Greetings.
Are seniors in choir always such big crybabies? I mean, if they're that good of friends, then they'll see each other after high school. Why is it such a big deal? I mean, I have four sisters. One I have known almost since birth. I KNOW I'll at least keep in touch with Ally, hopefully see her more often. Claire, I have known since I was five when we moved into our new house. That's not a problem. And I am not worried about Joseph. I asked him, "Do you think we'll still be friends after high school?"
He said, after thinking for about two seconds, "Yeah, I think so." So I'm not worried there.
And honestly, I am not worried about maintaining my friendship with Bennie, sister of four years, and Joss, two. All three of us want to go to the community college near our house and Bennie and I have even discussed being roomies in a apartment when we get out of community college and go to real college (which is also near our houses). So, I have no clue why these seniors are crying. Mary June was blubbering like a freaking baby and clutching her two best friends, Marina Brown and Malissa Green. It was weird. Aaron and I even made up, that's how sentimental everyone was.
However, there was one casualty. I had to say good-bye to my friend, whose chubby physique makes me want to hug him like a teddy bear, which I often do, Zach Lorrin. He's kind of like the anti-Harmony Margaret. I'm innocent and cute. He's... not. (But he's huggable, so that helps.) But he decided to take pity on innocent me and include me in his conversations with his best friend, Ty Aggart, half of which I don't understand. (Zach says that's good; I haven't been totally corrupted yet.)
Sigh... I am going to miss Zach, Aaron, Remy, and Ty. Aaron and Remy I have known for years. And Zach and Ty were fun.
Hmm. Now that I think about it I am not too keen on the end of the year... Oh well, I still have Bennie, Ally, Joss, Joseph, and Claire. And that's enough.
Hugz
HM
Showing posts with label Mary June Laramie. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mary June Laramie. Show all posts
Monday, May 10, 2010
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Cinco de Mayo
Greetings.
Happy Cinco de Mayo, peoplez! I learned today why Cinco de Mayo is such a big deal to Mexicans. Apparently, they won an impossible battle against the best army in the world at that point, the French, in only a few hours. Seriously, the battle started at, like, seven in the morning and ended around four. Amazing! Suck it, France.
Today is also Bennie's anniversary. But not with Stan. No, she was fake married by the Spanish teacher for Cinco de Mayo, a popular booth at our food sale day. And guess who stopped by today? Her "husband", Roland Glibb. Roland used to go to our school, Horizon High School, home of the Argonauts, until he transferred. He considers me his little sister and, despite his little sisters wishes, he's going into the armed forces as a Marine. (Semper Fi. Candidly, I don't really support the war, mainly because I have never been sure what it is about, but I support the men fighting in it. They are just doing their duty.) He now works for a carpet cleaning company and I hardly ever get to see him. So when he stopped by, we sat out on my front lawn (because no one else was home) and talked for about half an hour. It was nice to talk to him.
I also talked to my cousin today. Ginger Overstreet is my dad's sister's son's daughter. The irony: she's a year and six days older than I am. Yet I'm like her second aunt twice removed or something. We just say cousin because that is SOOO much easier. Anyways, she comes to visit us almost every summer and ever since last summer, when she met Roland at my birthday party, we haven't spoken much. She talks to him more than she does to me. She doesn't text, email, Facebook, MySpace... nothing. It's not easy, and she's my cousin, and I love her very dearly, but she taught me a lot. I was always the more sheltered of the two of us; private school, strict self-discipline, very rigid morals. She's not loose like, I don't know, a stirpper or anything, but she had a lot more worldly experience than I did. (But, then again, so did Mother Teresa.) I miss talking to her...
