31 Aug 2004

Why I will never become a professional volleyballer: 

We're playing a nicely innocent -- and painful: do you know how much it canes when the extremely hard ball has been thwocking on the soft flesh of your forearm for the past two hours? -- mini-game of volleyball in gym class. I stand up to the line to serve. First serve goes ricocheting off the net and bouncing off into middle space. Second serve goes straight into the crotch of the male substitute teacher. He didn't much want to play after that.

29 Aug 2004

J is currently in negotiations in organising a date with Rudolph. The red-nosed reindeer. Yup, you heard me right. Hang on; I lied, she’s not going out with Rudolph. She’s going out with his mate. Don’t ask… but since you do, the guy in question has a very hippy-dippy mother who named him something scarily like one of Rudolph’s merry friends. Uh-huh, as in “there’s Comet and Cupid and Donner and Blitzen…” (Gee, I feel sorry for the guy when Christmas carols time rolls around.) But as I said to J myself, she should be glad it’s not Prancer. Aaaanyway, apparently she knew him from way back when and re-met him again through some mutual club or activity or something that they were both unknowingly involved in. It’s all been kind of sudden, she saw him over the weekend and he got her number through a friend. But she’s really happy, and I’m so glad she got over D, the player that he is.

Meanwhile, guess who Sarah saw on her train one morning? You guessed it, Xylophone Boy! Like omigod, he catches her train! But not all the time, it’s a bit weird with the guys who go to that guys’ school, they’re always taking public transport willy-nilly and never have a fixed timetable. So yeah, if she sees him again she promised me she’ll whip out her camera phone and take a picture while pretending to be sending an SMS or something. Okay, okay, I’m sad and I know it! Shaddup!

26 Aug 2004

I just don’t know. You remember how at the beginning of the year I was all, don’t label people because it’s cruel? Well yeah, I guess I’ve changed my mind. I think I’ve finally decided to accept the status quo. I have concluded that there are several girls who definitely deserve their labels of wannabe public school sluts. Heavy, heavy makeup, “bend over and I can see your lacy garter belt and underwear” length skirts and all. And the jocks certainly have their clique – which believe me, is extremely scary to walk through where they have permanently positioned themselves right in front of the stairwell everyone uses. The ESLs are the little groups of girls who spend all their time listening to Asian pop music featuring those freakish girly guys (who are TOTALLY different from pretty boys) and don’t speak a voluntary word of English. The geeks? Yeah, they would be the ones sitting in the front row of every class and studying three hours of maths every night. I mean, sure most of these people are totally nice and approachable when they’re by themselves, but united, everything’s different.

And you know what the scariest thing is? I’m beginning to think that Ditz isn’t so bad after all. I mean sure, she still comes up with the most ditzy Jessica Simpson-esque quotes ever, like in Geography – okay, just imagine her name really WAS Jessica Simpson – “if I got married, would my maiden name be Jessica, or would it be Simpson?” But I think she’s beginning to change her opinion on me too. Like lately, she’s actually talking to me, instead of just orbiting in an entirely different circle. If that’s not scary, then I don’t know what is. Perhaps she’s really not such a bad person. Of course she’s never going to become one of my actual friends, but hey, I think we’re all learning a little more tolerance towards each other.

The only thing I’m still not willing to accept is our group’s place in all this. Hell, I don’t even know what exactly my group IS. Swords are drawn and there are rifts beneath the current everywhere, and half the time everyone’s all hormonal and moody and no one knows what the hell’s going on with everyone else. But all that aside, I still can’t put myself in a box. I’m perfectly happy to label the rest of them, but I’m not going to stereotype myself.

Yeah, so I’m a hypocrite. What are you going to do about it?

21 Aug 2004

That was so bloody unfair!!! We had this LOTE reading competition at school today, and it was being held at our school. As the aforementioned foreign language is so obscure and small and basically no one takes it, all the schools in the state that have it as a subject congregated at our school for the competition. They had actual food too, not just the economy-sized cardboard crap that they usually feed us (disregarding our astronomical school fees) because of course we had guests. It’s like the whole philosophy of our school – the outside part, the part they take the people to see on the school tours, is all nice and newly refurbished and all, but once you get into the real functioning part of the school it’s just like oh. This place is craparse.

