NO SCHOOL FOR ME :D

Hello everybody! How are you today!? Good? Well, me too!

I’m sitting here nice and comfy in my bed watching Benjamin Button and enjoying some cinnamon oatmeal with sunflower and flax seeds. (<--look at me! So healthy...:) The best part is, it’s Tuesday!

Why am I not at school, you ask? Well, I was thrown off with the MLK holiday and I mistakenly forgot to study for a GIANT biology test that is today that I thought was tomorrow.  So I woke up at 7:30, dreading another long day at school and I was like...FUCK. TODAY IS TUESDAY. I HAVE A BIOLOGY TEST TODAY. And then I was like you know what? FUCK IT ALL. So I have decided to stay home from school today. YAY!

It’s not really that big of a deal, because I have a perfect attendance record so far this year AND I’LL BE DAMNED if I have to embarrassingly accept another perfect attendance award from the principle like a huge nerd. (While my fellow peers say to themselves things like “WOW HAS SHE EVER HEARD OF NOT GOING TO SCHOOL?? WHAT AN ASSHOLE.) Also, I only go to school for like three hours a day anyways, so I’m not really missing much. (Other than a GIANT biology test, of course).   

What shall I do today!?? The whole world is at my fingertips! Should I go skydiving? Bungee jumping? Maybe fly a turnaround to NYC? Oh, the possibilities!

“You are not old enough to do that,” you say, “and even if you were old enough, you would not be able to afford those things because you spend all your money on burritos and movie tickets like an asshole.”

Well, my friend, you are probably right.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA OMG BRAD PITT AS OLD MAN HAHAHAHAHAHAHA WRIKLE BABY HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Sorry I got distracted by the movie. I also just got oatmeal on my Carter Blood Care pajama shirt. FUCK. Kbye.

**UPDATE: I did not end up going skydiving. Instead I got a tasty sandwich for lunch and a nice pedicure afterwards, so all-in-all, it was a pretty good day.

Shit My Mom Says

I am going to write a book. I will call it “Shit My Mom Says” and I will make a million dollars. I will write down all the ridiculous nonsense that comes out of my mother’s mouth and sell it to people desperate for some comedy in their incredibly un-funny lives. Maybe my book will even be turned into a mediocre TV series!

Unfortunately, I do not have the patience, motivation, and/or energy to do this at the moment, but I will share with you a conglomeration of quotes my mother spewed out of her mouth whilst watching the 2012 Golden Globe Awards last night.

First though, I will give you a little background information about my mother. She is the spawn of old money, and she grew up in a mansion in Chicago which she demands I look at on Google earth at least three times a month. When she was in high school, her parents moved to a beach house in Cape Cod and she condo hunts for a place there every morning while drinking her coffee out of a 1920’s coffee mug. She was a premature baby, and currently has an array of medical problems including a fucked up back (which is her excuse for not helping put up all the Christmas decorations in the attic), allergies to everything on the planet, and terrible eyesight. I don’t know for sure if this is related to her premature-baby-ness, but I like to assume so. Everyone in my family refers to her as a “broken record” because she has about six phrases which she repeats about eighteen times a day. Not even exaggerating about the eighteen times. These phrases include some form of “I hate my job”, “I’m tired”, “I can’t see”, “I have allergies”, “I hate Texas why am I here”, “Sit up straight”, and some sort of a back handed compliment. She is also nuts and on the verge of Alzheimer’s, and god forbid we ever host a Christmas party, she turns into fucking Godzilla for the entire week beforehand.

So back to the Golden Globes. I am pretty used to tuning out her voice, as she will talk continuously over the television for entire programs, but after reading the book “Shit my Dad Says,” I realized that writing some of her quotes down might come in handy in case I ever wanted to turn her ridiculousness into a money-making gold mine of a book.  So the following are phrases and/or conversations which took place last night.

As the show was starting:

“claire, get up. I want to sit on that chair. Yes, I know there is another chair, but I want THAT chair. How about I sit in your chair and you can sit on my lap! Come here. Come sit on my lap. What are you talking about! That’s not weird at all! No? Well, your loss.”

