Quickie.

This has been my drawing weekend, for the most part, because I've been working on the past two days of a picture of Little Simon as a girl. It's not entirely finished yet because he won't reply to me to tell my what his eye colour is, gah., but it's coming out fairly well, which is really exciting since I don't draw too often anymore. However, I am somewhat concerned by how a lot of my recent drawings have to do with crossdressers or genderbending. Gooooo Rule 63!

I also discovered over the course of the last week that people will pay more attention to you if you're trying to eat barbecued chicken during the middle of class. And then sometimes you have to give your other chicken leg to the funny ROTC boy who keeps staring at it. I don't know even know why; I'm not really even into ROTC boys usually... Ah well. Maybe Matt just deserves some chicken.

HEY JESUS!

..... I hate you.

Okay continue laughing at my pathetic little life now. I just wanted to properly acknowledge your presence.

Cyberbullying and Some Angst Regarding the Silent Treatment.

Augh. Has somebody coined the term "second semester blues" yet? I'm becoming rather suspicious about this, because second semester last year was also quite a drag... I blame Honors classes. SO. MUCH. It's only a week in, and I feel like I have no other life! And once I'm frustrated with one thing, everything else becomes much more frustrating and it goes on and on and on.

There was an assembly today during Links regarding cyberbullying and how to prevent it. Now, because a friend of mine, and fairly recognizable figure throughout my grade, was suspended about a week ago, and he has been harassed all throughout high school, I know a lot of people were angered by the hypocrisy within the assembly. We're supposed to report bullying that goes on, directed at us or not, and what happens when we do? "Avoid them." In some cases, that's really just not enough. It wasn't for Zach, anyway. Sometimes it feels like the homophobia is around every corner. I'm not a lesbian, but I've seen the hate speech around. Diva or not, it's not something he deserves to be harassed for. Apparently the Advanced Drama class discussed it during 4th period, right afterward, and were fairly frustrated by the amount of homophobia, racism, and mental-disorder-related bullying here. I'm not in that class, but some approaches to the matter have been brought up.

I, on the other hand, have been looking inwardly and yelling at myself for my own hypocrisy. It's not necessarily cyberbullying, but I am a horribly feisty person and lately have noticed that the people I used to be close to hate me now, or at least are becoming rather distant. Some I don't care too much about, but in a bout of intense frustration, I called Simon earlier tonight to apologize. I left him a short voicemail message (and possibly screwed myself over by mentioning that I don't expect forgiveness? Fawk.), but I doubt he listened to it. If he did, I doubt he cares. I don't expect, or really deserve forgiveness. But not being acknowledged kind of just pisses me off. He probably thinks I want something out of him. But he should also know by now that I never know what I want. That's what got us into this latest mess in the first place!!

I don't know how to fix the pain I've caused him. I don't know if I can. For all I know, even if we do begin speaking again, it'll just be the next cycle of the never ending process of us being friends, then friends with a lot of sexual tension, then hating each other because we can't deal with each other's issues. Blaaaaah I need tissues for my issues, along with some sleep.

In a state of super-duper turmoil,
Andrea! <3

Semi-Surviving.

So I survived, as shown above, the first three days of second semester, despite the sudden onslaught of homework, massive English class divided very frustratingly in its work ethic, and the utter lack of cute boys. I'm not going to say it's Hell or prison or anything like that. I'm not that typical. But I really can't say I'm feelin' this semester yet. I guess we'll see!

I also survived Ali's birthday party yesterday. Ali said she was so proud of me for not killing anybody. Two of the three people who despise me weren't there, as after inviting them, they assisted in pulling some crap which neither of us appreciated, but Simon was still there. I nearly lost it once, so I kinda went and bummed around in Ali's room for a couple minutes. I don't know. He and I are both kind of attention whores, but he still has the more powerful presence and it tends to piss me off. I had to come back before anybody came to retrieve me, though. Plus we were playing this game (link for rules that I'm too incomprehensible to explain. Our game was a little different, though. We didn't use sentences; we took random words and phrases), and it's far too hilarious a game to pass up.

