Noah's in the hospital as of 4:45-ish last night. They left around 4. Sam asked me to stay and sleep with him, so somehow, we both fit in his very too little bed. At around 5, he turned to me and said "Get out and go to your room." So I did and slept with the door open for the first time in ages. I don't remember exactly what time I actually got to sleep but it was rather early. Then I had to get up at 9:00 and make Sam test his glucose and all of that. I made his favourite: tuna with diced onions on bread for breakfast. I added lots of tomato and then I went to clean up and suddenly got really nauseas.
I wasn't having asthma as badly in the morning, but it was still acting up a little. Last night was awful. I actually fell down and couldn't move for about ten minutes and I stopped breathing for about a minute at a time intermittently. This has happened before and each time it's a bit scary and I have to talk myself into wanting to live. Last night the little self-coaching went a little like this:
"You know what would be really sad, Tali? Dying when you're 18. Just two weeks after your birthday, too. Dying when you're 18. And yeah, yeah, people haven't made it there, but you want to breathe. You want to breathe. Breath! Breathe! Breathe! Well, I suppose it worked. I didn't let anyone know about all this because they were a little preoccupied with Noah.
It turns out he wasn't faking. I was kind of suspecting that in the end. The breathing was ridiculously scary and I didn't think anyone could fake something like that unless they were absolutely mad, and although he was absolutely mad at the time, it was a different kind of absolutely mad. Apparently, he had what's called ketoacetosis. I'm not quite sure if I spelled that right, but whatever. To explain this, I'm going to copy and paste an IM conversation because I don't feel like typing it over.
(14:35:50) a HangMansBurden: ok, basically, it happens when diabetics get sick--well, the ketones (you know what those are, right??) usually get high
(14:36:25) a HangMansBurden: but his blood sugar was off the charts (literally...the meter wouldn't register the number other than HI) for so long that the ketones went off the charts, too. usually you can fix this with insulin, etc
(14:36:42) helfyrebrimstone: uh huh
(14:36:54) a HangMansBurden: but his was too high for too long.
(14:37:22) a HangMansBurden: this apparently causes the blood to become acidic, which causes lack of oxygen to lungs, heart and other organs (hence his awful breathing)
(14:37:30) a HangMansBurden: *go mom for yelling at him to stop it*
(14:37:34) a HangMansBurden: *rolls eyes*
(14:37:36) helfyrebrimstone: lol
(14:37:41) helfyrebrimstone: sorry, im not laughing
(14:37:54) a HangMansBurden: so they took him in and he's been hooked up to whatever...then he had to transfer hospitals at about 8am
(14:38:02) a HangMansBurden: so now he's sleeping and almost back to normal sugar levels
Explanation complete. So Dad's come home to take a nap, etc etc. And Sam is watching some show of his that I hate, and I came down here to update this. Sorry this post has been a bit of a bore. I'm not in a very happy mood. Maybe that'll change later. Mark usually cheers me up...except I might have to miss The 4400. Or maybe I'll just make him watch it with me and then we can go out and do whatever. Sam wants to come too. We'll see. It'll make him happy, but I still don't know. He said he only wants to come if Mom and Dad switch places. I don't blame him.
Sunday, July 31, 2005
Saturday, July 30, 2005
Little Bit of Continuation
Noah is still sick. :-( He's not throwing up anymore, he just won't eat and he's very very pissy about everything. He's slept about half the day or more, which is good, I guess. At night, we went to get almost all of the rest of my dorm stuff. I went with Mom this time and luckily, she didn't have an episode of anger. I think she just did, according to Sam (something about me and mail). I love how she screams at me and about me when it comes to my "junk all over the place" when it includes about one piece on my chair and I just want to say "Look at the frickin' table, woman!" It's piled infinitely high with years of shit. But nooo, I'm the pig who leaves stuff around.
Right now I'm hanging out with Sam again. I've actually been hanging out with Sam all day and he's absolutely awesome. He's drawing the characters from the book he's writing. They all look really good. Noah is also writing a book. Yay! I'm an inspiration.
Anyway, Noah has gone absolutely mad. He's totally paranoid, making these weird scary faces at everyone, ignoring us or yelling at us or moaning at us to go away and all this weirdo breathing stuff. Personally, I think he's faking most of it. I know he doesn't feel good, but he's making us feed him like a baby. With a spoon. He has to wear a bib. We have to instruct him to chew. Then he gets mad at us for "telling [him] what to do". And he equates that with "YOU WANT ME TO TAKE OVER THE WORLD!" Don't ask me what the hell that has to do with anything or how he gets it from "chew your food" and "drink the juice". What the fuck?
