Yeah, that was all.
Nov. 17th, 2007 10:52 pmI am now in possession of a half-signed clearance form, Doctor 13: Architecture & Mortality and a brand new haircut. I shall address these in order.
School clings, doesn't it? We finish classes and go "Ha! It's over!" And then we have our graduation assembly and go "Okay, now it really is over!" Then we finish exams and go "NOW it's over!" NOWNOWNOW. And I still have to come back and wander the hallways in civvies with a piece of paper that needs to be signed by all my teachers, the principal, the deputy principal, the year adviser, the head of welfare, the careers adviser, the sports coordinator, the inner peace adviser, a librarian, three separate office ladies and the janitor. Sadly my English teacher was away when I went, and I'd forgotten to bring my bus pass to return (somebody has to sign for that, too) so I'll have to go back.
Doctor 13. I may have mentioned it before. It's absolutely AWESOME. They've got a bunch of old comics characters that have basically been abandoned for being too ridiculous, and thrown them together for whacky hijinks and also shenanigans in the face of annihilation by obvious comic-creator standins wearing blanket capes. But first - talking nazi vampire apes Y/N?
My hair, in contrast, is merely kind of cool. No, I did not get the Superman haircut (although I still want to some day just to see if my s-curl theory is correct). The hairdresser was very chatty, she kept going on about how interesting and different my choice of hairstyle and formal attire and uni choices sounded and told me to come back and tell her how everything went. I couldn't work out if it was regular Friendly Hairdresser Patter or if she just normally gets really boring customers. Getting short-back cuts is always a little odd because I go to run my hands through my hair and they come up short. However, I live in a world where "odd" is pretty much equal to "yay" so. Yeah. Maybe I should have a motto or a catchy slogan. Captain Oblivious: Never Get Bored, Never Get Boring.
That was yesterday. Today, before breakfast, my mum dragged me (neither kicking nor screaming although in retrospect that would have been a brilliant idea) to my cousin Danny's birthday party. Yes, the five year old. No, I don't know why either. I think she was under the impression that I could help my grandma out with food, or something. But the food, what little there was, was already ready, and grandma was out with my baby cousin Lauren. Did I mention there wasn't much food? I ate some quiche and some tiny cheese cubes (not on sticks. woe). That was my breakfast. Also my lunch. Did I mention that my aunt and uncle live in Whoop Whoop? A couple hours away by car? The trip back (including several detours to drop off my grandma, and to fetch a piece of paper from my dad's work, and to go shopping) was hell on earth. Only in hell there's probably less bickering. I just wanted to break things. MAGGIE SMASH.
Eventually I overcame my carsickness enough to remember that it was four o'clock and the contents of my stomach consisted of half an egg, a tablespoon of tuna and two cubic centimetres of curdled bovine lactation, and bought some chicken. This appeased my unceasing rage to the point where I still wanted to damage things, but now with a cheerful smile on my face. Fortunately the internet cures all bad moods. Why is there a pigeon beating its head on my window repeatedly?
PS: this amuses me greatly.
Warning signs that YOU might be turning evil:
- You carry a flamethrower in your purse for no specific reason.
- Deathstroke is your drug dealer.
- You can now cackle maniacally with a straight face.
- Killing all Green Lanterns and recreating the universe at your will sounds like a good thing to do in the weekend.
Damn. But everyone needs a purse flamethrower. For like, bizarre triffid-related emergencies, and stuff! Whatever shall I do this weekend?
School clings, doesn't it? We finish classes and go "Ha! It's over!" And then we have our graduation assembly and go "Okay, now it really is over!" Then we finish exams and go "NOW it's over!" NOWNOWNOW. And I still have to come back and wander the hallways in civvies with a piece of paper that needs to be signed by all my teachers, the principal, the deputy principal, the year adviser, the head of welfare, the careers adviser, the sports coordinator, the inner peace adviser, a librarian, three separate office ladies and the janitor. Sadly my English teacher was away when I went, and I'd forgotten to bring my bus pass to return (somebody has to sign for that, too) so I'll have to go back.
Doctor 13. I may have mentioned it before. It's absolutely AWESOME. They've got a bunch of old comics characters that have basically been abandoned for being too ridiculous, and thrown them together for whacky hijinks and also shenanigans in the face of annihilation by obvious comic-creator standins wearing blanket capes. But first - talking nazi vampire apes Y/N?
My hair, in contrast, is merely kind of cool. No, I did not get the Superman haircut (although I still want to some day just to see if my s-curl theory is correct). The hairdresser was very chatty, she kept going on about how interesting and different my choice of hairstyle and formal attire and uni choices sounded and told me to come back and tell her how everything went. I couldn't work out if it was regular Friendly Hairdresser Patter or if she just normally gets really boring customers. Getting short-back cuts is always a little odd because I go to run my hands through my hair and they come up short. However, I live in a world where "odd" is pretty much equal to "yay" so. Yeah. Maybe I should have a motto or a catchy slogan. Captain Oblivious: Never Get Bored, Never Get Boring.
That was yesterday. Today, before breakfast, my mum dragged me (neither kicking nor screaming although in retrospect that would have been a brilliant idea) to my cousin Danny's birthday party. Yes, the five year old. No, I don't know why either. I think she was under the impression that I could help my grandma out with food, or something. But the food, what little there was, was already ready, and grandma was out with my baby cousin Lauren. Did I mention there wasn't much food? I ate some quiche and some tiny cheese cubes (not on sticks. woe). That was my breakfast. Also my lunch. Did I mention that my aunt and uncle live in Whoop Whoop? A couple hours away by car? The trip back (including several detours to drop off my grandma, and to fetch a piece of paper from my dad's work, and to go shopping) was hell on earth. Only in hell there's probably less bickering. I just wanted to break things. MAGGIE SMASH.
Eventually I overcame my carsickness enough to remember that it was four o'clock and the contents of my stomach consisted of half an egg, a tablespoon of tuna and two cubic centimetres of curdled bovine lactation, and bought some chicken. This appeased my unceasing rage to the point where I still wanted to damage things, but now with a cheerful smile on my face. Fortunately the internet cures all bad moods. Why is there a pigeon beating its head on my window repeatedly?
PS: this amuses me greatly.
Warning signs that YOU might be turning evil:
- You carry a flamethrower in your purse for no specific reason.
- Deathstroke is your drug dealer.
- You can now cackle maniacally with a straight face.
- Killing all Green Lanterns and recreating the universe at your will sounds like a good thing to do in the weekend.
Damn. But everyone needs a purse flamethrower. For like, bizarre triffid-related emergencies, and stuff! Whatever shall I do this weekend?
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