The Best. Evar.

I'm not sure if this is an effort win or a priority fail. I have just single handedly created the best project of my entire existence. Sounds like a win, no? But get this, ya'll;

It was for a class that is little more than a free hour. I am taking a "French Culture Independent Study." Or in other words, the teacher exiles me to reeking depths of the School Media Center to study some random foreign crap. This is also the highlight of my day. I am thoroughly pathetic, not gonna lie, I really like the teacher though, she's so friendly.

Anywhoozle,  so this project, right? This project. Is undoubtedly the greatest thing I have ever created, ever. EVAR. It has video clips and all those other fancy Internet thing-a-ma-bobs and whing-nuts. I don't even know if that's an expression but it seems fitting for this particular situation.

And-AND here's the best part. It will be presented to a class of 3. THREE. That one more than two. I am on fire, SO HAWT. Seriously. I feel so pathetic. Two grueling weeks of my precious time, spent on the education of a whole three, pizza faced adolescents.

My life= complete.

Today's Tip: Just Take the free hour, don't try to fill it in.

How to Get Girls Part 1 (Dis one goes out to all dem fresh mens).

Step One: Hit her up, yo! All dem hot bitches wan u to chat 'em up on the Facebooks!

Step Two: Text her ERRYDAY. She may say to stop, she may have her dad text back, what a tease. She wants you.

Step Three: Learn dat hoes schedual. Meet her at her classes, follow her to her car. The more uncomfortable she looks, the more she wants you.

Step Four: Nevar give up, Dawg! She may threaten with a "Restrainting Order," but who would really do that? No one has evar gotten anywhere by giving up!

Step Five: Tell her to get back into da kitchen. Bitches love it when you make them feel worthless. Such a turn on, baby! Ooooohyeah.

Step Six: Hit on dat ho aaaaaaaaaaaaaaall day. Ask if she's gained weight, tell her boobies are uneven, bitches love that stuff. Lets her know you care.

Clothing:
-Look as douche-y as possible.
-Pink Polozzzz.
-Popp dat collar, homie.
-Get yo' skinny jeans saggin, boi.

Friends of Friends Who Want to be Friends.

Eventually in your life you will stumble upon some one like this. You share a mutual pal and some random occurrence, or glitch in the Matrix, you end up sleeping in the same bed a slumber party, or for my more masculine readers, tappin' da same bitch. Or something. I dunno.

At first you just nice to them, you pitied them, knowing their social life was less then adequate. You share a few texts back and forth and think nothing of it.

But soon, SOON, your inbox is flooded with text after text. Restricted calls in the middle of the night.You become desperate to avoid this person. You ignore them, but soon your life is nothing more than an anxious pit of despair, darkness, a nagging irritability that you can't escape. Perhaps you even become aggressive, lashing out at this person. At your real friends.

I'm sure you all know the type. Leechy, irritating, exasperating, obnoxious, this and much more. They text you at all hours. If you don't reply, they send another message, as if you didn't get it. No, no I got it, I just chose to ignore it because you make me want to strangle myself. You avoid them in the halls, they find out your schedule, they switch into your classes.

Today's Tip: It's hard to come back to a satiric style after more than a week of not posting.

Mall Happenings.

A recent trip to the mall proves to be quite fascinating. The human male never ceases to amaze me.

To begin our story, let me set the scene; The Mall, just your average mall. People everywhere. Kids with ice cream dripping on the tile floor. The smell of cinnamon nuts wafting through the air, mixed the occasional old man fart. Perfect setting for my next love affair. 

It was about noon, my mother likes to go early to avoid the crowds. I soon left her behind in the cookery  isle and ventured onward to my destination: Clothes. Racks on racks of clothes. Everywhere. Just enough to make the estrogen level of a male lion skyrocket. 

I entered the cotton and polyester jungle in search of something to tickle my fancy (it's a commonly used expression, Google it, babe). As a rounded the corner in search of a certain pair of jeans that I had seen on one of those creepy mannequins that only consist of legs, I ran face to moobs with a large, pizza-faced, prepubescent tween monster. This kid looked to be about 14 years old, and sported a green t-shirt stating his middle school's name with a deformed picture of what I can only guess was either a very manly Cougar, or an Elephant Seal. Me being the polite, yet total bitch, that I am to strangers (Sometimes for my own personal enjoyment, I'll pick out a person from the crowd and stare them down, making the most disgusted face possible at their every move), gave him the meaningless "Sorry," and proceeded to swerve around said moobs and onto the jean section. Thinking nothing of it I continued to pick up ever pair of jeans in my size and mess up the perfect folding job, to see if they were the ones I was looking for.

About a half an hour later, with a respectable amount of clothing in my arms I proceeded to the dress section to find something nice to buy, but that I will never wear. When I neared the dresses I noticed Moobs (we'll just refer to the aforementioned large kid as "Moobs") standing directly in front of the rack of clothing I wanted to go to. I proceeded to cruise around the dresses that I might actually wear and wait for him to move a little so I could get to the gold. Finally he must have sensed the thoughts I was sending towards him, because he shifted towards another clothing rack. Like an alligator seeing a Pomeranian I launched myself towards the rack, grabbed my size, and sped off towards the safety of my mother (It's a known fact that women in clogs block all contact from teenage males). 

