"'Tis better to have loved and lost,
than never have loved at all"
Was writ by this earth's only man
Who never loved at all.

But those who once mislaid their heart
And dearly felt its cost
Know all too well their preference
To forget love's labour lost.

Killing time while half the world is pep-rallying.  I lost the original version, si malheureusement, so this is.... Well.... The substitute version.

Anyways.  I really have nothing to say, aside from broadcasting my extreme boredom.  This will probably be subject to my words once again at lunch.  Blah.  Fie.

So I finally finished those blasted essays and submitted them to GWU.  I should be excited, but my stomach has instead turned leaden, and I'm basically just waiting for a letter of denial that I'm sure must come.  (Though if they do, I am STILL applying for semester transfer if relegated to MTSU.  Try to get rid of me so easily, will you?  Ah-haaaa, but look!  I can be annoying until you finally break and let me in!  Take that, O Foul Admissions Office!)

I've asked people to pray for dinky little roles in community theatre, for ailing family members, and I beseech you again to whisper a small appeal to your higher deity of choice that this works out.

So three people in European History got into a fight over a novel titled I, Lucifer.  Katy and I pretty well took out the owner of said book (sorry, Daniel), and as for the two of us.... Well.... Let's just say she has the book now.  *Shifty Eyes*  But this will change tomorrow, oh yes, this will change tomorrow.

"Wait, but that's my book!!"
"Irrelevent!!!!"

My French IV class is crazy.

Like, extra-crazy.

Like gang-up-on-Kelly-and-get-her-nominated-for-homecoming-queen-extra-crazy.

But strangely enough, they're really sweet, too.  You kids are lucky you have that going for you.  ;-)  :-P  I still maintain that it's Molly's in the bag, and nothing you can say will dissuade me from this fact.

Anyway.  We taught aerials in swing today -- well, an aerial.  The Cable Car (a.k.a. "Side-Side-Centre-Up-Whoops-Ceiling").  It went pretty well.  Mrs. Kennedy has returned from the great beyond, which is definitely excellent because now we can plan bake sale stuff for fundraising for our way-awesome dance in the spring.  I felt so lost without her.  It made me so unimaginably happy that the kids were just so excited to learn a move I love: the Swivel.  And it's not even a flashy stunt, or anything!  It's just pretty dang cute.  Swing Club will probably be the biggest thing I'm going to miss about high school.

I'm hungry.  GWU essays will be turned in by 11:00 tonight or I'm going to slit my wrists and resign myself to a life of burger-flipping.  Provided the aforementioned suicide attempt doesn't work, anyway.  That first sentence is apropo of absolutely nothing and has no bearing on the paragraph it begins.

I'm twisted.  Word to thy mother.

Pony Club meeting tonight.  Someone come save me.  If not, it's an evening of locking myself upstairs and hugging the computer monitor.  Do not condemn me to this fate -slash- go gently into that good night!  (Old age should burn and rave at close of day.  Rage, rage against the dying of the light.  Or the machine.  They're really not too picky.)

QUICK!  ART STUDENTS/THOSE WITH A REALLY GOOD EYE FOR COLOUR!!!!  What goes with pale yellow that doesn't make the combination too sugary??

So my essays for GWU are complete.  Not finished mind you, but complete.  I just have to trim the first one down and flatter them insanely, and inflate the diction on the second.  Again, still having a passionate love-hate relationship with the thesaurus.  Gracious, I want to attend GWU so badly.  I *heart* D.C.

Whenever I come close to finding It, I run away.

Yeah, so I'm seriously contemplating extensions.  Not a waist-length platinum carpet, mind you, but something that touches the collarbone, or a little longer.  They would be ideal because I lack the patience to grow my hair out.  The intervening stages are too painful; I know because I've been trying for years, but then promptly get fed up after about 4 months and rush back to the scissors, crying, "Save me!"  But no, a weave would be so much easier.  And fun.  Yay!

I talk about the most infernally *bleeping* superficial things on this site.
I'm ashamed.  College and hair extensions.  What a mess I am.

