OK. Things are better now. We went back to SLHS, talked to the counselor, and as it turns out, PE turns into French second semester. The even BETTER part is that we talked to Mr Minton (drama teacher) and he's gonna pull a few strings to get me into fourth period drama! YES! We went into the drama room (hereafter P3) and it is amazing. When you walk in, you see in front of you blank floor. To your left are chairs, the kind with the little fold-over desks. The chesks are arranged on these teir thingies. To your right...is...is...A MINIATURE STAGE!! It's about ten inches off the floor and has a kitchen set on it, complete with cabinets, a stove, an island, a sink, and a fridge. I saw it and totally spazzed out. I jumped up onto the stage and tittered around on it, opening the fridge. Didn't work, but it was filled with wigs! So cool! Then, to your absolute right is a corridor, and a set of four full-sized green lockers with a name painted on them, assumably of a school.
I opened one...full of shoes :-D You walk down the corridor and four feet in, the wall to your left opens into a small room, piled with more sets of four green lockers, costumes, shoes, wigs, props, tables, and paint. One foot into the hall, there's a doorway with no door that takes you straight onto stage left of the mini-stage.
If you keep walking down the hall way, it takes you to a room. There's a door in front of you and a room to your left with a door in the corner there. On the wall in between the door are lots and lots of hangers, packed with costumes. The wall to the left, presumably the back of the upstage wall, has a table with lots of stuff on it. What, I didn't check. The doors both lead to bathrooms.
Mom laughed at me when I was scampering around, reading the graffitti on the walls and touching the costumes reverently.
The best part about the stage is the lights. There are actual lights on the ceiling, STAGE lights that shine onto the stage. Professional lights, real lights, like the lights on the big stage in the gym and the ginormous stage at Bancroft. I could hardly believe my eyes. Mom was babbling about how I should get the HW for this class even if I'm not sure if I'm going to be in it or not, just to express my enthusiasm, and I interrupted, gasping "Lights! Look, lights!". Indeed.
WHAT A FREAKIN WASTE OF A DAY! They herd us into the gym and an english teacher talks for an hour about the plusses of not dropping out. Then we meet with a little group of six people and play some really pointless games. OK, so I learned the life stories of half a dozen people. Remind me...this has WHAT to do with high school? Then we were shown around the school with painstaking brevity and vagueness. And to crown it all, we were given schedules. Yes, I thought, I'm going to get my schedule then find all my classes so I won't be freakin lost on Tuesday. BUT NO! Oh, I was given a schedule all right, and it had my classes and teachers on it, BUT NO ROOM NUMBERS! "Oh, you get those on the first day of school." SO WHAT'S THE POINT OF THE WHOLE GODAMN ORIENTATION?!?!?! Plus, I didn't get EITHER of the electives I signed up for. French and drama...is that SO FREAKIN MUCH to ask? What they did sign me up for is (in order) PE (goody! I can't WAIT!), Eng. Honors, geography (wtf?), Health and Safety (Sex Ed edition number 9....EVERY GODAMN YEAR), and geometry honors. I signed up for eng. honors, geom. honors, science honors, french, and drama. I'm going to LOVE high school!
The funny part of the day was this: (OK so maybe Scathingly Ironic is the term I was searching for) The same English teacher who told us not to drop out at the beginning of the day gave another half-baked speech about not wasting time. She said that even wasting one day was idiotic and that we should never do it. I wanted to punch her face in. According to my group leader, I'm "screwed"...I have Bowers, Scott, and Gildersleeve. According to him, that's the worst friggin schedule one could ever ask for.
Cats are funny creatures. My cat's name is Charlie. I was gone for a week last week in Vancouver, Victoria, and Seattle, leaving the poor pussy-cat to fend for himself in the vastness of our house with no one to pet him. We arrived home last Sunday...Charlie was all over me, purring and rubbing his head against my leg and licking my fingers. OK, so he missed me. Right now he's crawling all over my keyboard, blocking the screen with his furry whiteness, waiting for me to pay him the respect and attention that he so justly deserves. Not gonna happnen, Kitty-Boy. And this is why.