During the Introduction:

“Look at that Ricky Gervais! How cute! I love British people! Did you just hear that!? He said “off the rails”! LOL. British people have silly phrases.”

During the Show:

“Leonardo Decaprio is not into women, if you get what I’m saying. I know he has a bunch of girlfriends, claire. Are you stupid? It’s totally a cover up.”

“Look at Madonna and those arms. She looks like a frog.”

“HAH! Did you get that guys!? That was a joke!”

“You know who that is? That’s Will Smith. No, that’s not Cuba Gooding Junior claire, it’s Will Smith with a shaved head. You know, the guy in ‘Snow Dogs’?”

Throughout the entire thing:

“Oh. My. God.  Another foreign winner. I know what this is. The Hollywood Foreign Press is only giving awards to the foreign people.”

“Ok look at this. The Hollywood actors have made a pact not to clap for any foreign winners. Are you noticing this? Oooh I’m onto something, claire. What a conspiracy!”

“You see? They were also told not to smile during the speeches of the foreign winners. That’s why none of them are smiling!”

I must note that they were in fact smiling and clapping, and there were Hollywood actors that won awards...

You see what I have to deal with on a daily basis? 

Blood Donation

I had always wanted to donate blood. Why I had always wanted this, I have no idea, but you can imagine my excitement when I found out that Carter Blood Care would be setting up some donation booths in my high school gymnasium. It was towards the end of the school year, and not only would you get a free T-shirt and a bag of Oreos for participating, but you would also get to skip TWO WHOLE CLASS PERIODS and that in itself was worth it for me. I found a friend who shared my enthusiasm for blood donation and when the day came we skipped on over to the gym during the time slot we were given and waited with nervous excitement for our names to be called.

It took forty-five minutes to get through the paperwork, (they wanted to be EXTRA sure I didn’t have AIDS  and/or hepatitis), and finally I made it to the nurse lady who would check my blood pressure and iron levels  before sending me to “the chair.” I had recently gotten some sort of booster shot and made the mistake of telling Nurse Lady that, and she made me call my doctor to see which shot I had been  given. After a whole debacle of having to Google the name and phone number of my doctor, Nurse Lady pricked the fuck out of my index finger and told me that my iron was too low to get blood taken. This was one and a half hours into the process, by the way.  “FUCK YOU.” I said, under my breath to Nurse Lady, and with that I slowly sauntered back to class with no Oreos or free t-shirt in hand. I met up with my friend, and learned that she too had been denied. We were both incredibly pissed off.

***

So skip forward three months. It was now summer, and my friend and I had just finished volunteering at a pet shelter and we were feeling extra good about ourselves. The windows were rolled down and we were listening to some pumped up radio song really loud and obnoxiously.

“Look at us! We are such good people!” My friend said.

“I know!” I screamed back, high with the feeling of volunteering goodness.

“We should do something else good! We should go chop off all of our hair and donate it to a wig shop!” She said.

“Um, no.” I returned. But then I thought of something else we could do.

“HOLY SHIT BEST IDEA EVER!!!!!!!!” I was screaming really loudly now. “WE SHOULD TOTALLY GO DONATE BLOOD!!!!”

This was the same friend that was with me when we got denied donation at school, and she agreed that it was indeed the best idea ever.

**Listen to me when I say that this is NOT the best idea ever.  Please, if you are going to do anything on a whim, don’t let that thing be blood donation. (Or haircuts.)

We were incredibly enthralled.

After having a discussion about how many calories a bag of blood takes out of your body, we decided it must be a shit ton and went to CC’s Pizza Buffet where I downed an entire alfredo pizza plus seventeen cinnamon rolls. I was feeling like an unstoppable machine of human goodness, and I could not wait.

“LOOK AT THIS!!!” I screamed at the restaurant. “LOOK AT ALL THIS I’M EATING!! AND IT DOESN’T MATTER BECAUSE I CAN EAT IT AND NOT GET FAT BECAUSE ALL THE CALORIES WILL END UP IN THE BLOOD THAT IM GIVING AWAY  YAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYY!!!”

I now understand that this is not exactly how it works.