But anyway, the competition. Because there is such a shortage of decent teachers of the language around, they got some of the teachers from our school and the other schools to act as judges. Now last year there was this totally annoying girls’ school that pretty much scooped the pool, or at least got a sizable portion of the prizes, and there is this one particularly annoying prissy girl in our year level who won last year. So this year, I was determined to brush up my language skills, and work really hard to beat that stupid girl. So then we were all holding our collective breaths when the girl got up on the stage to do her reading – and guess what? She was nowhere near as good as she seemed last time. So we’re all sitting back, relaxed and waiting for the judges to take like half a bloody hour to decide on a result. And there we’re all thinking the field’s right open and it was totally unpredictable… and guess who won? THE STUPID PRISSY GIRL WHO WON THE YEAR BEFORE!!! And this is not just sour grapes because I didn’t win, but she wasn’t even that good! The students from the other year levels said so, our teachers said so, and practically everyone else I asked said so too! So why on earth did she win, you ask? Well, guess what school the same judge who had our year level for the last two consecutive years came from? PRISSY GIRL’S OWN BLOODY SCHOOL! And she said I was inconsistent in my pronunciation of vowels. What the fuck is that supposed to mean?! My own language teacher, who would have every reason to want me to do well, has never said a thing about my vowel pronunciation consistency! Anyway, Prissy Girl had heaps more noticeable ‘vowel inconsistencies’ than I ever had!

This is so unfair. She better not want to be our judge next year as well.

15 Aug 2004

Today we were all out of uniform for some program they’re making us do this year. Next term for a week they’re going to let us loose in the city. Like, without any adult supervision. During school hours. In our school dresses, for god’s sake! Which apparently will make us safer in a crowd (oh yes, I can totally see the next J.K. Rowling masterpiece – Harry Potter and the Magical School Uniforms) but ummm? Not only will all everyone think there is a mass influx of kids wagging, which will reflect REALLY badly on the school, but groups of hapless-looking schoolgirls in ultra-short skirts and knee-high socks wandering around? Hellooooo, paedophiles! So it’s just like they’re going, um, yes, all, of you, go into the city. For a week. And make up your own research projects. And, um… organise it all yourselves. If you ask me, they’re just begging for trouble. (Slackarses!)

But yeah, I was talking about us being out of uniform, right? So we’re having a whole year level meeting in the gym because all the other meeting rooms were taken and there are no chairs so we all had to sit on the floor. I’ve just sat down, and Katie’s absolutely cacking herself next to me. She whispers, look at the girls in front of you. I look straight ahead and there’s no one in my line of vision so I’m like, what? She goes, no, to your right a little. And sitting there, totally oblivious, are two girls with the waists of their hipster jeans halfway down to the floor. On one girl, you could see about two and a half inches of her bright pink knickers, while on the other one you could fully see a flabby expanse of arse. Oh god, it was so wrong! Then I looked around the room and had the misfortune of seeing very very much of the same. Seriously, so much crack should not be seen west of Columbia! Someone ought to have whipped out their camera phone and taken a picture, then hung it on a “who’s been flashing their arse” wall of shame. These girls really need to see how terrible it all is for those of us who have to see it. I’m sorry, but no matter how fashionable low-riding pants are right now, lily-white butt crack is never a good look.

10 Aug 2004

I have truly begun to appreciate the artistic genius of Darren Hayes.