Sam just got back in here. He's clicking his loose tooth around. "Ow! It hurts when I smile!" he says. "So don't smile," I say. *Half-lid look in my direction* Haha. I just called Sam Noah. Oops. Anyway, he's just demonstrated how Mom said "Choo choo! Here comes the train!" while trying to force feed him some mushy throw-up looking junk. No wonder he's puking. Basically, Sam took my cell phone and said "Look, this is Noah's mouth." (The phone is wide open.) "Choo choo! Here comes the train!" Sam demonstrates this with a pencil. (The phone snaps shut and refuses to open.) The pencil jabs at the closed phone. HAHAHA.
Wow. Now Sam's going on really loudly about Mom. I said: "Stop speaking so loudly. Vent!" I point to the vent in my floor. Sound travels through it to the room directly underneath us where our parents are right now. "They can hear everything we're saying." "Oops." "Yeah." Then he says, "Maybe that's why I can hear them when I'm mad in my room...They're right beneath me in the other room." "Yeah, Sam." "Maybe that's why it smells so much in the walls....My farts travel through the vents!" "Yes, Sam." Exit Sam. Mom's screaming next door (their room) about whatever and something to do with changing Noah's thrown-up-on sheets. Lovely. Poor Sam. Why did he even bother leaving? (He's so nice. He wants to help.) I think I'll stay in my room.
Yeah...now Noah's saying that he can't "brush his teeth" because his "sheets are talking" to him. *Rolls eyes profusely* He is such a milker. Sam reported this to me just as he burst into my room two seconds ago. Now he's crying because he's so worried about Noah who wouldn't give one tear about Sam during his entire three weeks of blindness and other deathly illnesses. That's the one thing that really ticks me off about Noah. He's very cruel to Sam and doesn't care about anything, at least he acts like it. Sam is mean to him, but only brother quarreling stuff. He always tries to help and show everyone how much he cares.
Plus, Noah is completely faking now. Sam was staring into bright sunlight and his pupils were beyond dilated. You can't fake that. "Yeah. He's definitely stretching it out this time," says Sam. Well, duh. "You stretched the blindness at the end." "Ok. Yeah. But I didn't make you feed me. And I didn't moan." Very true. He continues drawing. Now, I must be going to get a little review of Sam's characters. More to come later.
Right now I'm hanging out with Sam again. I've actually been hanging out with Sam all day and he's absolutely awesome. He's drawing the characters from the book he's writing. They all look really good. Noah is also writing a book. Yay! I'm an inspiration.
Anyway, Noah has gone absolutely mad. He's totally paranoid, making these weird scary faces at everyone, ignoring us or yelling at us or moaning at us to go away and all this weirdo breathing stuff. Personally, I think he's faking most of it. I know he doesn't feel good, but he's making us feed him like a baby. With a spoon. He has to wear a bib. We have to instruct him to chew. Then he gets mad at us for "telling [him] what to do". And he equates that with "YOU WANT ME TO TAKE OVER THE WORLD!" Don't ask me what the hell that has to do with anything or how he gets it from "chew your food" and "drink the juice". What the fuck?
Sam just got back in here. He's clicking his loose tooth around. "Ow! It hurts when I smile!" he says. "So don't smile," I say. *Half-lid look in my direction* Haha. I just called Sam Noah. Oops. Anyway, he's just demonstrated how Mom said "Choo choo! Here comes the train!" while trying to force feed him some mushy throw-up looking junk. No wonder he's puking. Basically, Sam took my cell phone and said "Look, this is Noah's mouth." (The phone is wide open.) "Choo choo! Here comes the train!" Sam demonstrates this with a pencil. (The phone snaps shut and refuses to open.) The pencil jabs at the closed phone. HAHAHA.
Wow. Now Sam's going on really loudly about Mom. I said: "Stop speaking so loudly. Vent!" I point to the vent in my floor. Sound travels through it to the room directly underneath us where our parents are right now. "They can hear everything we're saying." "Oops." "Yeah." Then he says, "Maybe that's why I can hear them when I'm mad in my room...They're right beneath me in the other room." "Yeah, Sam." "Maybe that's why it smells so much in the walls....My farts travel through the vents!" "Yes, Sam." Exit Sam. Mom's screaming next door (their room) about whatever and something to do with changing Noah's thrown-up-on sheets. Lovely. Poor Sam. Why did he even bother leaving? (He's so nice. He wants to help.) I think I'll stay in my room.
