Fave Month Evar in Lyfe?

Okay, so I know I should be doing my Extended Essay because I only have 2,437 words and it was due yesterday, BUT Sparknotes.com (which I wasn’t using to write my essay of course…. angelic face*) had a super tempting advertisement that I just had to click on. It led me to this article called August Is the Best Month so I used my incredibly valuable time to read it. You can probably guess, I loved it! It might be because it’s TWO something A.M. in the morning (Cool. Tautologies. I learned that word from the Department of Redundancy Department) and I’m super bored from Extended Essay nonsense, but I thought it was the most creative, fun, wonderful, witty, spirited, superb opinion article I’ve ever read in my whole life. Did I really admit that? I think I might be overly tired. Anyways. At least my grammar is correct- I hope. Because grammar is kinda important when writing an essay. The graders in Istanbul won’t be merciful to a “Hermann Hesse totally rocked that ending, like forreals” or “Siddhartha is a major babe!” Okay there’s no hope. I’m delirious. GAH, Back to the point!!

Dear Future Me,
Here is an awesome Idea! Post Something JUST like this, except BETTER. Pick a BETTER month and come up with ten.. no.. ELEVEN even BETTER reasons why that month is BETTER than August and then write about it during…no, BEFORE that month! You can definitely do it. Past You was counting on Me… You… I don’t think anything I say is going to make sense to Future Me.
Love, Past You.. Me?

P.S. Holy Cow. Delirious Past You.. Me just realized how much she uses Caps Lock when she’s tired/bored/months younger than You, I, Me, We are now, will be soon. GO CAPS LOCK. If you didn’t know already… It’s cruise control for cool. Thumbsupskies*

P.P.S. PLEASE. No more brainstorming until after You Me finishes her my Extended Essay.

P.P.P.S. Also, before the results of the Fave Month Evar in Lyfe competition there needs to be more updates on this superlong ToDo List. I have to fill in all my tens of thousands of daily readers who care. Well, tens… okay no, but there are at least 3 pretty much every day, sometimes I get like 12 on really random days for no reason and I don’t notice until a month later and I’m thinking to myself “I don’t know why because I only update this thing like 6 posts/month.” Okay, this is dumb. Back to work..

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I think I forgot a citation!

Hi, this post is hot off the desk of a stressed-out student tonight as I am in the process of what seems to be a never-ending battle with IB. Yes, my Extended Essay, possibly the most time-consuming requirement of the IB Diploma, is due in approximately 55 hours. With my deadline approaching quickly, I’m sad to say that I, similar to my counterpart, Harry Haller of Steppenwolf, have progressed “disappointingly little in proportion to [my] great effort” (Casebeer 246). First, let me explain the nature of the Extended Essay and it’s significance to the IB student through Urban Dictionary, which has proven to be useful and accurate in the past.

The Extended Essay. You’re welcome to follow this link to the Urban Dictionary definition; however, I’ll also provide you with my own interpretation of the Extended Essay. Some necessary background information on my current circumstances include: It is midnight. I started working on this thing at 10 this morning. I only just now broke 1000 words.

The assignment from Hell, commonly known as the Extended Essay, is a mini-dissertation/research paper on any subject of a student’s choice ranging from Psychology to Math to History. The maximum word count is 4000, which means the minimum at roughly 10% less is 3600. It’s kind of a big deal. Like a Doctorate candidate prepares his/her dissertation with mentors who also grade it, the IB Diploma candidate has a mentor who grades his/her Extended Essay before sending it off to some scholar in Mauritius, an island West of Madagascar and just above the Tropic of Capricorn, who then ruthlessly tears the aforementioned essay paragraph from paragraph in effort to give the student the most objective (debatable) grade possible, which decides the outcome of that student’s entire life. If the literary works of Hermann Hesse happen to be the only pet peeve of the scholar in Mauritius and you receive a D, your only hope is that your combined grade on the TOK Essay and Presentation is an A so that you receive a measly 2 points toward your Diploma. (I’d also like to point out that no one would even know about Mauritius if not for the fact that it is home to some, most-likely bitter, person who decides the fate of some incredibly unlucky IB student.) I realize talk of the grading system and points and such is very confusing to the un-IB student, so I’ll put it into simpler terms. The Extended Essay determines my entire life hereto forward. Basically if I get a low-grade on my Extended Essay I can kiss all hopes of having a college education and, thus, a career goodbye. In the future, without financial stability I’ll have to resort to collecting Social Security at 25, but because Social Security is about to run out I might as well kill myself now before I have to stab my husband and only child so that I can eat the last package of Ramen Noodles.

I mean… the Extended Essay is a pretty big deal, but I think I might have exaggerated a little. Even if, by some chance, I don’t do well on my Extended Essay, or any of my IB exams for that matter, and don’t get the IB diploma, I’ll still be able to go to Virginia Tech because they’ll have already accepted me by the time I find out I didn’t even come close to getting the extra diploma. Realistically, the IB Program is only useful in the first three years of highschool. It shows colleges that I’m taking the most rigorous courses offered to a highschool student and that I’m serious about my education. They don’t have to know that I’m a failure until I’m making my bed in my new dorm room. At that point, what can they do? Nothing.