He's peed four times in my room over the last three weeks. Once on clothes on my floor, once on a towel on my floor, once in a suitcase on my floor, and once in a laundry basket on my floor. All of these lovely locations were filled with clothes. He could be trying to communicate a number of things to me.
1) I don't like my litter. 2) I don't like my food. 3) I don't like you. 4) I don't like the dog. 5) Why are you so messy? Pick up these clothes. 6) I am the King. Bow to me. 7) I hate your style, it's so passť. 8) Why the hell have you stopped petting me, Insolent Fiend? [this one goes with #six]. These are only eight of the many, many reasons why he's decided to piss on my garments. Lord knows what goes on in his little cat brain.
A while back, he chewed off all the fur on the tip of his tail. He either had a seizure, a midlife crisis, or he just decided that his tail was evil and must die. Or, needless to say, all of the above. You can find Charlie at any hour of the day watching his tail twitch placidly BANG he's on it like a bloodhound, chewing and pawing and scratching. I have to admit, it looked pretty funny when there wasn't any fur on the end of his tail. We liked to call him "RatCat."
When he was a kitten, he'd do these funky little sideways jumps whenever we walked towards him. He'd sort of bob his head around, sway back and forth, and then Sprrrroinnnngg! He'd spring up a foot in the air, launching himself to the side. He still does it sometimes...but not as often as I'm bored, so he really is devoid of entertainment to me.
The funniest thing is watching the dog and the cat together. Dog's name: Ditto. She's a she, not a he. OK. Anyways, if Ditto's in the garage, juuust making sure that her bowl lacks food, Charlie will wait directly outside of the door. As soon as Ditto exits, Charles-Bo will spring upon her with the ferocity and vigor of a....uhhh....(waiting for a good simile here)...AHA! A small bear trap. He'll leap up, claws extended, front legs waving around in the air. Ditto will look over at him, and, with the reflexes of an extra-lethargic three toed sloth, she'll open her great, drooly maw and "thrust" it in the general direction of the cat. By then, Kung-Pao (one of the names we considered) will have departed and will be letting a stinky stream of urine loose on my freshly folded laundry.
BREE BREE BREE Red alert!!!!!!!! This is bad, bad bad. My dad is forcing me to make a difficult decision. I HATE DECISIONS. Especially difficult ones....*shudders*. And this, this, my fine furry friends, is the monster of all difficult decisions. I must choose between ballet (laugh it up...) and Winter's Tale. Dad calls himself brilliant for presenting this to me, and says that they're both great opportunities and I can't do a halfway job on both. This totally sucks. How in God's three letter name am I supposed to pick between performing and performing? Ann is so great...(my dance teacher)...but my friends at Shakey's are so great too...and there's nothing like performing with a professional theater troupe...but there's nothing like ballet...GOD THIS SUCKS! I'm really P.O.DEDED.
Plus, Blakey Wakey was especially naughty today...did the same stuff as yesterday...grr. But I digress. I probably can't miss the first tech. What the hell's a chair rehearsal? On the same day as the second day of dance...after all, I'm going to miss a lot lot lot of ballet already...actually, not THAT much, I can arrive after curtain. I'll just have to change in the car *goodie*. My dad CAN'T make me choose. I've already had a toughie this year: choir vs. ballet and acting. Well, OK, so it wasn't a hard decision. I made it in like four seconds. I am NOT going to pick. I can do both, godammit, and I'm going to do both. This totally blows. On a lighter note...my best friend made JV volleyball and she's a freshman, like me! That means that she'll probably make Varsity next year. Atleast, that's the track she's on now.
And besides, I can't pick. I love both of these things so MUCH. and plus, say I pick Shakey. Suppose they don't want me back for another one? Suppose I don't hear about tryouts anymore? And as for ballet. I don't know if I can stick to it. One of the subs (who is also one of the teachers who will probably be teaching all of pointe in the fall...grr) and I are not the best of friends. She patronizes me since she knows I've only started ballet last fall. And, since she just learned I'm 14 (thought I was 17), it will probably get worse with the coming term. Great, this stuff is just what I needed today. To add it on top of a little deadly situation I'm having about this guy is HEAD BANGINGLY AGGRIVATING. Ok. ooookaaaaay. *inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, exhale, exhale DAMN TAPE* I'll be fine. I usually land on my ass, which is good cause bums are smushy! : / Have a day
Hey man...first rehearsal that I've attended today. It was okay. It SHOULD have been fabbity fab fab fabulous but after the day I had today with the little SOB that I babysit....NOTHING could've raised my spirits. Okay, so maybe SOME things could've...I won't get into that now. First I must rant about the stupid day I had.