But I'm not much for airing my emotional laundry because it places undue burden on others in the form of Unwanted Drivel-ly Gripings Nobody Wants to Hear.  Because really, the world has enough of its own problems, and who I am to exacerbate the situation?  Children are dying from AIDS and malnutrition simultaneously, and here I am angsty because I'm perpetually single.  Such a paradox.  I could be a Mexican girl sold into sexual slavery instead of agonising over applications.  I could be the man standing by the freeway holding a sign begging for money -- one who actually needs it.  I could be undergoing the last wave of chemotherapy as doctors and nurses whisper increasingly short life expectancies.  I could have been Sohane, a French Muslim burned to death by her boyfriend's enemy, because of something irritating her boyfriend had done.  I could be a member of the lowest Hindu caste -- the Untouchables -- doomed to a life of squalor in every incarnation after this miserable one by the riverside.  I could be the veteran rotting in a nursing home as Alzheimer's wipes away final memories of the family who left him there fifteen years ago.  Who's to say it won't be me the next go-round?  Who's to say it won't be you?

QUICK!  ART STUDENTS/THOSE WITH A REALLY GOOD EYE FOR COLOUR!!!!  What goes with pale yellow that doesn't make the combination too sugary??

Let's have a big "Ooh-rah" for Kelly's timing skills.  Such mastery of the art is derived from the following transaction:

"So how's your girlfriend liking college?"
"....We broke up today."

*Pounds head on keyboard*

Garg, I woke up waaaaaay too late today.  I need something productive to do.

I won an eBay auction.  Makes me happy, because auctions of any sort tend to scare me.  Just when some chick from Denmark realised that to cross my path meant certain death, a buyer from D.C. tries to snipe the highest bid.  Biatch, I don't think so.  Mwaha.  It was intense.  "SEVENTEEN SECOND LEFT!  NOOOO!!"  But, of course, victoire was acheived.

Pretty sure I want to try out hair extensions.  They just look like so much fun.  I'm not talking waist-length platinum carpet stuff, but maybe collar-bone length or a little beyond that.  Hm.  Ponder.

I shall now proceed to make an attempt at productivity.

::EDIT::  Mid-way through production, I have cultivated a very passionate love-hate relationship with Roget's International Thesaurus.  The vast array/quantity/amount of options both amazes and delights me, but dernit if I'll ever stand up straight again or see without the aid of industrial-strength bifocals due to my perusal of this tome.  It even has synonyms for 'varicose veins.'  Amazing.  And kind of disturbing.  I wonder what they are.  ::/EDIT::

I have "The Wheels on the Bus" stuck in my head, only I can't remember any of the other verses, so my mind looks pretty much like this:

'The wheels on the bus go 'round and 'round, 'round and 'round, 'round and 'round.  The wheels on the bus go 'round and 'round, aaaall over the town!  .............The wheels on the bus go 'round and 'round, 'round and 'round, 'round and 'round.  The wheels on the bus go 'round and 'round, aaaall over the town!  ........Dammit......... The wheels on the bus go 'round and 'round, 'round and 'round, 'round and 'round.  The wheels on the bus go 'round and 'round, aaaall over the town!  ...............The wheels on the bus go....'  Et cetera ad nauseum.
Bloody hell.

Well, the OHS vs. SHS game was certainly entertaining.  Imagine what it's like having one member of each school standing on either side of you, asking pointedly where you're going to sit.  Cripes!

Kelly (RHS): "Either way, one of you is going to kill me!"
Nemanja (OHS): "Don't worry, I won't kill you."
Brian (SHS): "I will...."

I just referred to myself in third person up there.  Scary.

So according to our illustrious Economics teacher, Earth is heading toward impending ecological DOOM, because the Asians are procreating (dammit, Frank).  This woman is paranoid.  Each day she has informed us of various disasters, stating that she has to do this 'by law.'  At least it'll keep things interesting.  If you call death predictions 'interesting,' anyway.  (Professor Trelawny, line one.)

The wheels on the bus go 'round and 'round....

A word in my defense.... Mother made me do it.
But I won't deny that it was fun.

SWING DANCING

When: This Saturday, January 7

Who: A special event with the Capitol Swing Big Band.