The eleven of us (Simon, Little Simon who we speculate wants in Ali's pants, nice guy though, Ella, David, T, Ashli, Stephanie, Erin, and Ali's mom, Ali, and I) all seem to have rather odd imaginations and/or drawing skills that render all shapes ambiguous, so most everything became pretty convoluted by the end of the night. We managed to avoid a lot of perversion (minus a man with an elephant trunk for a penis, Ali's magnificent butt, and the implications of putting an Asian schoolgirl and an octopus together, amongst other things), though. "A classy velociraptor" somehow became "milkstache," though. I credit this to Ali's mother's velociraptor-drawing skills.

Overall, everything went well (even if my pride went down the drain realizing that Simon and Simon have better Just Dance skills than I do), and I'm sure we're all relieved. I spent the night there, along with Ella, and didn't realize beforehand that I ought to bring clothes, so now Ali's Tom Brady jersey is at my house... If they won, then I'm going to pretend to be a fan right now. There's stuff relating to the playoff's everywhere, and frankly, I could care less.

Okay I can't deny my hunger any longer. I need food,
Andrea! <3

Second Semester Worries.

Oh my God. First semester. JDJDSLKSAFLKJSD WHERE AM I WITHOUT YOUUUUUUUUUU. I'm not so sure about the upcoming semester. It has the potential to be fairly awesome, but it also has to potential to suuuuuuuuuck epic cheeseballs, and I'm not feeling too optimistic so far. This is my schedule:





1st period: US History Honors
2nd period: English 10 Honors
3rd period: Business Computer Applications I
4th period: Biology 

I've discovered who most of my classmates in first and second period are (I'm messaging one of my... Errr... Frenemies? to tell him we have 1st together, and his immediate response was "fuck kill me now." Thanks Baby Jesus. Love you too.) , but as for third and fourth, I have next to no idea. I'm guessing that there will be a lot of freshmen in my third class, and somehow being their upperclassmen gives me no sense of undeserved superiority. Rather, I'm intimidated by the likelihood that I won't know anybody in the class, and that it'll be one of those classes where I'm kind of hiding in the corner the entire time. Ali also mentioned that there's a possibility that I'll be stuck with a bunch of Seniors. This totally raises my confidence regarding the whole deal. I'm so confident that I'm crying in the corner, attempting to weave an invisibility cloak from my magical tears of social anxiety. As for fourth period, most, if not all of my classmates will be sophomores, but so far I only know the identity of three of them, one of which I'm almost certain has despised me ever since fourth grade. Fun stuff.

I don't even know anything about the teachers I have. I hear that Murray, my biology teacher is extreeeeemely nice (her appearance reminds me a lot of my sister's friend Lee-Ann, actually), but she's the only one. I know anything about Barkeley, and I'm not even sure if that's my history teacher's name. There are too many "Bark-"s and "Berk-"s in this school and my brain is too little to fit all these similar names in it. Heck, I know maybe three or for Aarons, and I keep wanting to call the last one that I met "Shane," and I'm not entirely sure why. And the only Shane I speak to, I sometimes refer to as "Alternate Reality Alex," because they both at one point had the Midas-afro. Sadly, Shane's hair is now black. BACK TO TEACHERS, I've heard from almost everybody that the English teacher blatantly hates theatre kids, for whatever reason. This concerns me, because the prospect of an English teacher actually disliking me is just... An incredibly foreign concept.

I had to take one final today, as Friday was a snow day. As it turns out, a two-part final detailing the procedure of two construction projects I undertook in Stagecraft takes me 3+ hours to write. Either my speed is comparable to that of a snail, or I was excessively thorough. Possibly both. Mrs. Broderick took a quick look at my essays between grading the finals from her other two classes, and she said I at least started off very well, and was "very succinct," which is funny because usually I just ramble on...


And on...


And on....


And on....