Yeah...now Noah's saying that he can't "brush his teeth" because his "sheets are talking" to him. *Rolls eyes profusely* He is such a milker. Sam reported this to me just as he burst into my room two seconds ago. Now he's crying because he's so worried about Noah who wouldn't give one tear about Sam during his entire three weeks of blindness and other deathly illnesses. That's the one thing that really ticks me off about Noah. He's very cruel to Sam and doesn't care about anything, at least he acts like it. Sam is mean to him, but only brother quarreling stuff. He always tries to help and show everyone how much he cares.
Plus, Noah is completely faking now. Sam was staring into bright sunlight and his pupils were beyond dilated. You can't fake that. "Yeah. He's definitely stretching it out this time," says Sam. Well, duh. "You stretched the blindness at the end." "Ok. Yeah. But I didn't make you feed me. And I didn't moan." Very true. He continues drawing. Now, I must be going to get a little review of Sam's characters. More to come later.
Friday, July 29, 2005
Dormitory Madness
Considering I was up until 4am last night because of Noah, I functioned quite well during the day. Dad and I went out to buy my dorm stuff. We've gotten almost everything. I just need those huge storage drawers so I can put my clothing in them in an organized manner. I got a mini one of them for my desk and filled it up with those cute little stapler sets, hilighters, pencils, blah blah blah. It was fun going with Dad. But I hate shopping! Seriously, of all the things I really dislike, shopping must be on the top of the list.
Weird for a girl, I know, but it's always been this way. Like I told Mark, I hang out around guys too much, so I let them get away with a lot of ass hole crap of theirs and then I pick up some of their habits. In the end, it's good for me, I guess, because I know which crap of theirs to take and which not to and I can also sympathize (or empathize depending on the situation) with them as well as I can with girls. *Sigh*
I'm so tired. Dad is obsessing over Paul Brady and the new CD (and the DVD if we're at home). Arthur McBride is driving me insane. I love the song, but it's so long and he plays it over and over and over again. Even Lakes of Pontchartrain is beginning to drive me mad. Well, despite all of that, I still have to rip the CD to iTunes and get that baby down on my iPod because his other stuff is just incredible.
Nothing else happened today except before we left. I went into their room and asked if we were going to get the school stuff today. "Oh yeah," blah blah blah from them. Then they were talking about those stupid stretchy book covers for my brothers. Ok. I love those book covers. They never ever let me get them, so I never complained because they're usually a bit expensive and contented myself throughout all of school with the make-shift paper covers. I tried telling my parents that they don't have to waste money on the stretchy kind because the teachers don't care as long as they're covered and about 4 weeks into the semester, the teachers don't care at all as long as you have your book.
Then Mom gets all pissed and is like "Well, it's on the official list!"
"Yeah," I said. "It was on my official list, too, from Kindergarten to 12th grade."
"I never saw it!"
"That's because I always took the list and just made the paper ones. Trust me, you can save a lot of money and it's not necessary anyway."
Ok. Wrong thing to say. She gets all pissed.
"NEVER MIND!" she says and makes that gross face that makes her about 8million times uglier than she already is.
"Whatever. I'm just trying to help because I've been in school the whole time and I know how the whole thing works."
Then Dad pipes up and yells "Well don't help us! We don't need your help! We're perfectly capable of helping ourselves!"
Yeah, that just about did it. I was so pissed. I just went in my room and skulked for awhile, then got over it a little while later and we left. I still can't stand Mom, though, no matter what. Everything she does just drives me nuts now, so I just ignore it and avoid her as much as possible and try not to say anything or make any reaction. Dad is cool except for some times like today. He snaps occasionally because of stress but Mom, as you saw from yesterday, goes crazy murdering people over blenders or some minute trivial shit like smelling chicken soup.
That's all for now. Shabbat Shalom.
Weird for a girl, I know, but it's always been this way. Like I told Mark, I hang out around guys too much, so I let them get away with a lot of ass hole crap of theirs and then I pick up some of their habits. In the end, it's good for me, I guess, because I know which crap of theirs to take and which not to and I can also sympathize (or empathize depending on the situation) with them as well as I can with girls. *Sigh*
I'm so tired. Dad is obsessing over Paul Brady and the new CD (and the DVD if we're at home). Arthur McBride is driving me insane. I love the song, but it's so long and he plays it over and over and over again. Even Lakes of Pontchartrain is beginning to drive me mad. Well, despite all of that, I still have to rip the CD to iTunes and get that baby down on my iPod because his other stuff is just incredible.
