25 June 2004

It was our usual weekday morning of bore-your-socks-off school assembly with one integral difference – GUYS. (Be still, my beating heart.) But haste, before we got a chance to wallow in our sudden good fortune we realised that the happy little group of blazer-wearing members of the opposite sex sitting in the front row were choirboys. I soon discovered that that did not deter some of our more… how shall I say it, hormonal counterparts from checking them out. Although there wasn’t anything there to check out. Naturally. (I’m sorry, but choirboys? The stigma alone would be enough to kill off any potential hotness.) So before they even opened their mouths there was already an air of barely suppressed laughter circulating through the hall. You have to hand it to them though, sitting smack-bang in the front of a crowd of a thousand-odd staring girls wouldn’t have been comfortable at the best of times.

When they got u on the stage a guy I presumed was the head choirboy announced that the two songs they would be singing for us today were – and I kid you not – Boyz II Men’s “I Swear” and “I Feel the Earth Move (Under My Feet)”.

And oh my god, the poor things. As soon as they lapsed into an almost spot-on but slightly more masculine imitation of boy-band harmony everyone was cacking themselves. And the lyrics! It was like the worst song of cheesy pick-up lines that you could possibly sing if you did not wish to be ridiculed off the stage. At that point my features were frozen into a mask of incredulous horror as line after line of “I swear by the moon and the stars in the sky” floated by my head. The singing was okay, though nothing to write home about, but the song itself… I never thought it would be possible for a song to be as dreadfully corny as it was. But alas, the boys had not finished utterly humiliating themselves. No, ladies and gentlemen – it was time for “I Feel the Earth Move”.

With actions.

At first it sounded like minor-key funeral march music and we were all like, what the hell? And then…

“I feel the Earth, *CLICK* move, *CLICK* UNDER MY FEET!” AND then they started clapping like a black gospel choir AND then they did the grapevine AND the spirit fingers AND the Broadway end-of-show arm spread AND the hand on beating heart AND the John Travolta Saturday Night Fever AND the spins AND the finger clicking. I could feel my face slowly going red as I furiously struggled with the effort of keeping my features straight and snorts of mirth from escaping. People all around me were laughing openly. I turned around and caught the eye of JV and I just burst out laughing and couldn’t stop. Meanwhile the poor chaps on the stage looked absolutely miserable in comparison with their “gay and sprightly” actions. I couldn’t blame them; I would have too in their shoes. It was like the time last year when one song called for us to make idiotic echoey noises and beat our mouths like Indians. But ten times more mortifying. I felt so embarrassed on their behalf. But hell, it sure did make my day.

Posted By Little Miss Nobody//5:48 pm

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11 June 2004

I. Am so. Fucking. Pissed off. I’ve been trying to run this exercise program for some extension thing at school with JV and neither of us have optimum organization skills so we basically started our first session off the top of our heads. It is really fucking stressful trying to get twenty people changed and into one room at the same time, on schedule and with enthusiasm switched on, while there are fifty million other girls swarming around us getting ready for netball or whatever, especially when your partner’s trying to see how high she can jump against the wall and is making no effort whatsoever to help out. On top of that JV was the one who was supposed to finish writing up the survey that she had managed to lose at school at the last minute when we really needed them printed out but no, she had to study for English and what was she doing all the nights before the test?

And them M comes along in her “sullen mood” like I’m about to sell her into slave labour or something, and stands just outside of the door with her arms crossed over her chest and a smirk on her face even after I’ve asked her about five times – nicely – to please go into the room and wait with the rest of the participants. Might I remind you that all the people involved signed up for the program voluntarily? So when I finally get everyone into the room and listening to the two of us she saunters out of the room, ignoring me when I call after her. That was the fucking last straw. I’m stressed enough as it is without someone with an attitude problem walking off whenever she feels like it! Let HER try to organise a fucking exercise program with people giving her crap and wandering away every other minute! Bully for M if she wants to have her hormonal/attitudinal/whatever moods in her spare time. Fine by me. Just… whatever. Hell, she can moody the ass off everyone around her if she feels like it. JUST NOT WHEN WE’RE TRYING TO RUN AN EXERCISE PROGRAM.

So I chucked a massive wobbly (and fell just short of banging my head against the wall and throwing a full-blown tantrum). When she came back about ten minutes later and everyone was already running around and stuff I shot her a dirty look and ignored her. The hell I was going to take her back after that! Thank-you very much, but we won’t be requiring your services any longer.

She deserved it.

Posted By Little Miss Nobody//6:16 am

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5 June 2004

Big scary maths exam this morning. I got a nice long sleep-in though, and it was totally worth it walking past all the poor suckers stuck in chapel while we arrived at school 45 minutes later than normal. It wasn’t actually that bad or intimidating, I wasn’t as nervous as I expected to be, mainly because there were about a million typos and wonky details on every page. Looks like someone didn’t bother to read over the final draft…

My brain was entirely frazzled by lunchtime so I guess it was lucky that our community service session had been cancelled due to a bad bout of gastro at the nursing home. We ended up doing mindless detention work folding poncy school prospectuses… prospecti… bloody hell, what IS the plural of prospectus?! Ah, the countless joys of private school child labour.

Posted By Little Miss Nobody//7:34 am

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1 June 2004

In yet another pointless history class today. Learning all the same crap about aborigines and white settlement and other boring old lameass Australian history that we’ve been fed since our ages were in the single digits. We were watching a film, which I guess doesn’t make it that bad, though quite frankly the idea of twenty-odd girls in a darkened classroom watching Mel Gibson cavorting around underwater with his unclothed counterparts while getting shot at is very disturbing. (You’ve really gotta wonder about our curriculum sometimes.)

So Mr Historydude has wandered out of the classroom and had absentmindedly placed a half-eaten apple on a random desk. Morgan sits down, and seeing the browning apple, chucks it in the bin. Historydude comes back and he’s like oh no, where’s my apple? Morgan’s like whoops, I thought you’d finished eating it already so I threw it out. He’s like no, I haven’t finished with it yet! You shouldn’t have thrown it out! So Morgan goes over and sticks her head over the bin and she’s like, I swear, I can’t see it Historydude, I don’t know where it’s gone. Then Historydude goes over to where she’s peering into the garbage, physically lifts the bag out of the bin and starts rooting around in it to find his apple. He’s like aha! I’ve found it! At which point everyone is staring at him incredulously and Morgan goes, Historydude, you’re not seriously going to eat that, are you? And he’s like yeah of course I am, and he goes outside to wash it off – and resumes eating it.

Why is everyone I know completely psycho?

Posted By Little Miss Nobody//4:14 pm

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