We did not even wait for our food to properly digest before heading to the local Carter Blood Care clinic. This time we both made it to “the chair” without a sweat! A fun loving African American man stuck that huge ass needle into my arm, and as payment for hurting it, my body pulsed out a jet stream of blood right onto his face.

“Oops.” I said, not really meaning it. That shit hurt.

“Happens all the time...” He said, frustratingly, wiping his face with his forearm. He finally got it in (THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID) and my beautiful, cinnamon roll tainted blood started filling the bag.  

Halfway through, I was feeling pretty good about myself, so I alerted Blood Guy. “I’M FEELIN’ GOOD BROTHA!  DOUBLE BAG THIS BITCH! I BET YOU I CAN FILL THREE OF THESE FUCKIN’ THINGS!”

“No.” He said.

After about ten minutes I filled a pint and he sent me on my way.

“Make sure you eat something in the lobby!” said Blood Guy, as he cleaned is glasses with a paper towel.

“Sure thing man! Let’s hope I don’t have AIDS!” I yelled across the office. I held up my hand really high to show him that I was crossing my fingers.

He then ran furiously to the sink and started spraying water directly into his pupils.

You know how he told me to eat something in the lobby? I didn’t. I wasn’t hungry, as I had just eaten enough food to satisfy a hippo for three days.

I probably should have eaten something.

When I got home, I paraded around my house, making sure everyone knew how good of a person I was. I was super pumped, and felt like I could run ten miles.

It was a Saturday, and earlier that week my parents had sat me down for a long conversation about how I didn’t appreciate them and that they were sick of me completely avoiding them in public and blah blah blah. I had told them that I would go with them to a movie, if we could go to a theater at least 45 minutes away, as to avoid seeing anyone I would possibly know. Also, I made them pick the most expensive theater in that specific radius, and that is the explanation as to why each ticket was $17.50. 

I had been home for an hour or two after my blood donation, and my adrenaline and excitement from being such a good person had quickly faded. At this point, every time I would attempt to stand up, my line of vision would go black around the edges. I thought I should probably tell someone this, so I got up to go walk to the kitchen to tell my mom.

That was the last thing I remembered before for waking up three minutes later with my face in the carpet.

My mom was on the phone with an EMT, and rushed to my side as I lifted my head up.

“Oh fuck, don’t call an ambulance mom. That is completely unecess-“

And then I woke up sixty seconds later with my mom spraying water on my face with an old Windex container.

“Man! Did I just do that twice!? Sweet.”

My dad then walked over.

“Get up. I just spent eighteen fucking dollars on your movie ticket. You are going to the movies with us.”

I couldn’t really walk at that point, so my dad threw me over his shoulder and into the back seat of the car and said “Stop being such a baby.”

I didn’t really know what was going on, and somehow managed to get into my theater seat with my parents holding both my arms. I still had a giant blue bandage taped to my arm, and I’m pretty sure it looked like I had just come out of a coma.

We watched “Crazy, Stupid, Love” and all I really remember about it was the fact that the colors were extraordinarily pretty.

It took a good six weeks for my body to return to normal operating conditions, as it did not handle blood donation lightly.

And that is the story of the one time I donated blood.

**authors note: I do not have the patience and/or artistic ability to draw pictures of all of this, so I will just draw you a picture of a red blood cell:

I have named him Rodger.

The end.



Warbleblobbernismasdkf??

“Due to my extreme case of senioritis, I have encountered a lack of all motivation to do anything. Ever. All the time.”

Remember when I said this?? (here is proof)

This is the reason as to why I don’t post as often as I should. I know senioritis typically applies to school work, but in my case it applies to everything anyone ever expects me to do, for example, unloading the dishwasher, or writing good blog posts in a timely manner.

I tend to accumulate an unusually large amount of guilt over this, and I don’t know why.

I kind of just sit in my comfy chair and stare at the wall, feeling this guilt and doing nothing about it simply bess;dfmvwe[rfpl fporpfoerlksd;fvlfkvfdsl;askf;w eorrkjwl;kasdna;sldk, uuggghhhhhhhhhghghghuhghghguhgughguhguhgughughg 

Nope.

Maybe a picture?

Nope.






bye.