Nothing else happened today except before we left. I went into their room and asked if we were going to get the school stuff today. "Oh yeah," blah blah blah from them. Then they were talking about those stupid stretchy book covers for my brothers. Ok. I love those book covers. They never ever let me get them, so I never complained because they're usually a bit expensive and contented myself throughout all of school with the make-shift paper covers. I tried telling my parents that they don't have to waste money on the stretchy kind because the teachers don't care as long as they're covered and about 4 weeks into the semester, the teachers don't care at all as long as you have your book.
Then Mom gets all pissed and is like "Well, it's on the official list!"
"Yeah," I said. "It was on my official list, too, from Kindergarten to 12th grade."
"I never saw it!"
"That's because I always took the list and just made the paper ones. Trust me, you can save a lot of money and it's not necessary anyway."
Ok. Wrong thing to say. She gets all pissed.
"NEVER MIND!" she says and makes that gross face that makes her about 8million times uglier than she already is.
"Whatever. I'm just trying to help because I've been in school the whole time and I know how the whole thing works."
Then Dad pipes up and yells "Well don't help us! We don't need your help! We're perfectly capable of helping ourselves!"
Yeah, that just about did it. I was so pissed. I just went in my room and skulked for awhile, then got over it a little while later and we left. I still can't stand Mom, though, no matter what. Everything she does just drives me nuts now, so I just ignore it and avoid her as much as possible and try not to say anything or make any reaction. Dad is cool except for some times like today. He snaps occasionally because of stress but Mom, as you saw from yesterday, goes crazy murdering people over blenders or some minute trivial shit like smelling chicken soup.
That's all for now. Shabbat Shalom.
Still Awake and Pondering
I just watched Pulp Fiction with Dad. Noah was sitting there, writhing in pain and throwing up. At one point, he got up and didn't quite make it to the bathroom. He spewed all over the rug (and almost me) and I jumped flat up against the wall. Mom of course was hiding out in her room most likely brooding over how she does everything for the family while Dad was on the floor mopping up puke.
Sam came down sometime and curled up in the beanbag corner and zonked. Noah continued puking. We got him a very large bucket to serve his needs as opposed to the rug or too-distant bathroom. When the movie finished, I came upstairs and checked on the boys and kissed them goodnight even though they were both already sleeping. Now, I'm listening to Sam Cooke and thinking about a lot of nothing in particular.
One thing with Sam Cooke is the way he died. He had an affair with a married woman and her husband came bursting in and shot him. Now, my reaction would be "what an idiot". Other people's reactions would tend to be along the lines of "What a waste"...at least that's what I've heard a lot. And in cases like this, where insanely talented/influential people die young, I just can't tolerated the whole "what a waste of life, talent, etc etc" comment.
I don't believe that any life, in any form, is a waste. Talent is never wasted unless the person chooses not to pursue it and hone it. But if they were actively living it--and obviously he was, because I'm listening to him and writing about him right now--it's definitely not a waste. Stupid to cut it short in that way, though. For other people, they don't usually get themselves murdered by their mistress's husbands. Death comes accidently or of its on volition. Usually, the death makes the person's life even more influential. Maybe it's all just me being sentimental, though.
All I know is, I hope no one ever calls my life a waste, for any reason. Of course varying opinions abound. We've had all the musicians, artists, etc etc who have wasted themselves away from the inside out with drug abuse, and G-d knows what else. Still, although they threw away their time, the past was not a waste. I believe that. I'm not just saying it.
When I was in Israel, we visited the holocaust museum, Yad Vashem, which means Hands and Names when translated into English. It was so real I couldn't get the past I'd never lived out of my sight. I saw it all around me, felt it, breathed it. Everyone in my group cried all day. I'll post it here now because it shows how I feel about the fragility of life and the shame of so many taking it all for granted:
This is where I lose, where there can be no voices or words to fill them, where life is turned to ash and ash to nothingness. This is where the only miracle is a curse: where some survive to remember, to live it over again every night, where names are lost to absolute oblivion. And how can I ask for life to be fair? Why is it that I am here when so many aren't--because the baby crying in the dead woman's arms--the baby shot to silence--was that child's mother and that mother hardly knew a breath of life. Why does my soul get this chance when so many other worlds of others were annihilated? And all there is now is a memorial of stone: stone towers, stone walls, stone beneath our feet. Millions of stones eroding and what is their worth when measured against millions of lives? The six million who perished, the millions who never had a chance to be conceived, the millions who are forgotten as anyone but part of those other millions--the thousands who survived (but not really).