What: Group swing lessons (beginning and intermediate levels) are from 7:30-8:30, with dancing until 11:00.

Where: Living Word Community Church in Brentwood, TN

How much: $7.50, since they have live music.

How to get there: Get on I-65 South. Exit Old Hickory Boulevard (it will be the second exit option for that ramp; just take my word for it). Turn LEFT onto Franklin Road, which will be labelled as Franklin Pike. The church will be on your RIGHT, and is just before the 'Brentwood Country Club.' The gym (where the phenomenal dancing will be) is to the right and behind the main church building.

I'll be there, come hell or high water.  Will you?

This is just a bit of information I think needs to be posted:

As of right now....

USC: 10

Texas: 16

Read it and weep, Brian.

Oh, and everybody go friend Megan Woolfolk, because she's rad.

So I read a very disturbing, very strange, very good book.  It is titled The Dogs of Babel, and it's a grief novel like The Lovely Bones, which I have just started today instead of the two scenes from Hamlet I should be reading for Mrs. Wolff.  But I was saying.... Basically, a man's wife dies and  the only witness to her untimely demise is the dog, Lorelai.  So bereaved husband goes on sabbatical in order to teach the dog to talk, in order to find out the truth about his wife's death.  Was it suicide or something more?  Incongruencies lead him through the memories of courtship and marriage, and to a cult of amateur canine voicebox surgeons which was perhaps one of the most disturbing parts of the book.  I highly recommend this novel.  If bought I will probably never read it again, just place it on a shelf and look at it, remembering the story for myself.  Because I'm not sure I could read it again, the stuff is so heavy and strange.  But a grippingly good novel nonetheless.  Upon finishing it if I hadn't been in my second period class, I probably would have come as close to tears as I'm able.

Coupled with The Lovely Bones, I should be nicely suicidal in the next few days.  Keep me away from sharp objects.  Like my sword.  Whoops.  Heh-heh.  XD

Bloody hell.

I've lost two applications, one of which was supposed to be postmarked on Sunday.

Let's all stand solemnly now and acknowledge the fact that God hates Kelly.

So you kids who were at drama last night (all four of us, lol).... Don't think too horribly of me for the shoe comment.  Please?  It's not as bad as it sounds.  Looking back it probably wasn't the best tidbit to share, but since it's true I'm not exactly going to deny it happened.  Or something.  It's been bugging me since last night, and  everyone knows that mysterious posts about something only a small fraction of readers understand is the best cure for the soul.

Riiiiiiiiiiiight.

But it was the easiest way for me to address it.  So there!

Wahoo.  Je veux un express.  Deux espresses.  Peut-etre trois.  Trois cent!  *French Laugh*

Brian, your script is amazing.  *Hugs*  Arthur Miller got nothin', especially since he's dead.  (Apologies, Art.)  Although when I found out the brilliant author of The Crucible died, my initial reaction was more along the lines of "You mean he was still alive????"  And then sorrow.  But yeah, whatever.  People die; it's this thing that's been happening for a few years now.  I'm beginning to think that soon celebrities won't be entombed anymore.  They have so much collagen and silicone in 'em that they won't need to be preserved.  Christie's will just auction them off as artefacts for someone to put in the corner to scare intruders.  (Personally, I'd find them as better discipline tools.  "William, don't do that again, or Anna Nicole will come back!"  *Child weeps for fear of implants*)

Now that I've probably disturbed more people than previously thought possible (including myself), I shall proceed to run very quickly somewhere else and make an attempt at being productive.

Ciao!

I ripped off The Raven's rhyme scheme.
It's like plagiarism, but without legal implications.
It's not meant to sound goth.  Maybe Poe-ish.  Maybe it is goth.  I really don't want it to be.  There's no mention of slitting wrists or being (the most conforming ever) nonconformist, so I think I'm safe.

Even now the light is ending and I feel myself descending
To the bitterness unending, utter blackness at my core.
Desperately I light a candle, clinging to that radiant handle
But the metal left a brand I’ll never know the reason for.
Worry not, it’s mental war.