**UPDATE:  Sorry, folks. I had a larger-than-normal amount of apathy at the time I wrote this, and as you can see, I lost motivation halfway through. 

Friends

I was really lonely the other night, and in a drunken stupor of sadness I created some friends.

This is Chase.

Chase is a rabbit. Chase was self-conscious about his abnormally large, fluffy tail. I told chase that peacocks have big tails, and the ones with the best tails get lots of sex. He liked that. But then he asked me why his arms are so weird. 

I promptly replied, “Chase, you silly rabbit! Your arms are totally normal!”

I did not have the heart to tell him that they are actually boobs.

This is Miles.

Miles is really good at math, but it doesn’t matter because he is an elephant.

This is Ann.

Ann was raised on the border with a bunch of Mexican pack mules and now she thinks she is one.

So I just play along.







This is Robert.

Robert is a huge dick and nobody likes him....I like him, though. There is something about his grumpy cynicism and tiny arms that appeals to me. You know, deep down inside his little, pixelated heart there is some good.

And lastly is Bubbles.

My friends and I don’t know what Bubbles is exactly…

My guess is the offspring of a Ron Weasly and a puppy.

He/She is super cute, though.

Mothers

I love my mom, but sometimes, it’s really hard to love her.

She is HELPLESS when it comes to doing anything involving technology, like say, OPENING A FUCKING WORD DOCUMENT. (I’m not joking…I had to do this for her yesterday morning. Like literally just clicking on the icon…she didn’t know how to do it.)

She got her first cell phone last year, and she can’t really work it. She can do basic things, like type in a number to call, but god forbid the moment comes in which she has to make a new contact, she wails like a dying baby elephant seal until one of her children comes to help her. (Her phone was purchased –no contract-for $9.99 at Target if that tells you anything…)

I have tried to teach her but she won’t listen! I lay directions out for her in perfect, easy steps, and yet she still prints six pages worth of ads every time she tries to print something from a website. She has problems grasping the concepts of “COPY” and “PASTE”, and she does not understand how one can magically “HIGHLIGHT TEXT” to do so.

So to the point of this post, I will tell you a story of what just happened seven very short minutes ago…

I was checking my email when I see one from my mom, with the subject line “amazing!” 

“Oh!” I said to myself, “She must’ve magically found YouTube!”  But then my common sense told me she probably got hacked.

So I open this email…

GOD DAMMIT. THIS IS THE THIRD FUCKING TIME THIS HAS HAPPENED.

We all know these sneaky little ninja-hacking bastards send these weird links to your email an then if you click on it you get a virus. My mother is one of those people that clicks on the link EVERY TIME.

I know that if it was sent to me, it was sent to all of her old-people friends on her contact list, and as she can barely grasp the basics of email, I will have to be the one to go and fix this.

I charge downstairs into her room, and begin to berate her about her technological stupidity.

Me: Mom! I told you NOT to click on those links anymore!!

Mom: But it was from my friend from ENGLAND and it sounded COOL and AMAZING!

Me: We have gone over this! Those links give you viruses and that email probably went out to everyone on your contact list and it will give all of them viruses!

Mom: Yeah…I thought it was weird that it asked for my email address before I could see the pictures.

Me: DID YOU GIVE YOUR EMAIL!?

Mom: Yes.

Me: *facepalm*

Mom: WAHHHHHH CLAIRE FIX IT WAHHHHHHHHHH

Me: UUGHGHGGUGH FINNNEEEEEEEE

So I begin to open emails from some of her friends. One of them, from my mom’s elderly cousin, presents my frustration with old people:

 “Hey! That sounds amazing but for some odd reason my virus protection says it poses a threat and won’t let me open it! I really wish I could see them! What are the pictures of? Enjoy the holidays and have a happy New Year!!”

COME ON, FIRST-COUSIN-ONCE-REMOVED! I KNOW YOU ARE OLD BUT I THOUGHT YOU WERE BETTER THAN THIS!?

REAL PEOPLE DON'T SEND OUT THESE KINDS OF EMAILS.

I had to go through her email and message all of her old-people friends, saying things like “Sorry! I got hacked and I don’t know how! Just don’t open the email I sent you! Best wishes!” when really I wanted to say “I’M A RETARD AND I GAVE YOU A VIRUS HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA FUCK YOU!!”