And the list goes on, and the questions prevail, and the answers don't exist. And how can we ask "why?" or "how?"; how can we ask anything when the taste of ash is in our mouths--when we have the mouths to taste it? When we fill up the space that so many other murdered and unmade souls deserve just as much as we? How can we ask? I can't. I can only be stunned to silence, because maybe that empty space where the air blows freely could have been me, could have been my mother, could have been my father, could have been my brother, could have been all of us. When that space could have been all of us. This is why I praise G-d and damn him in one breath. This is why we can all be sinners and saints: sinners because we damn him and saints because we praise. And we praise because we're here knowing creation.
And the list goes on, and the questions prevail. And the answers don't exist.
Thursday, July 28, 2005
Explosion Due to Me as Usual
Latest news: Noah is sick and has been throwing up all day. Mom told me to go make angel hair noodles so she can make cold sesame noodles for dinner. I'm having tuna. I made the stupid noodles and clodded out everywhere, spilled boiling water all over my foot and sprayed freezing water everywhere.
Then, she goes downstairs to make the sauce, etcetera and Dad and Noah and Sam and I are all watching Seinfeld and Everybody Loves Raymond when this huge explosion comes from downstairs. Dad goes down and this is what I hear:
"Fine! We're all stupid!" says Dad.
"Yeah, you all are. I tell people how to do things a million times and they never fucking do it!"
"Then you married an idiot and all your children are stupid!"
"Good. Then take them and leave me," says Bitch of the Universe.
"Here we go again," Dad says.
"What did I do?" I ask when he gets upstairs.
"Nothing. It wasn't you it wasn't you it wasn't you it wasn't you it wasn't you."
But of course it was me.
I don't even remember doing it. But of course it was me.
"What did I do?" I asked my fuming mother who is uglier than usual.
"Nothing."
"Then what happened?"
"SOMEONE PUT THE FUCKING BLENDER AWAY WRONG! HOW MANY FUCKING TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU MORONS HOW TO DO IT? AND HOW MANY FUCKING TIMES DON'T YOU LISTEN? WE WASTE SO MUCH MONEY ON THIS MOTHER FUCKING SHIT."
Great. So it probably was me.
"I WANT TO BREAK THE PERSON'S FUCKING NECK, WHOEVER DID THIS!" she screams.
"Fine. Then break mine."
"Go the hell away."
"Great."
Oh I love my mother. I'm just so special to her, it's amazing. Everything I do, she's super proud of, and everything I don't do, she's still super proud of. So proud she wants me dead and has no qualms about telling me she "fucking [wants] to break [my] neck".
I can't wait to get the hell out of this place. You know, Dad should take all of her idiot children and himself and leave her. Who the hell needs a bitch like that around? Everything's fine when she's not around. And Sam told me...Noah was fine and happy this morning--until he went downstairs and gave our mother a hug. Immediately after that he started throwing up and hasn't been able to stop. See? She's the devil. And she curses all of us. And hates me worst just because I exist.
Then, she goes downstairs to make the sauce, etcetera and Dad and Noah and Sam and I are all watching Seinfeld and Everybody Loves Raymond when this huge explosion comes from downstairs. Dad goes down and this is what I hear:
"Fine! We're all stupid!" says Dad.
"Yeah, you all are. I tell people how to do things a million times and they never fucking do it!"
"Then you married an idiot and all your children are stupid!"
"Good. Then take them and leave me," says Bitch of the Universe.
"Here we go again," Dad says.
"What did I do?" I ask when he gets upstairs.
"Nothing. It wasn't you it wasn't you it wasn't you it wasn't you it wasn't you."
But of course it was me.
I don't even remember doing it. But of course it was me.
"What did I do?" I asked my fuming mother who is uglier than usual.
"Nothing."
"Then what happened?"