We paid for my large pile of clothes and I found myself in need of a pair of shoes. We walked towards a shoe store, I slightly glanced over my shoulder to tell one of those foreign guys that I don't want to try his lotion, and happened to notice a large green mass about 50 feet behind me (I don't know if that measurement is accurate, I have no grasp of distance). After an exaggerated double-take I quickened my pace and made it into the shoe store. My mother left and with that the clogs magic shield did too. I noticed Moobs had also came into the shore store, which I found peculiar because it was a women's shoe store. I tried to ignore him but he remained about ten feet away from me at all times. I sneaked a look at him multiple times and to my disbelief nearly every time he was looking at me, jaw gaping, and breath wheezing. I quickly picked a pair of nice vans, and heard a raspy voice whisper "They look better in purple." This was just enraging, no one should ever dare to make a comment about my choice of foot wear. I turned to Moobs and told him that a woman's sense of color is proven to be much more heightened than any males, and pointed out the fact that he was wearing a dark green shirt with black shoes that had lime laces. Lime and Dark green do not go together. EVAR. He chuckled. Literally chuckled, then proceeded to tell me his actual name which I have forgotten. This fact only enraged me further, as the fact that he had not been put off by naturally cold-hearted nature. I introduced myself as "Stop following me around the mall." Upon seeing that his cover had been blown, his face went a grotesque shade of pale peach, which managed to bring the most joyful of smiles to my face. I turned and walked over to my mother, recounted the situation and received an incognito high-five. 

Today's Tip: Always eat Popsicles by putting them in as deep into your mouth/throat as possible. 


Stay sassy, my friends. 

I am a Target.

For Creepers.
If you are a teenager- born anytime between now and 1990- you will know what I mean.

High School.
Need I say more.
I don't know how to start. High School is a wondrously magical place, all the necessary ingredients for the perfect love story, which I shall now share. I have changed names, I feel its more official this way, or maybe I haven't you'll never know either way. Now, to the story.

The following conversation consisted of the messages below. Relayed between myself, and a boy I shall refer to as... Reagan. No, that's too attractive. We'll call him Donny. That's better.
(Please keep in mind that I have never met him, though did see him once at an assembly whilst looking for someone else). This is first time we ever spoke.

Donny: Hey.
Me: Hey..
Donny: Wats up
Me: Nothing.
Donny: O ya?
Me: Yeah.
Donny: So wat do u like?
Me: Stuff.
Donny: O ya?
Me: Yeah.
Donny: Like wat?
Me: Like soccer. I'm not a big fan of the snow either.
Donny: O ya?
Me: Yeah.
Donny: So do u snowmachine?
Me: No. I just said I don't like snow.. hah.
Donny: O ya.
Me: Yeah.
Donny: So wat you doin tonite?
Me: I don't know.
Donny: O ya?
Me: Yeah.
Donny: Maybe we can hang out?
Me: Maybe.
Donny: O ya?
-at this point I stopped replying and proceeded to log out of facebook, which shortly after, he must have discovered my phone number on my profile, and texted me-

Donny: Hey.
Me: (I wasn't familiar with the number, So I didn't reply).

-A few days later-

Donny: Hey
Me: Hi.
Donny: Wat u doin tonite?
Me: *Not you* What I actually said- Nothing...
Donny: Y not?
Me: I don't know.
Donny: U want ta hang out?
Me: I'm at a friends house.
Donny: O ya?
Me: Yeah.
Donny: Tomarrow?
Me: I'm going to be out of town.
Donny: O ya?
Me: Yeah.
Donny: Okay.

-Another few days later-

Donny: Hey.
Me: Hi.
Donny: Wat up?
Me: Not much.
Donny: Busy tonite?
Me: Why?
Donny: Want to hang out?
Me: No.
Donny: Okay.

-The next day-

Donny: Hey.

-The next day-

Donny: Hey.

-Few days later-

Donny: Hey.


-Back to the present. What a magical few days. I have never felt the same way about anyone, before. Pure, unbridled, true, beautiful magic, indeed.

Any man/boy/guy/dude reading this will surely believe that I'm just a snooty lesbian, but in fact, it's quite the opposite. As you see, after searching through Donny's profile, on said Social Networking site, I discovered that this boy is a piece of work. Indeed he is. Let me just say that I have standards. If I were to lower them to meet this boys level, I would be intruding upon the home of a very upset earth worm. Now I don't know about you, but I hate it when a set of standard falls into my living room.

Keep in mind this was approximately 82 hours since my relationship status was changed from "It's complicated" (I'm to good for an uncomplicated relationship status) to "Single," which is a whole different story.
As another side note, Donny, is not the first offender. I shall write about them another day, but for now... It's Nutella time. Keep it sassy everyone.

Today's tip: LOLOL I already gave you one, sillies.

Hello There.

Is it me you're looking for?
Of course not.
This is Sparta- but not actually. This is Awkwardly Delightful.
Enjoy in the most uncomfortably enjoyable happenings in my life.
Come. Sit. Read.
But I'll have you know, I only speak Swahili.
Your teacher may say Google Translate is not accurate. Don't buy that crap. Its 64% legit.
I once used only Google Translate and 3 pro quality sports towels to negotiate my way out of a rather sticky predicament involving myself and 6 unnecessarily enraged Algerian secret agents. Needless to say, I made it out with only slight causalities (by that I mean I am missing 1/9 of my pinkie toe, which has turned me off from open toed sandals).

Today's tip- Punctuation is key to a warm heart.