And that is what I did seven minutes ago.

Side Note- here is a funny picture of a cat:

ADMIT IT! YOU MISS THIS!




**UPDATE: I just realized I already used this picture...oops. Here is another one!

Peeing in the Wild…A true story

I’ve only had to pee in the wild once, and I will never do it again. Everyone’s all like “YAAYYY LET’S PEE OUTSIDE LIKE ANIMALS IT’S SOOOO FUNNNN:D” and I just don’t get it. It’s awkward and uncomfortable, and the last and only time I peed in the wild I almost got eaten by a monster.

It all started when I decided it would be a good idea to go hunting with my cousins. I don’t know why I thought this would be a good idea, as I am an animal lover. (My dad shot a squirrel in front of me once and I started bawling).  Anyways, we all packed up and went dove hunting.

This was my first time hunting, and after a long debate with myself over the right clothes to wear, I chose a bright pink shirt, as to lessen the chance of me getting shot in the face. This made everyone mad. Also, I scared away all the birds by yelling BAHBAHABAHAAHBAHABAHABHAAHABHAAHABAH  while clapping my hands and running in circles. This also made everyone mad.

Three hours into “hunting”, (and by “hunting” I mean a bunch of city-kids shooting at mountain dew cans with 12 gauge shot guns), I really needed to pee.

We were in the middle of nowhere in this big field, and the only place that had trees was 400 yards away, right next to a huge pond surrounded by cows. My cousins handed me some hot-sauce smeared taco bell napkins and sent me on my way.

After a long trek to the trees, I found a nice spot to do my business. It took me seventeen minutes to gain the courage to unbutton my pants without being surrounded by four walls, but I finally did it.

Halfway through, I noticed that big ass bull traipsing my way. At first I was like ‘YAYYYY NATURE!!” but then I realized he wasn’t stopping…

I realized this could be the last thing I saw before I died…

(Minus all the people and plus my pants pulled down)

I did not want this, so I ran for my fucking life.

Somewhere in between the trees and the field was a dilapidated fence which I totally forgot to draw on the map but I promise it was there.  (It was a four foot tall livestock fence that I had to climb over to get to the trees...)

I was so happy to see this fence (as jumping it would probably save me from being eaten/pummeled by the monster cow) that I forgot to watch where I was running. And as made up and cliché as this sounds, my left boot (that was three and a half sizes to big…another long story) got stuck in a huge pile of cow shit and I tripped and twisted my ankle and wacked my face on the hard, cracked dirt-grass.

I heard my cousins laughing from one hundred yards away and I still had a fucking bull chasing after me (or so I thought), so I hobble-hop-dragged my ass back to the fence and threw my body over it, only to land back-first onto a pile of sharp  rocks.

Laying on the ground in excruciating pain, I glanced through the fence only to realize the bull was not chasing after me. He was walking to a patch of clovers that just happened to be near the spot chose to pee.

And that is why I will never pee in the wild again.



Black Skinny Jeans

Normal jeans suck. I feel like an old, fat blob when I wear normal jeans, but as I have to abide by certain social standards that do not allow me to wear the same jeans/same type of jeans consecutive days in a row, I am forced to feel like an old, fat blob at least once a week.

Below depicts what I feel like when I wear normal jeans:

(not that these people are old, fat blobs or anything, because that is mean and I am not mean)

But when I wear skinny jeans, I feel like this ---> :D

Skinny jeans make we want to do crazy things, like bungee jump and sky dive and dance like a spaz. I think skinny jeans make me funnier too, as I usually wear skinny jeans when I preform super funny stand-up comedy for the President of the United States.

JUST KIDDING.

I wear a pant-suit when I preform stand-up comedy for the President of the United States.

Below depicts what I feel like when I wear skinny jeans:

And HOT DAMN, when I wear my black skinny jeans I feel like a smoking-hot, bad-ass motha fucka/ninja/super kick-ass spy.

When I put on those black skinny jeans, I wanna go blow shit up and walk away in slow motion. My black skinny jeans make me feel like doing this:

Yes. This exactly.