Honestly, I lied. I’m not stressed-out. Come Wednesday when I turn in this essay-on-steroids, I won’t be worried.

So, to all you IB kids working on your Extended Essay tonight. And to those of you who, like me, will be using every means necessary to stay awake Tuesday night (although I don’t endorse the use of caffeine). Let me remind you that the paper due Wednesday is only a rough draft. PLEASE chill out. You don’t want gray hair by the time your 19 or have a heart attack at 20.

Put things into perspective. It’s really not that big of a deal at all.

#78

The end of highschool is an exciting, yet sad, time in anyone’s life. It’s especially sad when, like me, you’ve reached the end of highschool, but you’re not quite finished yet so you watch your older friends leave you behind. That’s right, I have one more year and I am dreading the goodbyes and tears next summer when all my friends go away to different colleges. The goodbyes, unfortunately, are starting this year for me as some of my friends are a year older and, therefore, already leaving. On a happier note, I got to go to some awesome graduation parties. One of which was especially fun because, not only was there marshmallow-roasting and smore-making, there were water balloons! If you know anything about me, I would hope it’s that I love water balloons. I like filling them, I like throwing them, I like getting hit with them, I like breaking them over my own head. They’re just oodles of fun! A water balloon war is the only type of war I approve of or will ever take part in.

This war at my friend’s grad party was particularly intense as my competitors were much taller, much faster, and much stronger than me. Yes, they were boys. But not just any boys, they were Asians- dark Asians. They sort of blended into the night, making it much easier to use the sneak-attack strategy. It was also intense because the weapons ranged from water balloons to water guns; we even resorted to full buckets of ice-cold water at times (I really recommend this strategy as long as it’s used on someone else. The cold water doesn’t feel very nice, especially at night).

This is how it all went down…

The water balloons were gone. Low on ammo and morale, it was difficult to stay motivated. At times I wondered if I should call a truce, but no, I had too much pride for that. With my opponents looking thirsty for more, I guessed who would be first to break the stalemate. I scrambled for another weapon; any source of water I could get my tired hands on. The colder, the better. I found a stray water gun lying on the wooden deck, waiting for another chance in battle. I picked it up and prepared myself for attack. As I had guessed, here they came! Both of them running toward me, guns forward. Realizing I am not nearly fast enough to outrun the enemy, I thought I might buy myself a few seconds by slowing them down. I turned to shoot, but “OH NO! IT’S EMPTY!” Yes, my weapon was out of ammunition mid-battle. What could I do? There were no balloons and no other guns around. As I made my way to the safe-zone (inside where it’s dry), I came up with a plan so devious and so unexpected that I would surely be declared champion. I grabbed the bowl which had housed the water balloons from early in the battle. I filled it with water from inside (the coldest around) and even put in a few ice cubes from the cooler outside. This plan was sure to win the war because I would attack them first. They wouldn’t expect this. Victory would be mine! I saw my moment. Walking to the trampoline in a state of utter vulnerability, the enemy was off-guard and unexpecting. I leapt out and poured the icy water on them and ran. I had done it! I’d won the war! So I thought…

DUN DUN DUN!

To be continued…

Not really.

So this concludes the dramatic, story-telling portion. Anyways, I crossed off #78. I’ve had a water balloon fight at night this year. Wahoo.

Warning: The events described, while based on a true story, are a dramatization. (Translation: It’s not exactly how it all went down.)

No Questions Asked (#45)

Last night I walked in 20 minutes after curfew soaking wet. I was literally dripping on the floor. After leaving the house with plans to meet my two friends at Skinny Dip (a frozen yogurt place), you would think coming home wet was unexpected and might be cause for alarm. This entrance, however, warranted no response from my parents. I got an “Oh, she’s home. We can go to bed now.” I even made a point to stay in the living room for a few minutes, walking in front of my dad watching TV. Nothing. Not one question as to why I was wet.

About to go into a “my parents don’t love me enough to notice something so blatantly obvious as walking in late and wet” panic, I texted the friends I had been with and one, who wasn’t there but knows me pretty well, to shock them with the fact I hadn’t gotten in trouble. In fact, it seemed to me they didn’t care at all. The text read, “Wow my mom had no idea. Wtf. My dad didn’t notice either. Great Parents. Really. I applaud them.” This was, of course, sarcasm. I could only imagine what kind of inattentive parents don’t notice when a perfectly dry child leaves for frozen yogurt and comes home wet. Surely, not my parents. Had I overestimated their ability to parent with absurd overprotectiveness all these years? I’m still in that stage when “My parents are the smartest people in the world!” turns into “I’m so much smarter than these clowns.”Could I be sure my parents weren’t unobservant potatoes for all my life and I just never realized? Maybe I got that from them.