Okay, I'm done moaning about my familial problems with Ginger. (Love you, cousin!) Now I shall moan about choir. We're performing "Don't Stop Believing" from GLEE. Fine. Kudos to Mr. Privett. But he gave the solo to a girl, Louisa Tyler, who, although she is a very nice girl and a good singer, can't sing this particular song. She puts the sound "ee" on the end of each word and she doesn't open her mouth enough to enunciate properly for this song. I am still pissed about Mary June getting the TWO solos and with Louisa getting a solo that I performed better than she, I am just not happy. I am seriously considering not doing choir next year. I am tired of being second best, tired of NEVER getting the parts in plays or solos that I want/deserve. There has only been ONE time that I received the part that I wanted and that was after working eight years with the same theater company. I am SICK of not getting what I deserve fairly. It's always the director's favorites who get the good parts (don't you even TRY to contradict me, Claire) and I get the supporting roles. I SAVE everyone else in the show and it always, except once, has gone unnoticed. I don't get leads. If it's because of my weight, then they are basing their decisions on appearances and not by the quality of the work I produce. And, though everyone does it, it doesn't make it any less wrong.
Ugh, I am just so frustrated, I want to punch something!
Punchez,
HM
Happy Cinco de Mayo, peoplez! I learned today why Cinco de Mayo is such a big deal to Mexicans. Apparently, they won an impossible battle against the best army in the world at that point, the French, in only a few hours. Seriously, the battle started at, like, seven in the morning and ended around four. Amazing! Suck it, France.
Today is also Bennie's anniversary. But not with Stan. No, she was fake married by the Spanish teacher for Cinco de Mayo, a popular booth at our food sale day. And guess who stopped by today? Her "husband", Roland Glibb. Roland used to go to our school, Horizon High School, home of the Argonauts, until he transferred. He considers me his little sister and, despite his little sisters wishes, he's going into the armed forces as a Marine. (Semper Fi. Candidly, I don't really support the war, mainly because I have never been sure what it is about, but I support the men fighting in it. They are just doing their duty.) He now works for a carpet cleaning company and I hardly ever get to see him. So when he stopped by, we sat out on my front lawn (because no one else was home) and talked for about half an hour. It was nice to talk to him.
I also talked to my cousin today. Ginger Overstreet is my dad's sister's son's daughter. The irony: she's a year and six days older than I am. Yet I'm like her second aunt twice removed or something. We just say cousin because that is SOOO much easier. Anyways, she comes to visit us almost every summer and ever since last summer, when she met Roland at my birthday party, we haven't spoken much. She talks to him more than she does to me. She doesn't text, email, Facebook, MySpace... nothing. It's not easy, and she's my cousin, and I love her very dearly, but she taught me a lot. I was always the more sheltered of the two of us; private school, strict self-discipline, very rigid morals. She's not loose like, I don't know, a stirpper or anything, but she had a lot more worldly experience than I did. (But, then again, so did Mother Teresa.) I miss talking to her...
Okay, I'm done moaning about my familial problems with Ginger. (Love you, cousin!) Now I shall moan about choir. We're performing "Don't Stop Believing" from GLEE. Fine. Kudos to Mr. Privett. But he gave the solo to a girl, Louisa Tyler, who, although she is a very nice girl and a good singer, can't sing this particular song. She puts the sound "ee" on the end of each word and she doesn't open her mouth enough to enunciate properly for this song. I am still pissed about Mary June getting the TWO solos and with Louisa getting a solo that I performed better than she, I am just not happy. I am seriously considering not doing choir next year. I am tired of being second best, tired of NEVER getting the parts in plays or solos that I want/deserve. There has only been ONE time that I received the part that I wanted and that was after working eight years with the same theater company. I am SICK of not getting what I deserve fairly. It's always the director's favorites who get the good parts (don't you even TRY to contradict me, Claire) and I get the supporting roles. I SAVE everyone else in the show and it always, except once, has gone unnoticed. I don't get leads. If it's because of my weight, then they are basing their decisions on appearances and not by the quality of the work I produce. And, though everyone does it, it doesn't make it any less wrong.