Black skinny jeans make me wanna steal some powerful weapons and makeout with my hottie boyfriend.

They make me wanna kick some ass...

And that is why everyone needs a pair of black skinny jeans.

*P.S. (THIS IS SUPER EXCITING: i made it so that you don't have to have a google account to post comments...yay :D so i expect you to now leave comments) (not mean comments) (or I will send psycho cat after you)





The Life of an AP student (or maybe just me...)

I was drugged.

This is the only possible explanation as to why I was coaxed into taking not only AP biology (which is two hours a day, every day) but AP calculus as well.

My senior year of highschool.

Due to my extreme case of senioritis, I have encountered a lack of all motivation to do anything.

Ever.


All the time.

The amount of effort I put into doing my homework is comparable to the size of one fourth of a baby carrot. And not even a normal baby carrot. The tiny, shriveled, runt baby carrot at the bottom of the bag that no one will eat.

So my life really sucks the night before I have a biology/calculus test. I basically get home from school, walk to my room, and shut the door. I emerge seven hours later, after having completed all the homework and all of the book reading that was supposed to be done over a span of three and a half weeks. This usually gets me a 75 or so, and I rejoice to the heavens and then go back to doing nothing again.  

My method usually works out, but this is when I only have one test at a time.

Once or twice a year fate will decide to punish me for my laziness and bad study habits, and there will be two AP tests on the same day.

This EXTRA sucks, because that means I have fourteen hours of studying instead of the usual seven.

Fourteen hours of studying means getting home from school at 3:30 in the afternoon, starting right away, and studying until 5:30 the next morning. 

Yes. This really, really EXTRA sucks.

***

So it is 5:30 in the morning.

At this point I down an entire pot of coffee.

Literally an entire pot.

Twelve cups.

After twelve cups of coffee, I feel like fucking Rocky. I blast music really loud and start punching the air and screaming things like “YEAH LETS GO, BITCH! I GOT THIS! I GOT THIS! YOU STUPID FUCKING CHROMOSOMES! YOU STUPID FUCKING DERIVATIVES! IMMA KEEELLLLLLL YOU!! HERE THAT?? IMMA KILL YOU.”

After an all-nighter + two and a half hours of dancing and screaming, I am ready for this god forsaken day of the devil.



(the devil can't use correct punctuation apparently.)



I go.

I struggle.

I struggle some more.

I get up and pretend to blow my nose but really I’m comparing the amount of questions I’ve finished with everyone else’s.

I struggle even more.

I finish.

I pass out on the way to my car.

I wake up.

I drive home.

I sit on the couch, trying to remember how I got home.

I pass out before I come to an answer.

I wake up.

I go back to doing nothing again.

***

I welcome you to a show...

Instead of writing my essays, I decided to watch Keeping up with the Kardashians. I was only slightly amused, because although their family is huge and noisy, mine is way more ridiculous. My family consists of three daughters (me being the youngest), a mother and a father who live to hate each other, and an adorable miniature poodle name lily (who also goes by the names of “nini”, “noodles”, “chicken nugget”,“rottenteeth”, and “smelly”).(Actually she has many more names; I usually make a new one up every time I see her. She must be entirely confused.) Anyways, to show you a glimpse of my family, I will portray the last conversation we had. I will do this in script form, in case you would like to reenact it with your friends. (I don’t know why you would do this, but who am I to say what you can and cannot do in your spare time.)

To protect their identities, I have changed the names of my family members. I will refer to my mom and dad as “mom” and “dad”. My oldest sister shall be called “Oldie”. My other sister shall be called “Raging Bitch.” My poodle will have a different name depending on who is talking to her; this might seem confusing, but I’m sure you can figure it out.

*note: to help you understand this, I shall provide you with ages of my family members. Mom-50, Dad-56, Sisters-29, 25, Dog-7

Scene: Kitchen Table

Mom and Dad have just gotten home from Boston, as they were at my 81 year old second cousin’s wedding. My Dad is outside trying to fix the pool filter because he asked me to clean out the leaves every day while they were gone and I forgot. Unlike him, my list of “fun things to do” does not include cleaning the pool. Oldie is sucking down a bottle of wine preparing for what she knows is about to take place, and Raging Bitch is stuffing her face with cold pasta whilst wearing biker shorts, leopard print ballet flats,  and a shirt that says “talk nerdy to me.” She doesn’t do anything remotely athletic by the way. She wears biker shorts for funzies.