As I wend my way through traffic and my mind, while only half-sick,
Serves as no more than a barrack for my psychic, rambling drone.
I try to drown it out with singing but I can’t obscure the ringing
An obnoxious sort of pinging from a most pernicious phone
A single word, the word "alone."

And suddenly my mind’s spent and I barely feel my heart, wrent,
And just as quickly I will repent of the tears I’ve shed before.
At last I've put my thoughts down and I’ve made my way across town
Though I haven’t quiet dislodged the frown that ebbs against lips’ shores.
I have come back from the brink once more.

So yeah.  Happy 2006.  Rock on.  Party hard.  But not too hard.

The real reason I posted, though, was to mention my 10 o' clock curfew to the world.  ...........10:00 AM!  Mwahahahahahahaaaaa.  I am a degenerate of teenage society.  Fear me.

Don't drink and drive, kids.  I'll beat you up.
No, seriously.  Your nose will bleed.

What are your New Year's Resolutions?

Mine is to get into a good college or teach English abroad until I do.  Or die trying, one, but I'm really partial to the first option.  (Ha-haaaa, they won't get rid of my application so quickly!  I'll keep applying until they let me in out of desperation to never see my address as the source!!)  I find it highly irritating that today is the last day to postmark certain as-yet-unfinished applications, but since it's Sunday the mail of course does not run.  The ingrates.  And by "ingrates" I malign the postal service as a whole, not the deadlines per se.

OH!  WHO WANTS TO BUY GIRL SCOUT COOKIES?!
Do not succumb to the 'charming' smiles of Brownie Girl Scouts.  They will kill you given half a chance.

So an acquaintance of mine (and his band) is playing at the Boro tonight starting at 9:00.
Anyone who is either eighteen or knows where their back door is wanna come??   [Nevermind -- the event was cancelled.  They're at RCKTWN or however you spell it sans vowels.  I'm not about to drive through Nashville, so there.]

All dressed up and nowhere to go.

Angry Chihuahuas Attack Police Officer

Eep!  I went to a pro-anorexia site.  (Relax, it's just curiousity, and if I was serious do you really think I'd put it up here??)  That is some sick stuff they're pulling, seriously.  Above and beyond their striking resemblence to Holocaust victims.  There is a cult mentality which permeates "Ana's Underground Grotto" that steeps its power in a potent brew of belittling Pervy Hobbit-Fanciers and delusional statements.  Some of the highlights include, but are not limited to: excuses not to eat (and there are some very plausible ones), comparisons of foods with the least amount of calories (clear chicken broth is 20 calories per serving; bullion cubes a mere 5), comparisons to pork products in the live state, ravings on their "power" through the control exerted, and that the government is quashing pro-anorexia websites because they're afraid of what anorexics would do if word got out: taking over the government, etc.  The latter-most is a personal favourite.  What an utter disservice to the XX-chromosome sect.

So, without further ado, I'm off to dinner.  Ha!  Take that!

Phusebox is back!  It was really weird while the lovely blogging site was down, though.  Normally I have to make the rounds between my four internet homes (yes, four -- some people only have LiveJournal or MySpace), but then I would realise.... No, wait, that one's gone.  Temporarily.  Maybe it's what parents feel like when their offspring leave for college.

Speaking of college.... I finished my first essay.  I'm so proud.  Nine words below the maximum limit.  Go me.  Now I just have to correct my truly heinous grammatical errors.

Things are going to be intense until March 1.  Why, you might ask?  Macbeth auditions.  The play I'm already in.  SAT II in French and Literature the day before faire auditions.  Faire rehearsals.  Costume creation for faire.  Gold Award completion.  Hopefully auditions for NYU (just for fun).  And I know there's like one or two things I'm forgetting.  Eating isn't one of them.  Neither is sleep.  Hmmmm.
As I said -- holy highwaters, Batman.

So, um, a belated Joyeux Noël and all that jazz.
Happy New Year.
Gleeful Hannukah.
Etc.

