Edith Piaf, hero.

One thing I never get tired about raving about is the French film La Vie En Rose, a heartwrenching, mind-exploding, incredible (absolutely incredible) story about the life of Edith Piaf, a famous singer in the 40s and her terrible, terrible life. I cried like a baby watching this a year ago. I strongly, STRONGLY push you to watch this. You will NOT be disappointed.

Just a little snippet:

knack for consequences and jury.

I am probably one of the laziest people you shall ever meet. I procrastinate errands and duties because I just feel like doing them, including this blog. Seriously, how hard is it for me to get my lazy butt up to the computer chair and click/type away? For some reason, I have a problem with it. How hard is it, E?!

I honestly could have a grueling scorn with myself on this subject. Kinda like Gollum from Lord of the Rings and his self-arguement in 'The Two Towers'. Very epic.

First trimester just ended, and I started the second today. Found out I got the second highest score on my final exam in Geometry in my class. Very nice. And that was the exam I was really sweating over. Whoot!
Hm. Oh! And now that my new trimester started, it turns out that Ben and I share second hour Biology and fourth hour American Literature together. Yay! Before we only had lunch, so that was a slight bummer. Now he has to suffer me darting pencils at him for an average fo three hours a day.
Just kidding. I only did that once today and it was a nice shot, too. Barely missed his head and almost stuck into the board behind him. He deserved it. Threw MY pen at my head, darn it all.

Are abusive relationships normal??

meanwhile, in atlantis...

Today, it just feels like a movie. One of those sad, dark-lighted movies that really don't make any sense and leave you with a feeling of moroseness and wonder at the end.

I can really imagine it.

The camera sweeps slowly over the messy kitchen, stopping ever so slightly by the table, where notebooks are splayed out and a cereal box lays, undisturbed. The sound of typing is faint in the backround. The camera moves on, now moving to look out the glass back door. Outside it is fall. No leaves are on the trees and it is raining and the sky is grey. Now the camera turns around and displays the source of typing: a young girl of sixteen sits stooped over the keyboard, bags under her tired eyes, baggy hoodie and pants, and short hair pushed away from her sharp features by a headband.
She stops typing and sighs, drooping lower in her roller chair.

Girl: Lonliness... is the mere insect that chews through your skin and pushes itself into your bloodstream. When it settles in your heart... it lays its eggs and when they hatch, the little lonelies fill all your veins. But where it stings the most is where the mother lies, in your heart.

Camera zooms in on girl. She closes her eyes and her hands go up to her chest, placing them on her heartbeat.

Can you not see that? 'Cause I can. 'Cause it's me and how I feel right now. Lonely.
What I'd give for a big fat gift card to the mall and just shop my little lonelified heart out.
Or to go see a movie.
And not stay at home and finish a geometry project.
Ew.

please close curtains, we don't want to see your face.

Fatale, I, have (I swear by it) the nuttiest teachers that ever did teach. And that, mis amigos, is NOT a good thing.

Names have been changed.

Mrs. Night: Oh, now here's a good one. This lady is a creeper, if ever one. She's short and pudgy with squinty, searching eyes and claims she has a husband down in Florida (why he's down there and not here, I don't know, but do I blame him? Not one bit.) and has countless stories of 'Darkstar', her herioc horse and all their adventures. She teaches business management (the most pointless class in history). Oh man, but when she creeps, she creeps. She has the windows by the class doors covered with construction paper for some odd reason, so when someone knocks, she scuttles over and pulls back a piece with a paper handle she stuck to the back of it and peeks out.
Let me tell you, when you're the one doing the knocking, having the face of Mrs. Night peering back at you out of nowhere scares the bejeezers out of you.
Creepin'!

Mr. Finks: This man is my geometry teacher. When not teaching unhumane torture methods, he's a sports coach. How someone can do both of those, I have no idea. He's not creepin', but, wow, can he get strange. Especially when he has his two cups of coffee in the morning. And I, unfortunately, share his first hour. I get the first aim of fire.
"WHOO!" He jumps into the class at 7:30 am (not a good time of day for me, mind you). And he isn't exactly slender, so I feel the wave of vibration go under my feet on the other side of the classroom.
"MATH IS FUN! ISN'T IT FUN?"
Even from where I sit, I can tell his pupils are dialated. I groan.
Although, I'm not really complaining about Finks. He found out that I'm an 'artist', and showed me the amazing works of Escher and even gave me his book on Tessalations. How cool!

