December 7, 2010

Stale cookies

Today I brought cookies to school because there were extra left over from this Christmas party I went to last night. I was really late but when I walked into sculpture nobody cared anymore because I had cookies and /they were good./ Except they weren't very good and not many people actually wanted any so I just put them under a table because I didn't want to cover them in plaster. Come to think of it, that would be a pretty cool sculpture but it would definently not taste very good.

My English teacher was definently excited about the cookies and she didn't care that they were stale. She's awesome and that made people aware of the fact that I brought cookies and help me get rid of more. Then in my third period the only person that would take any was some chick I don't know and then I dropped two on the floor so I only had two left and it is a bad idea to give sugar to freshman so I knew I had to get rid of them before my final period.

So I did my best to pawn the two off on my teachers, but the sub had left and only the woman who signs to the deaf kid i the class was left. I asked if she wanted one and she said no. But I knew she had another class so I said she could give them to students. She told me that two was not enough to give to her entire class so I told her she should make the kids fight to the death for the sweets.

And then she /took them./

She said it would be good entertainment and I think this lady deserves teacher of the fucking millenium or some shit. That's awesome.

Also, as a side note, I brought my octopus to school and NO ONE NOTICED. He's awesome and I think they should have at least had the courtesy to introduce themselves to him. I mean, he was on my head the whole time. It is one thing to not go out of your way to speak to someone, it is another to ignore them outright when they are stairing you in the face with their one, sewn-on eye.

Seriusly guys. Manners.

November 14, 2010

Really if you think about it, you can convert your score into fractions and multiply them to see how crazy your kids will be

Before I write this next post, I must preference it:

I talk to people until late at night. Because of work and college and other things, I usually lack the time to speak to anyone unless it's midnight or one or what have you. If we talk to each other any earlier, we talk until the time we usually start talking, or until one of us falls asleep.

Our conversations usually derail at about one in the morning because, well, I'm tired and shifting in and out of sleep. They are too, usually. All my friends are wimps.

Usually my final thoughts of the night are incomprehensible to... well, anyone, but I am proud to announce that before I fell asleep last night, I came up with a brilliant idea.

The conversation goes as follows.

Me: So how crazy are you really?

Them: On a scale of one to ten?

Me: No. A scale of one to ten is linear. Crazy isn't linear. Experiences and opinions are. I think crazy is more circular.

Them: Circular?

Me: Yes, like degrees.

Them: Okay, so how many degrees are in this crazy scale?

Me: How many degrees are in a circle? 360, right? So 360.

Them: Okay. So I'm... 45?

Me: That's not too bad. I think you're crazier than that.

Them: I don't think I understand the concept.

Me: Well, 45 is half of 90, right? And 90 is a right angle. I think your crazy is more like a right angle than half of one, don't you think?

Them: Uh...

Me: Just trust me.

Them: So then how crazy are you?

Me: Let's see. 120?

Them: That's not very much.

Me: Well, that isn't accounting for tonight. We need to add twenty points for even discussing this. So you would have 105 degrees of crazy. And I would have 135 degrees. And then I would have to add another twenty points for making this up, so I would be at 150.

Them: That math is not correct.

Me: Sure it is! You have to subtract five from the points value in order to get degrees. It's basic math.

Them: Oh, okay. But what if you have to add five points to your value, what happens then?

Me: It's not something that is crazy enough to effect your over-all crazy rating. Does that make sense? It adjusts for that kind of thing. It's a good system.

Them: So if you have zero degrees you wouldn't be crazy at all?

Me: No, I think you misunderstand. It's a circle because zero degrees really actually means 360. So if you're all the way normal, it means you're all the way crazy. Because it's not possible to be completely normal. So if you say zero, you're ignoring the obvious signs. Meaning you're crazy. You understand?

Them: I'm going to bed.

And that's how I invented the crazy scale. Tell your friends!

November 13, 2010

Extacy--? Eckxtacy--? Ehkcsacey--?

I hate the MAC lab. Nothing against macs, but PCs are the only computers in school that allow for emulators. And if I’m on a computer, I have to be playing Pokemon, and that’s that.

But we’re in the MAC lab today, and I have still found a way to do nothing and still get all of my work done. To waste more time, I went to the bathroom. Also because I had to pee.

I leave the lab, and there are some students outside sitting on the floor. Another kid, who looks to be a freshman (the entire grouping does, so let’s assume they are) storms up to them. Quite irate, the boy asks loudly, “why would you tell him about extacy?”

Not “the extacy,” like “why would you tell him I have/do/have done drugs.” Or, “My stash of extacy.”
But no. His question was “why would you tell him about extacy?”

As if this person had never heard of said drug before. As if this child was seriously indignant at the mere idea that a person told another person about a subject.

But I couldn’t hear more of the conversation. I was walking fast to begin with, and my slowing down earned me quizzical looks from what I was beginning to realize was actually a gaggle, an army, of these tiny freshman. There was no way to slow down more without having to explain myself to them. My pace was at a crawl and by that time I was so into my own head whatever they may or may not have said was unintelligible behind my own thoughts of “what the hell were they talking about?”

If only I could have turned around and asked, or had the idea to turn around as if I had forgotten something (But for the bathroom? It seems unnecessary). I was filled with self loathing and nagging curiosity.
I worked up the courage during my short stint in the restroom and came out a renewed and enlightened woman, confident of my ability to figure out what the fuck was up.

And they were gone.
 
Serves me right for peeing.