"SOMEONE PUT THE FUCKING BLENDER AWAY WRONG! HOW MANY FUCKING TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU MORONS HOW TO DO IT? AND HOW MANY FUCKING TIMES DON'T YOU LISTEN? WE WASTE SO MUCH MONEY ON THIS MOTHER FUCKING SHIT."
Great. So it probably was me.
"I WANT TO BREAK THE PERSON'S FUCKING NECK, WHOEVER DID THIS!" she screams.
"Fine. Then break mine."
"Go the hell away."
"Great."
Oh I love my mother. I'm just so special to her, it's amazing. Everything I do, she's super proud of, and everything I don't do, she's still super proud of. So proud she wants me dead and has no qualms about telling me she "fucking [wants] to break [my] neck".
I can't wait to get the hell out of this place. You know, Dad should take all of her idiot children and himself and leave her. Who the hell needs a bitch like that around? Everything's fine when she's not around. And Sam told me...Noah was fine and happy this morning--until he went downstairs and gave our mother a hug. Immediately after that he started throwing up and hasn't been able to stop. See? She's the devil. And she curses all of us. And hates me worst just because I exist.
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
Fulfilled Promise of the Bladderwart Saga
Before I actually start this entry, I just have to say that I'm ultimately pissed right now, because everyone (my dad) knows it's Wednesday, and he knows it's the Wednesday I have Writer's Club and he also knows that I only have one left, yet my brothers get to go gallivanting in the fucking pool instead. And it doesn't even have anything to do with not having a license. Because Mom is off on that stupid business workshop again, so I wouldn't have a car anyway.
Moving on.
I told a friend of mine earlier (you know who you are) that I'd post this up here instead of retelling it a million times to everyone, so now you can just come here and read it all in detail.
It concerns the good ol' high school days that I loved so much and just had to graduate early from. The reason I graduated early is really many reasons, one of the most pressing ones being the idiot Student Guidance Counselor whom we all affectionately call Ms. Bladderwart.
Now, once upon a time in Freshman year, we all had to create a student course path which entailed pre-enrollment in classes that wouldn't be coming up in our schedules, sometimes, for at least a year or two. It all began with the math and drama fuck-up by Bladderwart that came to light in the second semester of my Sophomore year.
Basically, I had passed Honors Geometry, and even though I had made my first B ever in it, considering I suck at math, an 86 in Honors was pretty good for me, even though I wasn't very happy with it at the time. (How I would be enlightened later on, though...) So Bladderwart (sometimes known as Bedwetter and other related names) neglected to put me in Honors math for the Spring of Sophomore year. Instead, I was put into on-level math...well, eventually. First I was put in Special Ed math where they counted little colored bears.
Onnnne plusss Onnne eeequaaalsss TWOOO.
Yeah. I ran out and went back to the scheduling office. "You messed it up. I'm an honor student" (fucktards) "and you put me in special ed elementary math when I'm supposed to be in Honors Algebra 2!!" "Oh sorry" they said. Right. So they send me to this other class which was cool. Except it was on-level math. I can't stand on-level classes and at this point I'd never been in one. I spent 3 days there, got scared shitless by the general population of the class and rushed back to Bedwetter. She says she can't do anything about it. More like won't because I'm lazy do anything about it. So I ended up dropping math entirely as a Sophomore. Instead, I took an overload of Acting. Two periods in a row: Musical Theatre (disastrous) and then Children's Theatre right after it (more disastrous) each for an hour-and-a-half. Then after school rehearsals until 10:30. Sometimes the idiot drama teacher pushed us to midnight. How the hell did I make it through? No idea.
Anyway, because of this schedule shit, I ended up taking Honors Algebra 2 in the fall of Junior year instead (with the best teacher I've ever had, by the way) and then everything seemed ok. UNTIL. Until, until, until. Spring came around. I'd put on the course sign-up back in freshman year and sophomore year AND Junior year that I wanted Advanced Trig and not Hell Class Analysis. So what does Buttblaster schedule me for? ANALYSIS!
I didn't learn a thing the entire time from that teacher. It was awful. I spent at least 3.5 hours a night on that class alone, more energy, more effort, etc etc (while I was also in APUSH...AP US History for those of you who don't know) and I barely passed 3 of the 14 tests. Somehow, I managed to pass the class with a 75. Worst grade ever. Hopefully the worst grade of my life past and future. Anyway, because she fucked up with the maths, she didn't put me in Honors Chemistry. So I had to push science into my Senior year! So no math Sophomore year and no science, Junior. Lovely.