Ugh, I am just so frustrated, I want to punch something!
Punchez,
HM
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Really Old Yeller
Greetings.
Why is it that whenever Ally's email is over quota, I have a crisis that I need to talk to her about? (Neither of us are phone people.) Dad yelled at me again about me getting a job. Now, I had had a TERRIBLE, AWFUL, NO GOOD, VERY BAD DAY. And him yelling at me just sent me over the edge. I almost, ALMOST, hit him or threw what I was holding (my heavy history and Spanish books, keys, sunglasses, Joseph's gift card to Game Stop) at him, but I didn't. I threw them into the dining room; I knocked over two chairs, 'cause I threw my backpack too. Then I shouted, "I'm going to my room!" and stalked there. I'm proud of myself. I didn't slam the door. Immediately I called Bev and asked if I could stay with Nana and Gramps.
So that's where I am now.
Nana, Gramps, and I went to dinner and they told me all sorts of stories about Bev and Uncle Sam. Bev was married to this guy before she met dad; his name was Raphael. Let's just say they didn't part on amicable terms. Anyways, she went to live in Uncle Sam's apartment building, which was, like, 100 years old and had three million cockroaches in it. Nana said that when you opened the cupboard, they fell onto your head. Bev confirmed it. I thought that Nana was exaggerating... Anyways, Nana was dying laughing when she remembered that, when that big earthquake hit Chico, where Bev and Uncle Sam had lived for a while, all the new buildings fell down around that old one. Gramps said (this was what made Nana laugh) that all the cockroaches had linked their arms together and made the building stand. He reasoned that there were enough of them to do it. Nana just laughed.
I like staying at Gramps and Nana's house. I'm really tired of Dad yelling. Bev yells too, but not as often. This is the third month in a row that I have sought shelter at Nana and Gramps's house. Maybe I should just stay here. Bev and Dad have Bentley.
I called Joseph on the way to their house. I cried most of the time. He was really quiet. When I told him that I wanted to move to Gramps and Nana's house, he said, "HM, please don't move." I think that's the closest he's ever come to saying that he really cares about me a whole lot. The second place one was during freshman year. Bev got offered this big promotion in another city and we almost had to move. When I told my friends we might be moving (this was before Joss, mind you), Bennie almost started to cry and Freddy and Joseph got really quiet. Freddy said, "Please, HM, don't go."
Joseph said, "Yeah, HM. We'd miss you."
I feel better. I still haven't talked to my dad. Nor do I care to right now. He doesn't seem to be able to get this through his head: THERE. ARE. NO. JOBS. But leave it to Dad to be ignorant of this one key point.
I'm tired of being second best. I can't get anything I'm qualified for. I never get the leads in my plays (except one, but after eight years, pfft, might as well be forever), I can't get a solo while the choir's rich snobby president, Mary June Laramie, (I know it doesn't sound snobby, but she is) gets two that I wanted and probably more since our choir teacher, Mr. Privett, hasn't announced all of the solos yet, and I get straight A's yet I still get yelled at. Bentley messes up more than I do; he doesn't do his homework, he slacks off, and he's rude to me. Yet he has not been yelled at in weeks and he has NEVER been yelled at bad enough to call Nana and Gramps. I'm seriously sick and tired of coming in second, of not being good enough. And you know what the cruel part is?
I can't do a thing to change it. Mr. Privett chooses the solos, there's always someone less talented yet yet prettier than me for the leads, and Dad will always yell at me because Bentley has taken over my role as "the good one". I can't find a job. I'm only sixteen! I get straight A's, I care for my friends, I do my homework, I cook, I take care of Bentley, I drive him EVERYWHERE, and what do I get? A FREAKING "YOU NEED A JOB, HARMONY MARGARET WALKER!"
Here's a thought, Dad: If I'm working my butt off at a job, who's going to do the driving, cooking, and slaving that I so conveniently do?
Eat that, Dad.