The friend of mine who hadn’t been there when I got wet, but knew what happened replied, “Oh, well maybe you don’t look as wet as you should,” which was not likely, considering the trail of water from the front door to my room. He then went on to suggest, “or they’ve just come to expect there are certain… aspects of you…” EUREKA. I almost forgot, I’m a freak. It’s a known fact, weird things happen to me more often than most people; my parents can’t keep up with all the strange things I do. How could I expect them to ask me “What happened?” every time I come home? They would die from exhaustion. My mom even says, “It’s best I don’t know everything.” I understand that. Who can possibly put up with all my shenanigans? Then he justified my parents’ lack of curiosity further by saying, “I mean… as long as there is no blood or anything broken, they’re just happy you’ve made it through another day.” I had to admit, my friend was right to some extent. Still, this time the story wasn’t even that weird.

Let me assure you, the wetness wasn’t anything to be worried about. I didn’t get my head flushed in a toilet by a bully and no crazed killer attempted to drown me in the Chesapeake bay, but is it too much to ask for a little concern? After Skinny Dip we went back to my friend’s house because there was still a some time ;eft before we had to go home. We were outside with just our feet in her pool, talking, when I remembered something from my ToDo List, which it would be the perfect time to do. I think  you can guess now. We went swimming… with our clothes on. It was so fun! I loved it! We made air pockets with our shirts pretending we were fat and tried to laugh underwater. You know, the usual. Now I can cross #45 off the list!

I should probably just be happy my parents never get mad when I miss curfew. Thanks parents.

It's a little hard to see, but we're in a pool... with clothes on.

#52

So you thought Parkour was the weirdest thing bored people could come up with? You were wrong.

Introducing Planking- awarded the #1 Most Pointless Pastime Ever

One Urban Dictionary definition describes it as…

“Proof that humanity has sunk to its lowest point in history thus far. It is the act of lying completely flat across pretty much anything in an urban setting. A friend will take pictures of the act and, of course, post them on Facebook or Twitter. Much favored by hipsters, douchebags, and the like. This trend is currently sweeping the internet, reason: unknown.
Proof that literally ANYTHING can catch on if enough idiots think it is “cool”.

Hipster 1: “Hey guy, I just took some awesome planking photos at the Starbucks downtown!”
Hipster 2: “DUDE! I was planking on some benches at the quad yesterday!”
Normal person: “You guys are [really] stupid.”

I heard about this fad earlier this year. I thought it was so dumb, I had to add it to the list. #52- Planking was crossed off after I planked on a bench, a railing, and in the middle of the Governor’s quad. Not only did I get some confused looks, I got a few what’s-wrong-with-hers and what’s-she-doings. It was quite empowering. I now know what the experienced planker feels. Just in case you weren’t sure of it before, the ability worry the general public is truly rewarding.

planking fiveplanking fourplanking threeplanking two

I guess it’s a slow news day.

There are days when the 6:00 hour of the news is overloaded with one after another fluff pieces about a woman and her dog delivering hand-made blankets to homeless people followed by a segment on how to properly wash our hands and “Coming up next: Who your mailman really is- Exposing the secret life of the city’s letter deliverers.” As I watch I can’t help but wonder, “Is it a slow news day?”

Every once in a while something alarming or unusual happens, giving the news lady a chance to “interrupt your regularly scheduled program” with “Breaking News!” Unlike some people,  who want to know what Raymond was about to say to his mother Marie to get her off Debra’s back, I actually enjoy this rare instance when something happens so newsworthy they can’t wait until 6:00 or 11:00 to tell us.

Today’s interruption was the result of a gunman reported on the Virginia Tech campus. WOAH BABY! If this is true, I feel terribly sad for that poor school; they’ve suffered enough. As you may recall, a shooting spree at VT left 33 dead in 2007. This, my friends, is real news; something everyone needs and should hear about. Therefore, I condone the interruption, seeing as I’ve seen this episode 800 times (Spoiler Alert: Raymond chickens out because he’s a mamma’s boy and Debra gets mad).

TO READ THE FULL STORY…

On this rare day when something worthwhile is being reported, you’d think Facebook would erupt with “OH NO HE DIDN’T” statuses about the event. If any change in weather can make it into everyone’s status every day, this should definitely have triggered a few couch potatoes to alert the networking masses. To my dismay, I found nothing but Jersey Shore on my News Feed. There was even a “Happy Birthday Mr. Obama!” Nothing about the unfolding tragedy at Virginia Teach! Is this what our world has come to? I even gave the couch potatoes at least 20 minutes to make clever statuses, still nothing. I had to take on the role of Jerk Who Brings Morality into the Situation. Yes, I made my own status : “There’s a gunman in VT and everyone’s statuses are about Jersey Shore tonight. WHAD DAF UCKIS WRONG WITH YOU? smh.” (Notice, I would never say an actual bad word on Facebook)

However, I realize the season premier is tonight, which means the couch potatoes were too angry about the interruption of their Jersey Shore marathon to realize the emergency of circumstances at VT. In that case, I forgive you. NOT.

yellow dahlia

yellow dahlia