Anyway, hopefully I did awesome on that because I will be twenty different types of proud if I can manage an 'A' in a theatre class. Supposedly they're really hard to get (even though all the other regularly-attending Stagecraft girls had 'A's this year). After that incredibly time-consuming, but not entirely difficult task, I got to bum around in the theater and surrounding areas with four other lovely crazies! Amber, aka my theatre mommy (she and her best friend, Chelsea, "adopted" me when I began doing productions back in eighth grade), Chris and Caitlin, and Justin, a junior whom I'd known of before this year, thanks to a former friend with an extensive dating history, but never realized that he was actually a really nice guy. I let him know what I'd heard of him today while we played "Bullshit" with the other three.

Andrea: "Y'know, before I met you, I heard and thought that you were a total manwhore."
Justin: "Yeah well I kinda am."
Andrea: "And also that you were a complete dick... Then again, it's not always wise to base an initial opinion off of an ex-girlfriend's story, is it?"


Sometimes I swear that chick's dated half the guys in town. Then I realize that I should be a nicer person (but does she really deserve it? ... Okay no. Maybe. I don't care.). But yeah. After having algebra II together and doing several shows, we're pretty good friends now. Weird to think about how sometimes you end up close to the people you only heard about briefly two years ago.


Anyway, we all had a good hug session about how we'll miss each other, now that I don't have classes with Caitlin and Justin, the latter of whom I will likely rarely see, unless we both end up with C Lunch, and don't get to spend half my day with Amber. She's a senior now... To think this is her last semester. She's been the person to keep my skinny, obnoxious butt in line all throughout high school; lately I keep wondering just what the heck I'm going to do without her. Someone, I don't remember who, told me recently that I am inheriting the title of "Asian theatre momma." THIS IS TOO BIG A RESPONSIBILITY FOR ME.


Slightly dreading tomorrow,
Andrea! <3

Currently Neglecting State of Utter Butthurt to Talk About Crayons.

So today was a snowday, and I was involved in a shitstorm of online drama which I will probably look back upon and regret within a week. I will probably also still be angry with the people whom I deem responsible for the release of such an asshole into not only my life, but others', too. I'm trying to figure out what my final solution'll be, as to whether I want to be a drama queen and let the situation drag out until I ultimately prevail (which can't happen, seeing as this is the internet), or when I can leave it be. But for now, I'm going to blog about a much happier topic: Crayon cookies!!

Poetic and Parasitic Worries and Rants.

Today was the last day of first semester. I have one final to take, in Stagecraft, so I need to attend for first period on Friday and that's it. I also need to pick up my recommendation letters and application for GSA then. GSA is Governor's School of the Arts, a three-week arts program over the summer which West Virginian sophomores can apply to. Approximately 100 of us will make it in. I've decided to apply in creative writing, with a poetry portfolio (God knows how, 'cause I certainly don't). I have been panicking over this since October. I believe I have enough poetry, but because 8 pages, double-spaced, is not nearly as much room as it might sound like, I must be incredibly selective. And I have to think, will the judges like the same things I like? Is my sometimes risque or defiantly bitter nature pushing it a too far? Should I vary the poems' subjects, or should I try to stick to an overall theme? Soooooo many questions. Luckily, the portfolio isn't actually due until March at the time of the actual auditions. I just hope my theatre directors writes me up a good recommendation letter. I'm not worried about my English teacher from last year whom taught me almost all I know about poetry. She loves me (oddly enough, because I was always talking throughout that class). There's also my essay to deal with. It constitutes EXACTLY 500 words, the word limit. It just drives me ca-raaaaaaaaazy.

Part of the reason I'm so worried about this is because I can be very competitive when it comes down to it. I'm not nearly feisty as I once was; however, I won't let myself live it down if I don't make it, especially if anybody else within the creative writing field does (I only know of two others in it; one of whom I'm sometimes vitriolic best friends with), or the first of my two ex-boyfriends does, just because he beyond irritates me. I wanna stab him in the eye with my stilettos every time I see him anymore, which is quite the problem seeing as we have several mutual best friends and share a love of the theatre. It's as if he's some species of subconscious parasite and is everywhere I am. I can't stand his face, and if he makes it in and I don't (despite being in two different categories), I'll never show my face to myself ever again. HIDE THE MIRRORS AND THE WATER. I CAN'T DO IT.