Going into Senior year my schedule looked like this:
Fall-
AP Calc AB
Honors Chem
AP Government
AP Literature
Spring-
AP Calc BC
AP Art History
AP Econ
AP European History
Fucking kill me now. This is a case where euthenasia is most certainly welcome. Anyhow, I went to Israel for six weeks in the summer between Junior and Senior year and luckily, that prompted a vision of the hell I was about to go into.
"What the hell am I thinking?" I thought. "Look how much creativity comes out of me when I'm not wasting my time on shit I'll never use for the rest of my life! I know I'm a great student, etc etc. Why push overachievement more than you have to?" So I didn't. I called up my dad from Israel, said "Dad, I'm either graduating early or I'm dropping out of high school. there are only three core classes I need to graduate. I'm not wasting another year with Ledbetter's dumbass scheduling."
I got home, marched into school with my mother (who's devil personality can come very much in handy at times like this), exploded into Bladderwart's office. Well, first of all, she'd done so much work on my schedule, I didn't even have one. I had a blank sheet of paper.
"My daughter only needs these three credits to graduate," my mother announced. "I want her to take these this semester and graduate early. I'll sign the paperwork," gives her an evil glare, "Oh, and I want her to have minimum day, too." (Thank the universe for block scheduling.) This is where Bladderwart suddenly tips forward onto her desk and holds her head in her hands and doesn't talk for about two minutes. My mother and I sat there staring at each other.
Finally, Bedwetter looks up and says "Sorry. I seem to be having a dizzy spell."
She gets up and comes back a few minutes later with the schedule and we sign all the forms, etc. Then we leave and wait for my sister to get out of the meeting with her amazingly great counselor. She comes out about 5 minutes later. Then, mom storms out of the office and Iquo and I look back and there's all this commotion in the hall and Bedwetter is sprawled out all over the floor unconscious!! Iquo and I looked at each other, ran out and just laughed.
"What did mom do??" she asked.
"Made her do her job for once."
"Hahaha." (Yeah, I know we're evil but the woman put me through so much shit for four years.) "Mom made her faint!"
And after thinking about it, I realized that she had! My mother had put the lazy ass woman under so much pressure to actually do her job that she couldn't handle it. It was classic. From then on she was always afraid of me and avoided me as much as possible.
There's more afterwards from after I graduated but I'm sick of typing this story.
So there it is. How my mother made my guidance counselor faint from fatigue.
Moving on.
I told a friend of mine earlier (you know who you are) that I'd post this up here instead of retelling it a million times to everyone, so now you can just come here and read it all in detail.
It concerns the good ol' high school days that I loved so much and just had to graduate early from. The reason I graduated early is really many reasons, one of the most pressing ones being the idiot Student Guidance Counselor whom we all affectionately call Ms. Bladderwart.
Now, once upon a time in Freshman year, we all had to create a student course path which entailed pre-enrollment in classes that wouldn't be coming up in our schedules, sometimes, for at least a year or two. It all began with the math and drama fuck-up by Bladderwart that came to light in the second semester of my Sophomore year.
Basically, I had passed Honors Geometry, and even though I had made my first B ever in it, considering I suck at math, an 86 in Honors was pretty good for me, even though I wasn't very happy with it at the time. (How I would be enlightened later on, though...) So Bladderwart (sometimes known as Bedwetter and other related names) neglected to put me in Honors math for the Spring of Sophomore year. Instead, I was put into on-level math...well, eventually. First I was put in Special Ed math where they counted little colored bears.
Onnnne plusss Onnne eeequaaalsss TWOOO.
Yeah. I ran out and went back to the scheduling office. "You messed it up. I'm an honor student" (fucktards) "and you put me in special ed elementary math when I'm supposed to be in Honors Algebra 2!!" "Oh sorry" they said. Right. So they send me to this other class which was cool. Except it was on-level math. I can't stand on-level classes and at this point I'd never been in one. I spent 3 days there, got scared shitless by the general population of the class and rushed back to Bedwetter. She says she can't do anything about it. More like won't because I'm lazy do anything about it. So I ended up dropping math entirely as a Sophomore. Instead, I took an overload of Acting. Two periods in a row: Musical Theatre (disastrous) and then Children's Theatre right after it (more disastrous) each for an hour-and-a-half. Then after school rehearsals until 10:30. Sometimes the idiot drama teacher pushed us to midnight. How the hell did I make it through? No idea.