This dude that I sit...he has major major M A J O R authority problems. I don't know what's WITH his tiny little seven year old mind. I tell him "Blake, take that back!" (he had just said that he wishes that his brother is dead) and he goes "NO!" and I go "Go to your room!" and he goes "NO, I DON'T WANT TO!" and I go "What? Did you just say no???!!!Go to your room NOW!" And I want to just drop kick him into oblivion.
That happened about five times today. Onto the rehearsal.
I arrived late...an effect of this babysitting job from hell that I've already commited to. Eric the Choreographer refused to give me a spot, saying in a total get away from me you lowlife voice, "I've already sort of explained it to everyone, so why don't you just watch this time?" And I'm thinking No way in hell am I sitting out of my first rehearsal. But, to my JOY, the grand and supreme Eric the Choreographer decides to give me a spot after all.
He sent me to a group up the hill and that's where I met Sherry and "ZedslashDuceslashWill". Real name Will. Has identity problems at the age of 13. God, I love drama people. I asked Lauren (the third and final member) what in the name of cute fuzzy squirrels everywhere what we were doing and she said, ticking these off on her fingers as she went, "Running, jumping, hiding, frolicing, and spinning." I nodded and said "Woohoo, when do we start?" in a dark and eeeeeevil voice. The way I see it is "give the 'right' impression from Day 1". Yeeeehaaawww! So we ran through our little thingy where we start up from the portables, run into the road and jump, then run across the field and hide up in a little tree cove. Then we come out and frolic over to the top of the big tanbark hill where we hide then come out and spin in slow circles then start randomly dancing. This happens during intermission. Oh, just so you incredibly confused people know, I'm doing a Cal Shakes production of Winter's Tale and I'm in the ensembleslashdancechorusslashbohemia. Totally awesome, me first professional production and hopefully not my last (knock on wood...shit, my desk's glass).
Sherry and Brook are really cool and totally in my league (since I'm looking for a date to the party of weirdos on Friday). We joked, I made people laugh, and we all were merry. Neeto bazeeto. The odd thing is that while Sherry and Brook are so awesome and nice (and some other people whos names have escaped the Happy-Land of my mind and ran away screaming), there are tons and tons of ultra snotty people at Cal Shakes too. Not happy. They seem to think that they're important and posh since they made it into a pro show. I'm proud that I made it and I really hope nothing else. As in, no ego the size of a small whale. They other kind of upsetting and nerve-wracking thing is that everyone seems to know eachother...everyone goes to school together or were in the CS student workshop. I'm not worried about making friends (cough kindergarten cough), but it's just harder to break the stiff and stale film of the pudding-o-friendship and wiggle your way into the deep, soft, and cool interior where you lay your eggs wait for them to hatch then TAKE OVER THE WORRRRLD! In a totally non-metaphorical way of speaking.
Teddy and AO are worried about me putting my full name on the web...the comforting thing is that they credit this grrrrreat idea to my mom. How thoughtful of them. Now if you'll excuse me, I must go maintain my other four blogs. I know, I know, fine line between dabbling and disgusting excess. I've heard it all before.
Ok I have nothing to say since I'm under pressure to give a free-lance welcome speech and I'm pretty dang bad at freelancing in front of a "crowd", so here's my standard "Welcome to Happy-Land" statement. *coughs, taps microphone* Hello, is this thing on? *curses techies everywhere* Ahem...they say every time a bell rings, an angel gets its wings. What they don't tell you is that every time a mousetrap snaps, an angel sets on fire. I'll be back to haunt your existances when I "feel more comfortable opening myself up to large audiences". Yes, I learned that line from the state-appointed therapist. She gave me a cookie.