The First Debate

Today was the day of my first debate competition. Yes, the one I was unsure about joining because it would mean giving up my Saturday and not sleeping in late. But, obviously, that is a lazy and lame argument, so I rejected that Ho and decided to sign up anyway.

With my new partner. The one that I basically told he was my partner and really didn't have any say in the matter. Yeah, that one.

I woke up at 5:00 am this morning and put on the pants I'd pilfered from my mother's closet. Later, I arrived at school, where other people were waiting, like my partner, who had purchased some obscure energy drink because he was dying or something. I dunno. The kid is sorta weird. Scratch that, he's a whole lot of weird.

Eventually, I ended up in a stinky van driven by Ressing/Roessing/however her name's spelled (it doesn't matter, she's totally coolbeans), Lindsey and Adrienne and my partner. We sang like three Disney songs and then I dunno what happened.

Somehow, probably by driving, we arrived at the highschool. IT LOOKED LIKE A JAIL. Steel gray, two-floored, with weird boxish looking architectural features that looked like guard towers, and ROTC kids in their army uniforms standing out front - it didn't look like we'd gone to debate, it'd look like we'd been tricked into going to juvenile hall. WHUT.

After some sidelong glances at the ENEMY, some weird warm-up exercises concocted by the Varsity debaters that were basically a take on Theatre I games, and the weirdness that is that entire freakish team, the first debate round was posted! OH NOES. WHUT. I'M PROP? I DON'T WANT TO DEFINE, JUST LET ME GO HOOOOOME.

Hahaha no. So we prepped for twenty minutes, went in against a boyfriend and girlfriend team from I forgot where, and we basically kicked their joint black-tinged, red velvet ass. But apparently, everyone that had to agree with the resolution given pretty much won.

WHATEVER, I WON FROM PURE SKILL. AND MY PARTNER DID STUFF TOO, I GUESS.

It continued in much the same fashion for the rest of the day, with some waiting, then some prepping, then the actual debate, then another break, etc. The second one we lost but I totally should have seen that coming. We lost against this really cool team of badass kids who looked like the dorkiest, nerdiest guys, like they'd just trip over themselves in losing, but they kicked our butts. HARDCORE. Don't even get me started. I respect them though - smarty smarts, AND they were actually super cool. Kept saying hi to them throughout the day.

PIZZA TIME. Yeah, we ate pizza. Watched the rest of the team members be, erm, unique.

Our third debate was OMG WHUT, against the boyfriend/girlfriend couple of earlier. We lost. I don't understand why, I do think it was just some personal belief the judge had, because my team was better. Scratch that. I was on par with the chick, my partner was better than their dude, and their dude sorta sucked. That means we were generally better than they were, but whatever. I felt so bad for the boyfriend because, on our way back to cafeteria area, he was lamenting the fact that when he's next to his girlfriend, he feels so shaky and stuttery and like he's the girl and she's the guy.

I totally saw what he meant. That chick needs to back off. Nice and all but... she needs to tone it down a bit.

4th debate. Something must be said here: by this time, my feet hurt like a father. I'm walking on heels because it's more professional and to make sure my pants don't drag on the ground and, after a few hours and a few times up and down those stairs, my toes are on fire. So my feet hurt, I'm tired, it's hot (not as hot as here, though), and I'm starting to think my partner is semi-retarded/too nice/a creeper/a fugitive from the law and fearing that I may not be able to reject that Ho as my partner because then he might punch me in the face.

Yes. By the 4th debate, I didn't even care if I won, I just wanted to go home, and I was sooooo grateful that I had the 20 minutes of prep time to just chill and watch my partner rub a stick of Vicks Vaporub around his nostrils. I'm telling ya, this kid is weird.

So I chill for 20 minutes and don't worry too much because I'd actually seen my competition before hand and I knew it couldn't be as bad as debate number two. They hadn't even bothered to wear business attire, for crissakes!

The 4th was actually my favorite.

The judge was sort of an optometrist? She develops lenses for eyeballs and whatnot and showed us an example of one that she uses to show surgeons how to do their job. Pretty cool lady. Said she was 47 but she looked to be about 33. Anyway, she was coolbeans and the resolution was: This house would bring the troops home. I was on the opposition side, meaning I opposed the statement.

