I keep writing blogs and I keep not posting them because they are very large and I don't really feel like finishing them at the time, but I have so very much to tell the world, mostly boring stuff, but still, it's important. Because I think my life is interesting. That's why I even have a blog. [Speaking of which, I'm thinking of changing the name to 'Cheese in your Raychillie.' But, it's been 'Rachel is Outrageous' for so long it almost feels like a sin to change it.]
Stupid education majors are in my CMC taking up my computers and talking loudly on the phone and talking to their boyfriends and sharing emails. I hate when people talk to their significant others in front of you, but only when they become very silly, and speak in goofy voices and call each other 'baby.' And you feel awkward watching them, and you just sit there feeling awkward, but you're in an elevator so what else can you do? It's so dumb. People are dumb. I hate people. One day, I'm going to go off and live in a colony of wizards and cats and I'll be so happy.
This girl put all her stuff on my computer table too, and it's like a bag of chips and some notebooks, and I thought the object of having your own computer desk is to put your stuff on. Education majors; all they do is think about themselves and children. Why do they even have their own section in the library? It's literally a whole floor dedicated to children and education majors. Everyone else's books are downstairs; what makes you so special?
For Susan's class we had to design a costume. It had 500 different pieces of criteria: it had to be made out of things either recycled or natural, it had to support a cause and it had to make noise. I did a pelican suit thing for the birds who die in oil spills or whatever, because it's important. It's also has an interpretive dance where you dance like a bird and then oil comes down from the celling and the bird dies because it cannot fly, and it's sad. I would invite children to this piece so the would cry and I would laugh at their tears.
I had to do my bird dance for the class while I was presenting it. It was very sad. Not because it was about birds dieing, but because it was me trying to dance like a bird.
But seriously, 5,000 barrels of oil leak into our oceans each day. This is why I petition that my quest to make algae into fuel will never end until it is made. And when I say 'my quest' I mean others efforts because I am not contributing at all.
Blast it all, I can't concentrate on anything because of these people talking about lesson plans and stuff. Just give them some crayons and a place mat. Gah. I'm supposed to be writing a paper on photography, and I can hardly even concentrate on this blog because they won't shut up about lessons and babies and ARGH.
What am I even typing, I dunno because my brain is like a ping-pong ball in my head, except my brain is bigger than that and isn't bouncy (that I know of; but possibly.)
Sometimes I wonder if I'm mentally handicapped, and I don't know it. I know that sounds mean, but how would you know. I might just have some social disease, or be autistic, but I would never know it. I had a seizure once, and it lasted for 20 minutes, and it could have been the mentally handicapped part coming out an d playing, and it's frightening. These are the thoughts that rack my brains.
I wish you could hook up your brain to a printer and then I would print off pictures that I imagine like pictures of turkey's wearing feather boas, and taking this girl's chips and crushing them and pouring them over her head and then I would laugh and then I would write my paper on photography. Instead, I'm writing this and wasting everyone's time by putting incoherent stuff that no one wants to read, and I'm pretty sure everything is a run-on sentence.
I would also like to print my dreams. I have really odd dreams. Once I dreamed that I was visiting the house of polygamist, and I was like, WHOO, I'M A FREE BIRD. I DANCE AND STUFF. And the children were all like, "we wear matching pajamas and we love our daddy and mommies, and we all play instruments and have bunk beds." And I'm like, "rebel," and they're like, "no." And then the dog starts talking and he talks about how he could talk through this vaccine, but when humans take it they turn into zombies, and then they cursed the house, and the dad was trying to round us all up so he could eat us and he had all sorts of bowls to put our bodies in, and I was like, "um, bye." But I couldn't get out because the porch was screened in and he had cut the dogs tongue out, but it was leading me to safety, and Justin Timberlake was there and then he was gone, but somehow I jumped from the porch into the grass and I ran and then I woke up.
I also have dreams where I'm an ice cave explorer.
We had ballet today, and I've finally stopped hitting Chris, but now he won't stop hitting me and it hurts because he flips me. He had some really nice turn things today, but I didn't because I don't know how to turn. She keeps telling me to spot; I keep saying, I should probably actually learn the turn first so I have a reason to spot. Chris can't keep his hips straight and he looks like an idiot because she has to tell him to put his hips straight. He blames it on his eye, or lack thereof; I blame it on his lack of ability regarding dancing. We're dance partners as well in our little piece, and we have to hold hands. (Ewww, cooties.). Luckily, his aren't gross and sweaty; because I hate sweaty hands.
Our ballet class is really rather amusing. It's a class of people who are generally bad a ballet, so we've resolved to just have fun with it. We have all these codes we use in class. When we have a passe to the side, we say that we're putting it in the pizza pocket. When it's to the front, it's the pita pocket. When we're doing our plies we kebab our butt cheeks and pretend like we're in a toaster, and you don't want to burn your sides. Then there are the songs we sing to remember our barres. "Coupe and Passe, Coupe, Fonduuuuu..."
This is college, ya'll.
[Pee.Ess. December 8th, Recital Thing. Breeze. 6 o'clock. See us make dance magic.]
After much, much, much persuasion, I have convinced Volpi and Chris to come see Harry Potter with me at midnight. I'm making us matching shirts; I'm going to guilt them into wearing them. They don't know it yet. I also had them sorted into their houses yesterday, because this is one of those things you need to know. Chris is in Ravenclaw and Volpi is in Slytherin. I'm a Gryffindor. Just imagine; if we went to Hogwarts, we may not even be friends. :( :( But maybe we would be. I'm sure both Volpi and Chris would play Quidditch; and... I wouldn't. I would probably be apart of some stupid club like Gobstones or Wizards Chess. Actually, Chris would be in his 5th year of Hogwarts just as I was starting my 1st, and Volpi wouldn't be in Hogwarts until I was in my 2nd year, and Chris his 6th. And Volpi and I would be enemies because we're in rival houses.
It's thoughts like these that remind me that I'm glad that I don't go to Hogwarts.
I had my dialects test Monday and everyone was impressed with my Cockney and Irish accents, including Claire. I was told today that Claire would try to break me in Acting II. I should just go in crying the first day and get it over with.
I need to write about photography now. Hope your days are bright and a squadron of minks warm you in the middle of the night.
-Me
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