As I've said at least one other time in my life, spite is the best motivator.

Love, a horrible person living off anger tonight,
Andrea <3

Condoms are motivation enough for anything. Obviously enough, because I have returned!

Boy oh boy, would you ever have guessed? I didn't. But with a little boredom, some persuasion from Aaron, and the magic of the second-least-likely-to-be-voted-sexually active girl in the class being the one with a condom in her wallet, I found my magic carpet back now to find an Aladdin... Okay no we're not gonna do that. That's bad. Oh blogosphere, how I missed ye! I've also been on tumblr; however, that doesn't have near the substance of an actual blog. It's mainly a bunch of pretty pictures that I deem relevant to my interests. There are also hipsters and chic-liberal rantivists everywhere. That's the only term I can coin for some of them, partially because it's constantly clogging up my dashboard. I could unfollow them, but no. That's far too easy a solution!

Anyway, let's talk health class! Currently my class is studying sex education (to which I usually scoff and go on a little tangent regarding how abstinence-only education is, while not entirely useless, outdated. Teens screw each other. This situation is not ideal, but hey, teach 'em safe sex as much as no sex). Today, in a little game, I, by shaking hands with him, acquired AIDS from a dirty Mexican whore  Colin, whom I'm surprised would touch me at all after World History last year and a little current event about goat rape. Everybody ended up infected sans Alison, my best friend, and two others who were nonetheless worried about their cleanliness. Afterwards, it was revealed that the instructions Ali randomly pulled from the basket were to remain shake-abstinent and instead, ask others if they wanted to talk. Nobody wanted to. We're all shake-phomaniacs. Look, shake, move on. She was also asked by the teacher, after all the rest of us were shown to be infected, if she wanted to shake with any of us.

Ali: "Umm.... No not really."
Andrea: "I have another hand!!"

I would go on to touch her all over just for the sake of being spiteful. And also because sometimes you just have to make the room wonder if you're a lesbian.

Later on, after lunch and one of my many adventures with Colby the Explorer (which you will doubtless hear about later. I'm obsessed) and the rest of our theatre-lunch crew, we discussed AIDS vs. pregnancy statistics and somehow improper, but entertaining uses of condoms came into discussion. Mrs. Turner, my health teacher, told us about an interesting little trick which she would demonstrate, but alas, after much searching around her desk, she did not have a condom in her immediate possession. I remembered that I did, thanks to one Mother's Day where my mother, a non-native English speaker, didn't know condom vs. condiment. Soooooo... If I'm known as "the condom girl" or any variation of such from here on out, I won't be surprised. Nobody expected it, too, because I am one of the least likely people to get laid. Forever alone! ... Unless I become a nun. Of the bank-robbing variety. I'm not very religious.

I refused to blow it up, because of the many things I don't want out of health class, lube on my lips is pretty close to the top. However, she persuaded one of my more shameless peers to blow it up and see how large it would become before it popped. He was becoming pretty exhausted as the condom grew ridiculously large. Strong little fuckers, they are.

Not pictured: Lubrication stains and classmates laughing hysterically.

It was huge by the time it popped; I'm not even sure if I'm exaggerating in that drawing. Some girls wanted to take pictures, but Mrs. Turner refused to let them. ... I'm not sure if blowing up condoms during class is considered particularly dangerous (it was semi-relevant!), but... Well it was latex. Another teacher walked in mere minutes after this, and chances are our sudden outburst of laughter aroused her suspicions, especially after how Mrs. Turner had quickly shooed her out of the room while she was searching her desk for condoms.

Oh condoms, how I love thee and feel so odd without one in my wallet anymore. I think Colby has a huge pack of them that his mother bought for him after he jokingly told her to pick some up one day... Maybe I'll bum one off of him. Never know when I might feel the need to relieve awkwardness by blowing one u--nowait that makes it worse, doesn't it...


Use protection, guys,
Andrea! <3