The proposition defined it as such: The majority of Americans would bring the troops home.

LULZ. GOTCHA BITCH. I learned from debate number two and will NEVER EVER IN MY ENTIRE LIFE let something go undefined. Never. It's too bad you didn't catch me immediately after debate number 1, cause you might have had a chance, but not really.

To summarize: They did not specify which troops, so I took the liberty and said Mexican troops. Why? Half of the US population doesn't even know the US is sending military aid to Mexico, and I was pretty damn sure they didn't. Nobody watches Mexican news like I watch Mexican news.

They went on to say that we should bring the troops home from Iraq? That happened a while ago. Your point is moot, and made of fail.

Why are you talking about the counterculture of the 60's? What does that have to do with your resolution? NOTHING.

And my vaporub sniffing partner even came through for me, saying something about the troops in the state of Chihuahua. The opposing team (which had a dude named KASH, OMG FAVORITE NAME EVAR) was like, "CHIHUAWHAT?" It's good having someone from a Mexican state when we're talking about drug cartels and shit.

We won that shiz. But I didn't even care about winning against them, because it's obvious they knew nothing about what we were talking about. The win in that was the fact that we persuaded a woman who was a deep believer of "BRING THE TROOPS HOME," seeing as how her dad, brother, and grandpa had all served in various American wars and she saw no reason to keep them there.

But she sided with us cause we were more persuasive.

WIN WIN WIN WIN WIN.

Overall, I was happy with my performance. Quite the learning experience. And that's not even to mention all the random crap that debate people do. Like race on the freeway. And have weird dudes from other schools come and talk like they'd known us forever. And discovering that someone did, indeed, define troops as Girl Scout troops, just like I thought they would. And seeing two dudes chest bump in the middle of an empty parking lot. And listen to Carlos Santana OVER AND OVER AND OVER again. And listening to the Varsity members be like, "THAT WAS SHIT, THEY WERE WRONG, WE ARE RIGHT BECAUSE OF CHINA AND ECONOMY WOMFLASJDFALMQ."

Angry German Kid

I'm sure this is OOOOOOOOLD news but I can't get over it because I've just seen it.

His name is Angry German Kid. And he and I are now the bestest of friends.



I only found out about him because my younger brother was watching videos and came upon Angry Man From Deutchland. There have apparently been many video game spoofs made about him or whatever and I sorta love it. I feel sad that I never saw this before - WEHRE HAVE I BEEN? WHICH SON OF A BITCH IS SHOOTING AT ME? *SCREAMS INCOMPREHENSIBLE*

I'm shutting up now. No, really.

The Tale of Despereuxxasljaslaj (That's how the French Pronounce shit, don't doubt)

For the past few weeks, Natalia Rahlia had been working on the floor of her bedroom. Math homework, labels for Biology, mini-essays for History – you name it, and it’s certain that the Rahlia did it on the floor of her bedroom. Having not cleaned her bedroom in a considerable, er, while, the floor of her bedroom was not the optimal place to work.

It was covered in pencil shavings because Natalia couldn’t be bothered to stand up and empty her sharpener properly.

It was covered in cat hair, a side-effect of owning a cat.

It was covered in Natalia’s own hair, because she is half cat.

And of course, there is the obvious reason why nobody should ever work on the floor – it is a not a desk and therefore ill suited for writings and such.

Often, she’d work into the wee hours of the morning, surviving on air, water, and the beautiful glowy promise on the hazy horizon that she’d appreciate her own efforts come school time, when she wouldn’t be scrambling to finish. Her spine curved until she resembled some bent old woman and her room became even more disorganized and horrible.

But then, the savior arrived.

Like an angel, she swooped down in all her auntly glory and delivered the gift of a lifetime (or a schoolyear): a beautiful desk, old and a little dusty from having been locked in a desert garage for so many years. OH, THE SHEER AWESOMENESS. Best thing: It was completely free. YESS.



The details are what sold it to Natalia Rahlia. She could marry the desk. And have its babies. And send those babies to college. And bail those babies out of jail.



Nothing could ruin Natalia Rahlia’s spirits. Not the constant deluge of homework, or the fact that she broke her big toe every day whenever she attempted to walk into her closet. NOTHING. Not even another one of her feline’s captured creatures.