Anyway, because of this schedule shit, I ended up taking Honors Algebra 2 in the fall of Junior year instead (with the best teacher I've ever had, by the way) and then everything seemed ok. UNTIL. Until, until, until. Spring came around. I'd put on the course sign-up back in freshman year and sophomore year AND Junior year that I wanted Advanced Trig and not Hell Class Analysis. So what does Buttblaster schedule me for? ANALYSIS!
I didn't learn a thing the entire time from that teacher. It was awful. I spent at least 3.5 hours a night on that class alone, more energy, more effort, etc etc (while I was also in APUSH...AP US History for those of you who don't know) and I barely passed 3 of the 14 tests. Somehow, I managed to pass the class with a 75. Worst grade ever. Hopefully the worst grade of my life past and future. Anyway, because she fucked up with the maths, she didn't put me in Honors Chemistry. So I had to push science into my Senior year! So no math Sophomore year and no science, Junior. Lovely.
Going into Senior year my schedule looked like this:
Fall-
AP Calc AB
Honors Chem
AP Government
AP Literature
Spring-
AP Calc BC
AP Art History
AP Econ
AP European History
Fucking kill me now. This is a case where euthenasia is most certainly welcome. Anyhow, I went to Israel for six weeks in the summer between Junior and Senior year and luckily, that prompted a vision of the hell I was about to go into.
"What the hell am I thinking?" I thought. "Look how much creativity comes out of me when I'm not wasting my time on shit I'll never use for the rest of my life! I know I'm a great student, etc etc. Why push overachievement more than you have to?" So I didn't. I called up my dad from Israel, said "Dad, I'm either graduating early or I'm dropping out of high school. there are only three core classes I need to graduate. I'm not wasting another year with Ledbetter's dumbass scheduling."
I got home, marched into school with my mother (who's devil personality can come very much in handy at times like this), exploded into Bladderwart's office. Well, first of all, she'd done so much work on my schedule, I didn't even have one. I had a blank sheet of paper.
"My daughter only needs these three credits to graduate," my mother announced. "I want her to take these this semester and graduate early. I'll sign the paperwork," gives her an evil glare, "Oh, and I want her to have minimum day, too." (Thank the universe for block scheduling.) This is where Bladderwart suddenly tips forward onto her desk and holds her head in her hands and doesn't talk for about two minutes. My mother and I sat there staring at each other.
Finally, Bedwetter looks up and says "Sorry. I seem to be having a dizzy spell."
She gets up and comes back a few minutes later with the schedule and we sign all the forms, etc. Then we leave and wait for my sister to get out of the meeting with her amazingly great counselor. She comes out about 5 minutes later. Then, mom storms out of the office and Iquo and I look back and there's all this commotion in the hall and Bedwetter is sprawled out all over the floor unconscious!! Iquo and I looked at each other, ran out and just laughed.
"What did mom do??" she asked.
"Made her do her job for once."
"Hahaha." (Yeah, I know we're evil but the woman put me through so much shit for four years.) "Mom made her faint!"
And after thinking about it, I realized that she had! My mother had put the lazy ass woman under so much pressure to actually do her job that she couldn't handle it. It was classic. From then on she was always afraid of me and avoided me as much as possible.
There's more afterwards from after I graduated but I'm sick of typing this story.
So there it is. How my mother made my guidance counselor faint from fatigue.
AAH Pythagoras!
All right. The latest phenomenon would be the recurring Pythagorean Theorem of perfection made by my brother Sam's lips. It's just miraculous. How can one little boy's human, normal mouth suddenly turn into a triangle? Literally. His mouth goes from:
mmm
mmm
mmmmMmmmm
mmmmmmm
mmmmmmm
to:
M
MmM
MmmmM
MmM
MmmmM
MmmmmmM
MmmmmmmmM
MmmmmmmmM
I just don't get it. Also, he takes pride in it. He calls it The Prehensile Lip because it's quite usefull for grasping onto who the hell knows what in his little boy world. Go Sam. Noah can't do it, which is even weirder. Identicle twins, yet Sam has somehow altered his face to be some kind of flubber, super versatile, stringy, flexible thing that's capable of turning out shapes never thought possible to exist in nature.
Obviously, we were wrong. Pythagoras rules.
a^2+b^2=c^2
I'll spare you and skip the proof.
Obviously, we were wrong. Pythagoras rules.
a^2+b^2=c^2
I'll spare you and skip the proof.
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