Hugz (and a chokehold for Dad)
HM
Why is it that whenever Ally's email is over quota, I have a crisis that I need to talk to her about? (Neither of us are phone people.) Dad yelled at me again about me getting a job. Now, I had had a TERRIBLE, AWFUL, NO GOOD, VERY BAD DAY. And him yelling at me just sent me over the edge. I almost, ALMOST, hit him or threw what I was holding (my heavy history and Spanish books, keys, sunglasses, Joseph's gift card to Game Stop) at him, but I didn't. I threw them into the dining room; I knocked over two chairs, 'cause I threw my backpack too. Then I shouted, "I'm going to my room!" and stalked there. I'm proud of myself. I didn't slam the door. Immediately I called Bev and asked if I could stay with Nana and Gramps.
So that's where I am now.
Nana, Gramps, and I went to dinner and they told me all sorts of stories about Bev and Uncle Sam. Bev was married to this guy before she met dad; his name was Raphael. Let's just say they didn't part on amicable terms. Anyways, she went to live in Uncle Sam's apartment building, which was, like, 100 years old and had three million cockroaches in it. Nana said that when you opened the cupboard, they fell onto your head. Bev confirmed it. I thought that Nana was exaggerating... Anyways, Nana was dying laughing when she remembered that, when that big earthquake hit Chico, where Bev and Uncle Sam had lived for a while, all the new buildings fell down around that old one. Gramps said (this was what made Nana laugh) that all the cockroaches had linked their arms together and made the building stand. He reasoned that there were enough of them to do it. Nana just laughed.
I like staying at Gramps and Nana's house. I'm really tired of Dad yelling. Bev yells too, but not as often. This is the third month in a row that I have sought shelter at Nana and Gramps's house. Maybe I should just stay here. Bev and Dad have Bentley.
I called Joseph on the way to their house. I cried most of the time. He was really quiet. When I told him that I wanted to move to Gramps and Nana's house, he said, "HM, please don't move." I think that's the closest he's ever come to saying that he really cares about me a whole lot. The second place one was during freshman year. Bev got offered this big promotion in another city and we almost had to move. When I told my friends we might be moving (this was before Joss, mind you), Bennie almost started to cry and Freddy and Joseph got really quiet. Freddy said, "Please, HM, don't go."
Joseph said, "Yeah, HM. We'd miss you."
I feel better. I still haven't talked to my dad. Nor do I care to right now. He doesn't seem to be able to get this through his head: THERE. ARE. NO. JOBS. But leave it to Dad to be ignorant of this one key point.
I'm tired of being second best. I can't get anything I'm qualified for. I never get the leads in my plays (except one, but after eight years, pfft, might as well be forever), I can't get a solo while the choir's rich snobby president, Mary June Laramie, (I know it doesn't sound snobby, but she is) gets two that I wanted and probably more since our choir teacher, Mr. Privett, hasn't announced all of the solos yet, and I get straight A's yet I still get yelled at. Bentley messes up more than I do; he doesn't do his homework, he slacks off, and he's rude to me. Yet he has not been yelled at in weeks and he has NEVER been yelled at bad enough to call Nana and Gramps. I'm seriously sick and tired of coming in second, of not being good enough. And you know what the cruel part is?
I can't do a thing to change it. Mr. Privett chooses the solos, there's always someone less talented yet yet prettier than me for the leads, and Dad will always yell at me because Bentley has taken over my role as "the good one". I can't find a job. I'm only sixteen! I get straight A's, I care for my friends, I do my homework, I cook, I take care of Bentley, I drive him EVERYWHERE, and what do I get? A FREAKING "YOU NEED A JOB, HARMONY MARGARET WALKER!"
Here's a thought, Dad: If I'm working my butt off at a job, who's going to do the driving, cooking, and slaving that I so conveniently do?
Eat that, Dad.
Hugz (and a chokehold for Dad)
HM
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