AWW, HE’S SORTA CUTE.



Yes, the Cat had managed to catch something again and, like the eternal angel of salvation (SO MANY SAVING ANGELS MAN), she swooped down and, instead of grabbing the rodent, stole away with the cat, sticking her in solitary confinement until she went absolutely loony and started confessing to crimes she didn’t commit.

YOU BLOODTHIRSTY LION, YOU.

While we are on the subject of lions, it should be noted that Natalia Rahlia wept today when she saw Mufasa die. It was horrible, horrible, horrible.

And now she has a headache. The end.

Thumper Gets Saved

WAI HALLO THAR. What's that? You're wondering what this is? OH, well this here's a tiny little desert cottontail rabbit! I rescued him from the JAWS OF DEATH.

AKA my cat.



If you're anybody who is anybody, then you already know this story. If you don't, then you're probably nobody who is nobody OR you weren't there for my recounting of my EPIC HEROISM. It's ok, I'm sure you had something important to do, like saving a puppy from a burning building. Your un-knowledge is forgiven.

So there I was, groggily rolling out of bed after little more than 5 hours of sleep and duly wondering if today was going to be a good day, when SUDDENLY, actually wait, no. I rolled our of bed, went into my bathroom for da showerz of da day, when SUDDENLY….

“Squeeeeeaak! Squeeekakafdjksal!”

Holy shizzle sticks, something is dying in my shower!

My half dead brain somehow managed to remember the fact that just yesterday, a terrible crime had been discovered right in front of my door – there, in a little puddle of blood, lay a tiny rabbit’s foot and what looked like a piece of liver. OH NOES. MORE DEATH. WAAAAI.

I donned my superhero cape, tightened my tights, and painted the roses red, anticipating the horrid scene which I was sure could be found right on the other side of my door. There she was, like some terrible hawk, flitting and dipping her paws behind random things in our front patio – a large, blue ornamental vase, two pavers, the corner where a wall and door met. A round, brown ball squeaked in fear and hopped away between my cat’s claws, fighting for his life like a brave astronaut or a tile installer.

“No!” I roared, drawing my wand from the confines of my hidden crotch pocket. Endowed with the cold fury that accompanies any saving endeavor of mine (I apparently save endangered things a lot), my voice was loud and my spell so strong, my cat literally flew up and crashed down like a bouncing, white ferret, standing up to reveal a bloody nose, a black eye, and a cancelled gym membership. She wiped her nose with the back of her paw, staining her spectacular snowy fur bloody scarlet. She then shook her fist at me, gave a look of intense EVOL, swore vengeance, and told me my hair looked like crap. I responded by not responding, choosing instead to scoop the frightened little creature up into my manly hand of manliness.

“Oh, you poor thing!” I cried, hurriedly cupping the desert rabbit between my hands and rocking him, and petting him, and comforting his poor, troubled soul. His heart beat wildly in his miniature ribcage, and I was relieved, and happy, and oddly annoyed too because I really sorta needed to take a shower but I OBVIOUSLY couldn’t just release the bunny into the WILD without 1) walking far enough away where my cat wouldn’t re-find him and 2) without showing the family, especially my little sister who was absolutely pissed when she found out the cat killed a rabbit.

(Let’s ignore the fact that her own mother and father absolutely ADORE the taste of rabbit. Yes, let’s leave that out of this.)

Eventually, though I know it’s not cool to wake people up, I wake up my sister because she’s little and doesn’t care if we ruin her sleep and because she freaking loves when we catch random animals that my cat tried to kill and show them to her.

(Once, I caught this adorable red-breasted finch bird – it was so cute! Its wing was twisted, and it was unable to fly for several hours, but eventually he got tired of hopping around the courtyard and I got tired of watching him, and we both eventually decided it was best if he went on his way; he limp-flied away, high enough into the branches to ensure LIFE.)

She freaks out and is like, “BUNNY!” cause she’s five and she can still spaz like that, then I show my brother, who basically spent the last day and a half vomiting out his insides but didn’t care if I woke him up because he apparently also likes seeing animals that the cat nearly killed but didn’t.