Mom: “Oh no! I left my jacket on the plane!”

Me: “Sucks for you!”

Oldie: “Here we go…” She poors another glass of wine.

Mom : “Why is the kitchen so dirty!? I gave you a thirty minute warning call! I told you to have it cleaned up by the time we got home from the airport! Why are there shoes here!? Did you go to the grocery store!? There is no toilet paper in this god damn house! RAWR RAWR RAWR RAWR. What were you doing when I called and told you to clean this house up!?”

Me: “I uh..sdhfjsa…?”

Mom: “GOD DAMMIT I LEFT MY JACKET ON THE PLANE!!!!!!!!!”

Raging Bitch: “It’s all claire’s fault! She doesn’t do anything and I have to do everything!! WAHHH. Also she broke your favorite glass last week and she doesn’t push in the bathroom drawer and I hurt my leg all the time WAHHHHH!!! She continues to list every bad thing I’ve done over the past 17 years.

Me: “Please change your outfit, Raging Bitch. It’s making me uncomfortable.”

At this point I pick up baddywaddydongdong and tango with her to the beat of “Makes Me Wonder” by Maroon Five, which is playing in the kitchen.

Enter dad from outside.

Mom:  (to dad) “I left my coat on the plannnnnnnnnnnneeeeeeeee. Why didn’t you grab ittttttttttt.”

Dad: ignores mom. “claire, what the hell. why didn’t you clean the pool filter!?”

Me: “I forgot. I was too busy volunteering  and donating blood and studying for my AP classes…”

Dad: “Whatever.”

Raging Bitch: “claire didn’t clean the kitchen! WAHHHHHHH.” She starts picking her nose and then burps loudly.

Dad: “Who’s underwear is hanging on the lamp? “

Me: “Oh yeah I forgot about those…”

Raging Bitch: “claire IS SO FUCKING LAZY WAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!” She turns to the dog. “Come here needles! I need to pick out your eye boogers!”

Me: “no I’m not you fucking bitch. go fuck your biker shorts.”

Mom: “STOP THE FUCKING”

Me: “Hehehehe”

dad hands me the underwear and I put it on my head just cuz.

Mom: “I LEFT MY JACKET ON THE PLANE.”

Oldie puts on a Wicked CD and starts dramatically singing to show tunes. Mom starts to sing along, and so does Raging Bitch. Before we know it everyone is dancing to Girl Talk and Raging Bitch is wearing my mom’s wedding dress. Oldie pretends she is teaching a dance class and shouts “and one two three four to the left two three four and spin pop your hip and turn!” My mother pretends to follow along but has the dancing abilities of a retarded person and fails. I sit in the corner and braid Chilidog’s hair and she licks my nose and then sneezes right in my face. I am mad for a second but then I secretly wipe Raging Bitch’s phone on Boggalodoog’s asshole and it make me feel better.

I wake up the next morning with underwear on my head. I go downstairs to make some coffee and mom has left me a note that says “Left my jacket on the airplane last night…L. Have a good day at school!” Raging Bitch is at the kitchen table, sniffing her phone.

Raging Bitch: “Why does my phone smell like shit…?”

AND SCENE!

Process Essay (or...How to Bull Shit an Essay)

When will English Teacher learn not to assign such generic essays!? Honestly, she should have seen this one coming from me...


Prompt: Write a Process Essay/Analysis explaining how to do something.

Ex: celebrate a birthday, wedding, holiday, etc., how to make a good impression, how to study for an exam, play a sport, instument, etc.