What a God-forsaken mission THAT was.
We stood around in the theatre and handed out slips for some Narnia drawing-thing.  Prizes included soundtracks, t-shirts, and four tickets to the ice show at the GEC.  We were there from 11:00-4:00 with nary a chance to sit down or nourish our bodies.  Normally this would be only scarcely tolerable, but stick someone in a corset who only had 1/2-a-cup of coffee at 8:00 and it makes for one peril-laden drive to Murfreesboro.
((We kept most of the free ice-cream coupons for ourselves.  The ones we were supposed to be handing out to children.  XD))

And I want everyone to go out and buy the Hershey's chocolate-cherry-cordial-kiss-thingies right NOW.  Either try them and love them forever or give them to me.

Swing dancing soon.  Again.  Shall be most sorely sore tomorrow.

So yeah, if anyone wants to come to Regal Cinema at Opry Mills between 11:30 and 4:00 and hang out with a shivering peasant (that would be me) and be sent on missions to buy me hot chocolate (or coffee, mwaha) or just plain mock me in my mission, that'd be cool.  (For some reason people in Elizabethan garb is considered germane for The Chronicles of Narnia.  I don't know why.  It's not our job to ask those sort of questions, lol.)

Yeah... I guess I need to begin to get Peasant-ed Up.

I have Kelly Clarkson stuck in my head.  WHY, GOD?!  WHYYYY?!!!!  It started when the happy little environmental science final started, and.... And.... It won't stop.

Because of this, I'm feeling very forsaken.

Someone (who shall remain nameless) contact-mooned the next blank page in my science notebook.

How is it these things always manage to happen to me?
For some reason, multiple souls on this earth take delight in torturing my innocent self.

Kelly Clarkson, for example.
Gah.

I am about to head off to my French final.  The third final of the day.  It's a crime to have so many in one sitting.
Curse you, grammer, curse you.  *Shakes fist in ire*
Government was easy.
English ate my face.  We had to analyse a short story.  Unfortunately, I could not distract myself from how much I hate said story.  The narrator was childish, with a mind that was so simple I wanted to kill her.  It was a horrendous story none should be forced to read.  Most people wrote four pages of analysis.  It was all I could to to churn out one.  Yes, my face has been consumed.  But I'm not worried anymore because, you know, what can I do about it?  Nothing, and I accept that.

So I sort-of-not-so-accidentally ate baker's chocolate.  You know, those hulking squares that people melt down for fondues and fudge and stuff?
Oy.  I'm going to die.  *Blah*  That was a very, very bad idea on my part.

We need to party.  What's everyone doing Monday??

So.... I think I'm going to submit a poem (or two) as my essay to Columbia.  And then it's FINISHED!!  Party!!!
Debating whether I should post them (my 'essay') here or not.
Hm.
Decisions.

This is partially a legitimate response to their essay requirements, and partially desperation in response to said essay requirements.

-- NYU is almost finished.
-- George Washington University is almost finished.
-- I haven't even LOOKED at Boston College's yet (curses).  This is largely due to the technical difficulties visited on my computer by their website.
-- And University of Chicago is a real jerk in the essay department.  I mean really.  Chinese symbols?!  How is that germane???
-- But Chinese symbols aren't as lame as me having to send an MTSU transcript.... To MTSU.  *Slams head*

Caroline and Tori are watching Moby Dick downstairs.
It sounds quite painful.
Personally, I despise Melville.  "Inter-chapters" are a crock.  You just know that author was trying to beef up his page count and sound arcane.

Three finals tomorrow.  Government, English, and French.  Boo!  It's going to burn my poor little brain cells (however few I have).

Then dressing up in full peasant regalia to go stand outside a theatre and promote Narnia.  How Narnia and Elizabethan peasants/nobles relate, I have NO IDEA.  We just tend to ignore that part.  We're going to be outside, though.  Bloody hell.  The peasant costume was sewn for the exclusive purpose of aerating during the hot and muggy month of May, not for standing outside in December.  Gah.  Stupid nobles and their nice warm velvet.  *Glares*  Why can't peasants wear velvet?  Eh??  Instead of thin cotton, and linen, and cable ties from shoulders to waist.  At least I can pester all the lovely men who might wander by.  "Peasant free to a good home!  Automatically defrosts upon adoption!  One-time offer!  Rebate!  Coat -- ack!"

I've written enough unimportant things up here for one day.
Catch you kids later....