Mr. Callin: Because we have a new student teacher, Mr. Running, I don't have Callin as my normal world history teacher. Thanks be to God. It is not rumor, but fact, that Callin's coffee (which he constantly has) is spiked. Particularly with Jack Daniels and such. I don't know how he pulls it off or why he hasn't been caught over it, but he's obviously master at it. He once left a cup sitting behind Dani, and overrun by curiousity, I sidled over and sniffed at it tentatively. The man is obviously over seventy with a permanent purple nose (which is rather distracting) and a mouth that looks like it was made by slitting a line into his face. It's rather confusing.

Miss Party: Profesora de espanol. Probably one of my most annoying teachers I've ever had. She's as thin (maybe thinner?) than me and she has to be over thirty. Huge lips with huge eyes and a tiny nose. Her proportions just don't match and you know what? It's frustrating.
What's really irritating is how she rambles. About EVERYTHING. She quite literally will go on for ten minutes saying how we are just about to take our test. And then once we have our test, she goes over the instructions (which are the same ever time). At that point, I'm all ready a quarter into it.
One of her other habits that really rubs my nerves raw is her extensive use of 'um'. My close friend, Stacie, once actually kept record of how many times she said that blasted word in one class period (77 minutes): 42 times. How ridiculous. I tried and gave up at mere siete. The more I paid attention, the more I began to see red.

How ridiculous can school get? Not much more than this. I would go on about Mrs. Webbie, but that'd take a whole post on its own.
Be grateful I won't get into that subject.

xoxo

shh don't tell.

I went on a date yesterday.
With a charming young man by the name of Flat Stanley. He is quite the charmer, let me tell you. Inviting me to a French film, you can't get anymore classy. Ben should be worried. Very worried.

Alright, let me give you the dirty scoop. My nephew sent Stanley to me for me to show him around the state and see the sights. He's got a head of strawberry blonde hair and deep-set blue eyes and a mouth full of teeth forever in a wide grin. Quite a catch. Caught my eye, I will admit.

Before the movie, I donned an evening cocktail gown similar to this:


me: What do you think?
Stanley: ...
me: Speechless, eh? Oh, you.
Stanley: ...

During the movie, Le Papillon (highly recommended), the little devil made a snatch for my hand!

me: You charmer!
Stanley: ...

After the movie, we went to a cute cafe. Very tres chic. he knows how to impress a young lady, lemme tell you.


Haha, alright. So maybe we didn't go to a cafe and Flat Stanley is a drawn man on paper and he didn't hold my hand during a French Film (and possibly he spent that time in mum's purse). Just maybe?

gotta love them, bless their souls.

I really can't get over just how loudly amazing the band Muse is. And no, I don't drool over them because they are associated with Stephenie Meyer and her "Twilight" series (which I adore). I liked them before coming into the knowledge that she used them for muse (ironically).

They have a hypnotic 80s sound with ultra unique twists of their own. The lyrics they come up with are absolutely phenominal, so deep and sometimes sad. Like 'Starlight', my personal favorite, along with 'Falling Away With You' and 'Blackout'. Holy matrimony, good songs. They incorporated an Italian guitar sound to the last two. The singer has an absolutely INCREDIBLE voice. So amazing that I'd marry him just so I could chain him up and force him to sing to me 24/7. Incredible.



"Starlight" for your enjoyment.

a light at the end of the bottle.

While sitting in my so highly advanced black roll-y chair, munching on a Nature Valley Maple Brown Sugar bar, I ponder today.

Ending friendships suck. All the yelling and steaming and all the RAWR!
It gets old, y'know??

But sometimes it seems necessary.

Even if you were best friends with the girl for four years. No matter.

What is the best way to cut off from a friend?

1. Don't, DON'T say "It was all your fault anyway!" under any circumstance. UNless it really was all her fault.
2. Speak calmly. And throwing big, sophisticated words of debate and anger is highly suggested for it throws your opponet off for a few minutes. Use this precious time to plan for the next attack as they try to understand what the heck you just said.
3. You don't owe them any explaination on what they did that was so bad. If they really thought about it, they would know. Or they just don't want to admit it.
4. Smile. This really catches them off guard and say with authentic ease, "Ttyl, girl. I'm off to start my new and better life."
5. Walk off with a Paris Hilton-esque strut.

Wala.

all the good times we had can only last so long.

It is fact (and maybe unfortunate at that)
that we all do change over time's range.
Kick and scream, or split at the seam,
all you want, dear friend (for I believe we are at our end).
'It's all your fault,' you say without halt.
Don't try to blame this on me, what will be will be.