How to Time Travel

by claire

          As a human, you are bound to make a decision at some point in your life which you will regret. Maybe you will say something you wish you hadn’t, or maybe you will do something that you shouldn’t have done. It seems you could amend your regret by simply re-making the decisions that caused you problems. The idea of time travel has been around for ages, surrounded by perplexing theories of the space-time continuum and twisted paradoxes of physics.Time travel is a fathomable idea with completely unfathomable explanations and an innumerable amount of possibilities. Some say it is impossible, and some say even the thought will end with wary consequences. Yet, the unexplainable seems to occur every day. So if you were ever desperate enough to attempt the cabalistic feat of time travel, the limitless capability of human creativity suggests there are many ways in which to do so. In order to change positions on the earth-space timeline, one must use a "doorway", or some sort of tangible oject for transport. The four main methods of time travel include passage by vessel, portal, magical necklace, and mailbox.

            Passage by vessel, or so called "time machine", seems the most common route to alternate dimensions of time. Although it is highly unlikely he will be around, Dr. Emmett Brown of Hill Valley, California might be able to help you. A passionate “student of all sciences” and inventor of the Flux Capacitor, Doc. Brown created the first time machine out of sports car, named  The DeLorean,  in 1985. With an ample supply of plutonium and speeds reaching exactly eighty-eight miles per hour, the DeLorean is a sure-fire way to time travel.  In order to use this method of wayfaring, you must first find the DeLorean; this presents quite a challenge. Because it is a time traveling vehicle, it could be anywhere on the timeline of human history, from the past, to the future. The only way to find it, it seems, would be to search the planet aimlessly for the rest your life, in hopes that one day you will stumble upon its return to the present.   You could instead try to find Doc. Brown himself, but this might present a challenge as well. Born in 1914, Doctor Emmett Brown would today be close to one hundred years old. Based on this fact he could be dead. If laws of aging do not apply when traveling time, he could still be very much alive and well; in fact, probability would point to the location of the DeLorean and Doc. Brown to be the same. Although finding the Doctor and his time machine seems like a longshot, it still presents itself as a viable option. If you do in fact find yourself in the midst of such vessel, simply sit in the driver’s seat, type into the keypad the date and time to which you would like to travel, and gun it to eighty-eight.

            Time travel by portal is another very common route to alternate dimensions, including those of magical worlds, proxy universes, and of course, time. Although portals can vary by size and location, those commonly associated with time travel disguise themselves in the pleasurable currents of hot tubs. It is very rare to find a hot tub time machine, though it is said that if a certain powerful, illegal Russian energy drink spills on the hot tub controls when you are not paying attention, the reaction between the electricity and probably lethal chemicals rips a hole in the time-space continuum. Therefore, when you enter the hot tub to soak in its warm, bubbly goodness you are inadvertently thrust into an alternate dimension. Unlike with vessels, time travel by portal is more arbitrary; you do not necessarily have a choice in your destination. In most cases, you are sent to the past. Usually, you will end up at a significant time in your life, for example the day you met your spouse. When venturing into the past, it is important to make decisions carefully, for any number of instances can change the outcome of your future.

            Schools of witchcraft and wizardry are well hidden and extremely hard to come by, but if you ever find yourself within the walls of one, pay a visit to the Headmaster.  If all goes well, a small device called a time turner could be yours. A time turner looks like a small stopwatch on a gold chain, and they are very hard to come by. You must be in the in the best graces of the Headmaster to get one, so I recommend having delicious cookies on hand. By wearing the necklace when you turn the clock, you are able to stay in your current state of time while everything else around you rewinds or fast forwards. It is especially important to steer clear of your “other self”, as confrontation will have detrimental effects.

            If you ever come upon an abandoned lake house, you should check the mailbox. If you are lucky, the mailbox will be a passage to the future or past, depending on your relative whereabouts on the earth-space timeline. Although you will not be able to physically fit through the mailbox, you will be able to write letters in hopes that someone on “the other side” will read them. This is not as fun as the other time traveling methods, but it has its benefits.

            The idea of time travelling is still very enigmatic and uncontrolled. One must be careful when messing with time, because the effects are unknown and could be detrimental. Though the main methods of time travel include vessels, portals, magical necklaces, and mailboxes, there are many others, some still undiscovered. The chance to travel time is extraordinarily rare, for now at least. If you ever get the chance, use it wisely. And if you ever do go back in time, do me a favor and tell “past me” to stop watching TV and to start studying for the SAT’s .



(P.S. I know this was a long one, so to thank you for your perserverence I will leave you with this...)