Witness example one: “I’m willing to sleep my way to the top, I wanna be POP!… pular…”

Okay, so maybe I don’t PERSONALLY want to sleep my way to the top (although if pressed I can probably think of a surprising number of our sluttier classmates who would), but so goes the lyrics of the new Darren Hayes song that has been sneakily pervading the charts in the last few weeks. When it first came out I was really surprised at the turn that good old Dazza has taken since the dispersion of Savage Garden. Because the Garden was really good, their early songs had some of the tunes that defined the pop music of the nineties. Well anyway, anyone with half a brain and half a sense of decency would think that the message of the POP!pular song is a little doubtful – so you can’t blame me either for thinking that poor Darren has lost all the artistic integrity he has ever had. But then I’m walking down the corridor just after sixth period and I hear a (very bad) rendition of the song from a girl from one of the many ditz/jock subgroups. And then I think ahhhh… and I realised that the song isn’t purely Darren Hayes warbling earnestly away at his desperation to make it big after all, but an ironically satirical observation on the pop culture society today. And when you have teenage girls singing it in school corridors with all innocence (well, with all the innocence one can still manage to retain while singing about sleeping their way to the top), then you know you have succeeded. Because in this day and age, something like that is just about the most subversive act of rebellion anyone can do.

6 Aug 2004

Okay. So perhaps I’m wrong about N’s hormones not yet taking effect. I think perhaps the problem may be that all the guys she knows who are our age are either immature, freakish, ugly, or a combination of all three, (though it’s true, it’s damn difficult to find a decent guy our age…) so she has been majorly put off the male species altogether. (Excluding the mysterious family friend J, a remnant of her halcyon tomboy days, who has re-emerged into her life after god knows how many years and whom she claims she has no feelings for but then proceeds to go on about how she “couldn’t wait to hear his voice again” and crushed the controller stick of her $500 minidisc player while closing the car door in her haste to get out of the car to see him. Sometimes, you’ve just gotta worry about N.) But anyway.

What was I on about? Oh yes, proof that N’s hormones aren’t entirely redundant. This is about the concert again. During the course of our collaboration with the guys’ school N developed a thing for Elbow Guy. (Hang on a minute; I’m getting there…) We’re sitting in the back seats during the day rehearsal because we had about another hour before it was time for us to come one, and we’re watching the orchestra perform. And then N’s like, oh my god, check out the first violinist! Look how musical his elbow is! And the rest of us are like what the fuck, N? And she’s like no, look how he holds his violin slightly to the side and how relaxed his arm is! That’s the mark of a truly great violin player. So she’s just raving about this random guy’s elbow and we’re all beginning to wonder if she has gone completely deranged. Then at the actual performance on the night where we’re on stage behind the orchestra N stands there ogling him and afterwards she’s like, wow, he is so cool! (And to get N’s approval is no mean feat seeing as she is extremely picky and has very high standards. Elbow Guy is like the epitome of the sensitive, intelligent, artistic prodigy type. Stick him in a tux with a violin and he’d look right at home in a big fancy hall playing a Beethoven sonata or something.) Then she proceeds to minutely detail his entire sequence of action in getting the orchestra to tune up to make it look like they’re actually doing something while waiting for our daft conductor to come onto the stage. I wouldn’t have gone for him myself, but he was so N’s kind of guy.

Speaking of which I so should have orchestrated a conversation with Xylophone Boy a.k.a. Little Drummer Boy! (Although I much rather Xylophone Boy than Drummer Boy – it has such a nicer ring to it, don’t you think? And besides, J totally grossed me out with the very wrong connotations of the Little Drummer Boy song – “COME… they called me…” Like, ewwww! But moving on.) Oh fudgeboudit, and I devised such a good plan too! It came to me while we were in the car after the concert, driving home. Ohhhh yeah, great timing, brain. What I should’ve done was accidentally-on-purpose bumped into him at the day rehearsal. As in quite literally, BUMP into him. Not too hard of course, I wouldn’t want to break his nose or seem like a total unco freak, but just a noticeable brush. Enough to warrant an, “Omigod, I’m so sorry!” followed by a remorseful expression and lots of eyelash fluttering. Then during the interval at the concert I’d bump into him again, and say something along the lines of, “Whoops, sorry! I keep bumping into you! Ergh, God I’m so unco.” And if he just walked away after the first ‘sorry’ I could do it again. And there’d be no escaping me! Mwahaha! Ahem… ooookay… So then I’d look in the other direction (preferably he’d be standing still and not walking away), then hesitate, turn around and say, “Hey, you were playing the drums, right?” And then if he was polite he’d go yes, and then I’ll say, “You’re really good,” and then smile and nod and perhaps if he was REALLY sweet he would say thanks and smile back. And then I’d say, “I’m in the choir… by the way my name’s…” insert my name here which I am still not going to tell you, and if he was really REALLY sweet he’d tell me his name and it’d all be cool. Damn, it would’ve worked a treat. If only my brain wasn’t so SLOW sometimes…