Then my mom saw him and decided not to let him go until at least dusk. Cause everyone automatically loves him.

And my dad, who basically hates animals, was like, “Wow, he’s pretty.” Yeah. My father. Manly man of manliness. It was just THAT CUTE.

Thus was borne the tale of Thumper, the incredible hopping baby rabbit that I saved from the JAWS OF DEATH. He spent his day in the Rahlia household, chilling in a cardboard box. Weird little dude. No matter how much we urged him to eat foods we put in the center of the box, the bunny just kept edging towards the corner until his twitchy nose was facing the wall, acting like we’d forced him into time out.

Interesting cottontail fact: They eat their own feces. Yeah. They do. It’s to gain the nutritional value that they didn’t acquire during the first digestion. Green poop = LET’S DO IT AGAIN, Brown poop = GLARG, I just came off the tilt-o-whirl and I have no nutritional value left. Basically: DON’T EAT BROWN POOP, JUST GREEN.

Which explained why he didn’t eat the poop he left in the box. It was brown, and also about 1/100th the size of a domesticated full grown rabbit’s poop.

We released him into the WILD (aka my neighborhood where these rabbits live for some reason), made sure he had no Stockholm Syndrome (he did not, quickly running away as we pursued him to check for the syndrome), and returned home with an empty box and a bit of an empty heart.

Man, I miss him.



Oh yes. Anyone know that African GIRL who won a really important race and set a record or something? Well, she apparently looks like a dude so they're like, "Let's test her for manlinessness!" and claimed she was a man because she had more male hormones than female hormones despite the fact that she has lady parts down there.

JESUS CHRIST, WHUT. Let her take the medal, for poop's sake! Nobody would care about that race if it wasn't for her anyway. No, seriously, I really wouldn't even know it had occurred if it wasn't for Miss Mann. Jebus!



EDIT: I just remembered. At one point, I decided to take the rabbit into my room, wanting to stick him in something so I could shower but not lose him to the JAWS OF DEATH, and I decided my Disneyland Mad Hatter hat was an appropriate rabbit receptacle. But then he started running around in it, and I started thinking maybe he'd poop in my hat, and then I pulled him out.

GET IT? HAHA. I'M CLEVER.

The Wackness

Mom (on phone): Oh yeah, Natalie's going to be in this thing or something. Debate? I dunno. But she's gonna be in it. BLAH BLAH BLAH.

What is this? Do mine ears deceive me? Is this not the woman who told me I shouldn't join debate because it'd stress her out?

Mom (on phone): Blah blah blah debate debate blah blah blah yeah.

WTF? She's insane. She's effing crazy. She's schizo. She's bi...polar.

Me: SO DOES THIS MEAN ALL OF A SUDDEN I'M IN DEBATE?
Mom: Yeah, you wanted to join, right? You'll be like Laura. "Que passe el desgraciado!" *imitation of a really loud, really annoying Spanish television host*
Me: ... ? YOU TOLD ME I COULDN'T D:
Mom: I WAS ON MY PERIOD. I WAS STRESSED.
Me: *dumbfounded*

This shit is wack, dog.

And yes, that really did happen. It really did. Not exactly like that. It actually took a little bit of clever guilting on my part, which made me feel like a total DOUCHE (or like il duce) but I mean, really, I was in the RIGHT. I was so in the right, I was practically Rush Limbaugh.

And that excuse is balls. It's so balls, clowns are running in here and juggling it. "I'm on my period..." WHUT.

I don't really get it, but I don't really care. I just know I'm pissed because all this crap totally could've been avoided if my mother just CONSIDERED what I was talking about. OH YES. And I'm totally entering with NO IDEA what debate is because, OH YEAH, I missed the thing today where they were going to demonstrate, which I totally wanted to see but did not because picking me up at that time would've stressed my mother out. Now I gotta go to Douglass and explain that my mother was not at all supportive and that she will not judge/drive/anything so she'd better just forget about it.

Who cares. First extra curricular of my LIFE.

Rockband

A quick recapitulation (or capitulation, seeing as I'm not doing it again, as the re implies) of my weekend?

YES. Let's do this. Let's do this now and never look back. We'll be like those crazy hippies, or those crazy kids, or like suicide peoples. Don't be scared, I promise this isn't a suicide pact.

