives.
5. A certain 9-year-old mop-headed overrated teenage popstar calling himself the Kurt Cobain of his generation.
6. Algebra teachers in plaid shirts always finding little ways to make me redo my work.
7. Girls who talk about a guy's girlfriend badly just because they want him, too.
8. You don't want to know.
9. People who use the duckface in pictures.
10. Girls who think it's cute to jump up and down and scream during class while I'm trying to learn because they know the teacher won't call them out on it, however, if I start reading a book during that period before the begining of class when nothing happens, it gets confiscated.
So, I found some Playboy Bunny perfume by my locker and figured it was a girl's. So I brought it on the bus with me to show my friends and planned to put it in the Lost and Found the next day because even skanks deserve to find their lost perfume. It turns out, it was a guy's. OOPS.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
I died peacefully... In a terroist bombing in my orthodontist's office that was also my grandma's house.
Title unrelated.
I had my first dress code violation of the year today. I'm perfectly aware of how skank-tastic this makes me sound, but I can explain myself. Male readers, I ask you leave now or be forever branded a perv.
I'm a C-cup, so I can't wear anything remotely low cut without having my teachers get on me about the only low-cutness of my shirt. I've tried EVERYTHING to keep them in place, like wearing camisoles under everything, but that, however, seems to help nothing.
Last year, I had a math teacher who seemed to take telling me my shirt was too low as a hobby. She once told me my skinny jeans were too baggy. Yes, there is definitely something wrong with that statement. Also, I've been aproached at lunch by lunchroom moniters who try to "whisper" that my shirt is too low, but anyone within a fifteen-foot radius can hear "HANNAH!! YOU LOOK LIKE A SKANK!!!".
Oh, but that's not even the best part.
Today is Wednesday, which does not only mean that Kayley Hyde will be posting a video today (YAY!!), but it also means that the cheerleaders wore their uniforms to school today.
In my pervious blog post, I ranted and raved about how disgustingly skanksauce the cheerleaders' uniforms were. The 8th Grade cheerleading uniforms aren't QUITE as bad, BUT THEY STILL VIOLATE THE BLOODY DRESS CODE! One of them even admitted that she's uncomfortable with the shortness.
So, the cheerleaders are allowed to wear super short skirts, but I'm not allowed to wear a remotely lowcut shrit even though my intentions are not slutty? FAIL.
I had my first dress code violation of the year today. I'm perfectly aware of how skank-tastic this makes me sound, but I can explain myself. Male readers, I ask you leave now or be forever branded a perv.
I'm a C-cup, so I can't wear anything remotely low cut without having my teachers get on me about the only low-cutness of my shirt. I've tried EVERYTHING to keep them in place, like wearing camisoles under everything, but that, however, seems to help nothing.
Last year, I had a math teacher who seemed to take telling me my shirt was too low as a hobby. She once told me my skinny jeans were too baggy. Yes, there is definitely something wrong with that statement. Also, I've been aproached at lunch by lunchroom moniters who try to "whisper" that my shirt is too low, but anyone within a fifteen-foot radius can hear "HANNAH!! YOU LOOK LIKE A SKANK!!!".
Oh, but that's not even the best part.
Today is Wednesday, which does not only mean that Kayley Hyde will be posting a video today (YAY!!), but it also means that the cheerleaders wore their uniforms to school today.
In my pervious blog post, I ranted and raved about how disgustingly skanksauce the cheerleaders' uniforms were. The 8th Grade cheerleading uniforms aren't QUITE as bad, BUT THEY STILL VIOLATE THE BLOODY DRESS CODE! One of them even admitted that she's uncomfortable with the shortness.
So, the cheerleaders are allowed to wear super short skirts, but I'm not allowed to wear a remotely lowcut shrit even though my intentions are not slutty? FAIL.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Sixth Grade Boys Make Me LAWL
Hey there... Please put the knife away, I have a good reason for being gone so long (not really, lol). I started school today. I have pretty much all of the same teachers as I did last year. It was a good day, but two things kind of screwed it all over.
I have Mr. Plaidshirt for Algebra again this year. I had him last year for Algebra, as well, and I kind of made him hate my guts. Long story short, I started a "That's What She Said" contest in the class, and wrote "My dice will not grow wings, steal my muffin, and fly to Jupiter" as an answer on some homework. I also once rode a pink scooter past his class one day... Anyway, I quit his class because even though tormenting him was kind of fun, he would make me re-do my work all the time and it was pretty much hell with a ton of books, but not even good ones, books with no pictures or story save for the occasional outdated picture of eighties people with bad perms who have a very fake look of surprise on their faces or the story problem, the only place one may purchase 82 watermelons and no one questions it.
I just hope he doens't hate me. Well, OK, I know he does. I'm probably just going to do the responsible thing and apologize for what I had done. Even though I totally regret nothing, I just don't want him to make my life a living hell again. The worst part is, choir, one of my favorite parts of the day, is right after, and lunch is right before so it goes HAPPYsadfaceHAPPY. No fricking fun.
Also, as I was getting off the bus I heard a sixth grader say, "Woah! Hot girl!" as I passed. I kind of regret wearing a skirt now. But in truth, I think he was just saying this to please his friends, as he's kind of on the, "I've just started middle school, aren't I so suave?" high, where apparently it's cool to be a total sleaze.
You know, it's kind of funny, isn't it?
That they think this is what gets girls? No, it's degrading. I'd rather you compliment me on my skillz on the pink scooter than my looks. Because the pink scooter is freaking awesome and was my idea, whereas my face (I hope it was my face) was NOT my idea.
I'm amused, yet violated.
I have Mr. Plaidshirt for Algebra again this year. I had him last year for Algebra, as well, and I kind of made him hate my guts. Long story short, I started a "That's What She Said" contest in the class, and wrote "My dice will not grow wings, steal my muffin, and fly to Jupiter" as an answer on some homework. I also once rode a pink scooter past his class one day... Anyway, I quit his class because even though tormenting him was kind of fun, he would make me re-do my work all the time and it was pretty much hell with a ton of books, but not even good ones, books with no pictures or story save for the occasional outdated picture of eighties people with bad perms who have a very fake look of surprise on their faces or the story problem, the only place one may purchase 82 watermelons and no one questions it.
I just hope he doens't hate me. Well, OK, I know he does. I'm probably just going to do the responsible thing and apologize for what I had done. Even though I totally regret nothing, I just don't want him to make my life a living hell again. The worst part is, choir, one of my favorite parts of the day, is right after, and lunch is right before so it goes HAPPYsadfaceHAPPY. No fricking fun.
Also, as I was getting off the bus I heard a sixth grader say, "Woah! Hot girl!" as I passed. I kind of regret wearing a skirt now. But in truth, I think he was just saying this to please his friends, as he's kind of on the, "I've just started middle school, aren't I so suave?" high, where apparently it's cool to be a total sleaze.
You know, it's kind of funny, isn't it?
That they think this is what gets girls? No, it's degrading. I'd rather you compliment me on my skillz on the pink scooter than my looks. Because the pink scooter is freaking awesome and was my idea, whereas my face (I hope it was my face) was NOT my idea.
I'm amused, yet violated.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
"Hey, Where's the trash?" "Over there" -points to cheerleaders
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!
"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 14, 2010
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