4 Aug 2004

So we had the music concert with the guys last night. It went on so late though; I only got home at like quarter to twelve and finally got to sleep at half past. Thank god I didn’t have to wake up early for school today, I got a nice long lazy sleep-in. Even though my internal body clock and those damn pigeons residing on the roof outside my room woke me up with their insane cooing about ten minutes after I usually get up on weekdays. Which totally sucks. Learn how to live with your roommates, people! But anyway. That’s another story.

I went on several massive highs and just as many exhausted lows. During interval I was looking over the balcony at all the little people beneath (Simpsons quote: “Those people down there look like ants! Wait a minute, they ARE ants!”) and thinking how goddamn tempting it was to spit over the edge. (“100 points if you hit the bald guy on the head!”) I think it was the combination of being around so much testosterone and the fact that I have been acting sensible for way too long that made me go a little psycho. I just wanted a chance to be juvenile and immature! Of course my strait-laced friends were all like, don’t do it, that’s disgusting! So I compromised and waited until everyone had left before I actually did it. It was such an anticlimax though, just standing there watching the gobs of spit slowly fall to the carpet below. Yeah, I think I definitely went a bit psycho there…

We have decided that Hot Dude is probably a dickhead. This is due to the fact that he spent most of the night AND the day rehearsal madly flirting with DL despite the fact that he is in no way single (someone that hot cannot possibly be unattached – anyway, I overheard his friends mention a girlfriend trying to call him) and neither is she. I suppose some of the blame should be apportioned to her, as the cradle-snatching DL is a total slut and apparently got with three different guys at the school musical’s afterparty this year. And she’s leading him on too; I overheard her saying that she would never go out with someone who’s such a shortarse. Seriously though, jealousy aside, I don’t know what he sees in someone like her. But damn. I knew it was too good to be true – ‘the beautiful people’ can’t be smart and athletic and have great personalities as well. It’s the law of physics! It simply can’t be done! If it happened then the sky would fall down and the world would explode! I should have guessed anyway, coz no offence or anything, but the whole choirboy thang was a dead giveaway.

I spent most of the evening perving on Xylophone Boy (who I have decided to also christen The Percussionist or Little Drummer Boy, minus the ‘little’ part, because little he ain’t unless you’re talking about how he looks adorably like he hasn’t hit puberty yet) who is so bloody hot!!! He’s in the stage band – on the (really really funky shiny and red) drums – that by the way played the most gorgeous little jazz piece complete with happy solos, especially one on the drums (!), and a big frenetic finale that made me want to get up and do the jitterbug or something. I really admire people who can play the drums really well, because not only do you have to be über-coordinated but it also takes a hell of a lot of finesse to make the sound blend in with the rest of the music. Coz when you have people play inexpertly on the drums it just sounds harsh and overpowering and that is so not the sound you want. But he was really, really good on the drums. Like, he was the school’s star drum player or something, because he was an integral part of just about every ensemble that required a percussion instrument. Not to mention drool-worthily cute. And tall. And smart, because it’s one of the schools where you have to have a prerequisite amount of intelligence to get in. M-I-G-H-T-Y fiiiine. Aaargh! He is sooo eligible! It’s not fair!!! I mean, right now he is cute (as in pretty, oh so pretty, oh so pretty) but in about three years times he is going to be HHHOT. And then he’ll most likely get a grotesquely swollen ego from being constantly surrounded by swooning and/or preening girls à la the Hot Dude. As you do. And what a pity that would be. But oh well. One day, when I get rich and famous, I will (hopefully) have my share of the pretty boys…


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