ANYWAY. Friday passed without incident. No, really. Like, you wouldn't believe how totally typical it was. I barely even remember it.

Saturday I forgot what happened. OH WAIT. We got a car! A new car. The lease on our old care expired so we got a newer, less upgraded, more fuel-efficient Rav4 from Toyota. We are now officially Toyota people. Before, it was all Nissan, baby.

Sunday. I had some nasty freaking crepes. Some people need to understand that it's strawberry season and fresh strawberries are in abundance. Please, spare me the gelatinous old looking goo that you probably pulled out of your freezer last night. URGH.

Monday. I did homeworks and stuffs. Not well. I tried to be all diligent and whatnot, taking my work with me to a party we were going to, but I ended up ignoring the necessary works and playing Rockband all evening instead. I want Rockband, but it'd only be fun if I was playing with a bunch of really cool people, not just myself and whoever lives in my house. That would suck HARDCORE.

They had like nineteen bajillion hamsters, because they weren't smart. Instead of purchasing two females or two males, these jokers got a man and a woman hamster. Haven't these guys heard the story of Noah and the giant Ark? TWO OF EACH FOR A REASON. Man.

Well, they multiplied so now there are like 18 bald, tiny, blind babies, and what looks like 10 or 11 "adults." And one of them bit me. We became fast enemies after that.

AND THAT'S IT. GOODNIGHT.

Disencouragement.

A lot of parents encourage their children to join things. They say, "Join a club! Join a sport! Be a volunteer! Be in the play! Join a cult! Save the whales!"

Yes, many parents are quite supportive of their kids' interests, whether they be full-fledged or potential. I'm not talking about those parents who force their kid to be in everything - I just mean the parents are like, "You wanna do something, that's cool, do it."

Then, of course, there are the parents who don't say, "You wanna do something, that's cool, do it." If you know me, which you probably do if you're reading this, then you know how much I don't really do stuff, schoolwise. I tried joining clubs in the past and I decided they sucked and never returned; I once considered joining the basketball team in middle school but decided I didn't want to go to the tryouts because I was hungry and I had food at home. I've often considered joining debate and did not join because a)I was lazy b)I was hungry again and c)I doubted my ability to keep up with meetings and homework, when it really turns out I didn't even have that much stuff to do, I just deluded myself into believing I was super genius with lots o' homework.

LIES.

Anyway, this year, when I've sworn to actually DO STUFF that sounds interesting (sorta), I decided to really try debate. I even went to the lunch-time meeting, a big first for me! And you know, I was quite intent on doing it. I mean, other kids do waaaay more crap than me, and if they can do all that crap and still do their homework, why can't I?

Oh yeah, I was motivated.

But you know that parent that I mentioned, the one who doesn't say, "You wanna do something, that's cool, do it?" That's my mother. She basically told me that driving around picking up three separate kids at three separate times was too stressful and too wasteful and too time-consuming for her.

What I really hate here is that most parents would be sorta thrilled. I mean, right? At least that's what I assume. It's not like I told her I'm staying after school to rape the toilets or something. I'm doing something legitimately good that legitimately interests me (at least now, when I haven't even SEEN anything).

I'll make her regret it. I'll just rub it in her face that it's all her fault that I don't do enough stuff in life. When I grow up and fail at life because I never tried doing multiple things and junk, she will regret it. She herself has mentioned that since I'm young, I should be soooo full of energy and doing all sorts of cool, age-appropriate thingies.

Whatever. She lies. And I can't force her to give me a ride cause it's too stressful, and god forbid I go and do something that's not at all bad.

Meh. There's more that comes to mind, but it'd be too long and stupid to write.

On a lighter note: my mom, the same woman I'm bitching about above, caught sight of Taylor Lautner on a magazine today and said, "OoOoOoHhH! Who's that handsome looking lion boy?"

That's right. Lion boy. She thinks he looks like a lion. And is hot. And it occurred to me that, if my mother was my age, she'd plaster his face all over her walls, and her binder, and her backpack, and her face, and her Taylor L. shrine in her closet, like some sick copy of Hey Arnold's own Helga Pataki's homage to Arnold's football head.

OH GOD, THE VISUALS.