A Comprehensive Chronology of a Procrastinator

The following events occurred during a period of time. Times are approximate.

9:00 - I should take a shower! It's going to be a looong night.
9:30? Idk - considers beginning assignment, decides not to.
10:00ish - Wanders around room, considering the pros and cons of Moroccan style decor.
11:00 - Begins watching documentary on the sexual revolution
11:00 - fiddles with bed dressings - oooh those are nice pillows!
11:00 - I have to pee
11:00 - the cat wants to go out. Quick! Before she pees!
11:00 - sharpen pencil... a lot
11:15ish? - Start note cards
11:35ish - finish notecards - why is it that these stupid definitions took half my goddamn stack?
11:40 - flicks through channels obsessively searching for something to procrastinate with even more besides sex of '69 (lol 69)
11:41 - sighs, decides to get crap done now, refuse myself sleep until every godforsaken blank is filled with beautiful biological knowledge
11:45 - loses sight of goal and refocus my attention on sex o' '69.
11:46 - looks wistfully at pile of books on floor
11:47 - considers shelving unit and its odd color
11:47 - wonders vaguely where the cat's gone off to
11:48 - tries to pay attention
11:50 - gets bored trying to pay attention and SLOWLY ties up hair
11:52-12: reads/does not absorb anything being read
12:00 - have the brilliant idea to record all the stupid, useless things I've been doing to avoid doing stupid, useless work
12:10 - decide I should really get this stuff done. But my room doesn't smell like Brazilian carnival, so I forgo work in favor of pleasant aromatic room spray
12:11 - think about skipping it and copying from someone else
12:12 - decide that's a horrible way to start the year and slap myself across the face (metaphorically) to convince myself to work

OH LOOK, IT WORKED.

For the next twoish hours, Natalia worked, and actually got shiz done. Not completely, but good enough to not be dying tomorrow/TODAY.

Oh yes. I got my spring testing results back. They were fine - except for math, where I got BASIC and a mini-scolding for all my trouble. BUT WHO CARES, IT'S MATH. I mean, really.

Gay Fright

My father follows a daily schedule. One of the names on the schedule for today is a woman named Gay Fright. I wish I was joking, but it's effing true. (I won't lie, I sorta love it.)

Guess what happened yesterday? I went to a concert. Ricardo Arjona, no less. YOU KNOW HIM? I DOOOO. He waved at me... actually, he waved at the whole audience, but it's the same thing, practically.

It was at the Hot Water Hotel/Casino. THAT PLACE IS NIIICE. Until you walk into the casino. I find it quite interesting that casinos always seem to be the places where all the smokers hang out. Like, "Hey wanna go bowling?" Smoker: "NAH MAN, I can't smoke at the bowling alley! I needta smoke!" OTHER DUDE: "Wanna go to Disneyland?" "Nah man, I can't smoke in Disneyland! That's racist!" "OK, wanna go sailing?" "I CAN'T GO SAILING, ARE CHOO KIDDING ME? I CAN'T SMOKE AND SAIL AT THE SAME TIME!"

"FINE. Wanna go to the casino?"
"YOU BET YOUR SWEET ASS I DO."

They just seem to stick all the smokers in casinos and it's weird and it sickens me and I would hate to work there because I'd get secondhand lungs. I like my lungs to be brand new and unused, THANK YOU VERY MUCH.

Regardless, I went to the Hot Water Casino, endured the unbearable smoooerkleklkue of dooom, walked around a lot, entered a cafe where the family was - it seriously was like a family affair, freaking everyone I know was there - ordered strawberry smoothie thang and walked around some more around all the lame, stupid gamblers.

Concert time? Yeah. We tried to commandeer a box and were kicked out for all our troubles. Actually, they just directed us towards our real seats but it's the same thing. There was a neato set up on stage in semi-dark chocolate darknessl; meanwhile, the likes of Frank Caliendo told us, across giant screens, to turn off our phones or Robert De Niro might turn up and repeat stuff to us.

Eventually the show began and I was pleased, but also not. It was great, yes, but I wish he would've played some of his older stuff. It was mostly his newer music, which is lovely and all, but I wanted ooold stuff. I dunno. It was fine though - he had a corner of Mexico City set up right there on stage, with an apartment building, a bar, a hair-cutting place, road tunnel/taxi, and billboards (inflatable WHUT). I noticed he stuck to his less-controversial music - no gay-perspective song here - and he even decided to forgo his sad songs. Maybe he doesn't like to spend his tour singing being sad over his music, though it obviously never sad about it? WHO KNOWS.

Overall, quite enjoyable. A night well spent, especially when the rest of the family up in the nosebleed seats started dedicated songs to my dad and uncle down where we were. Just goes to show how LOUD my aunt can scream that we heard her over the speakers and from so far away.

I Hate the District and the middle school, and bad electives

2/3 OF THE WAY DONE. YESH. Only Bio's left, and it's, umm, weird. I kinda don't get it, but I'm all for not caring. You all for not caring? CAUSE I AM. (I mean, I just said that. Jeesh. Copy cat.)

Interesting dilemma came up in the Rahlia household a mere FEW DAYS ago. It turns out the reason my brother wasn't receiving any information from his new middler school was because, eh hem, he wasn't actually registered.

Wait, what? Explanation, plz, district. I mean, you have one job and you can't even get that right? I'm not impressed. Not impressed at all.

Problem solved, though. My mother had to choose the alien boy an elective on the spot and they offered shitty choices. I mean, the most promising one was band, but my brother is in no way interesting in music/committed to sticking with playing an instrument/lazy and wouldn't want to carry his lil case around every day. So, what's your poison of choice? Music appreciation or, er, environmental technology I think it was? I mean, environmental technology? What is this madness? What the hell happened to good ol' fashioned technology? (Hah, old fashioned technology! Excuse me while I sew up my GUT.)

THE KID CANNOT TYPE. I NEED KEYBOARDING, PPL. I NEED BASIC WORD/POWERPOINT SKILLS, MAH GENTS. I refuse to spend his middle school years and the crappiest years of my life - aka highschool - teaching his royal poopness how to do his essays and whatnot.

I mean, he needs help for everything. What are they teaching them in school nowadays?

Oh yeah, and environmental technology? Wtf? What are you gonna make the little midgets do, go outside in the hot hot heat and assemble solar panels above Merritt's roof? Doesn't that sound a tad advanced for 6th graders? I'd rather have genetics with Salwey (who left), Art history w/Nabors (who also left), or Welcome to Japan, where I drank delicious decaf green tea that smelled like sunshine and awesome, where I watched Japanese movies and failed at chopsticks and met my friend's brother and wore "kimonos."

What's that you say? That one's gone too?

Ok then. Give him music appreciation. Since he can't appreciate music to the extent that he'd actually be interested in full-on band, make the little guy learn to appreciate it a bit more and then, who knows, maybe next year he'll be spitting flecks of saliva into his tuba.

(Man, I loooove the Tuba. It's so sexy.)

Oh yeah. And there aren't any trips to Disneyland. Instead, they take them to Seaworld. Still cool, but not as awesome.

The Death of Summer

I can feel my summer dying. It's this tiny little shrunken thing, curled up in a corner of my front patio, licking desert dirt in a futile effort to get some form of sustenance. I once tried watering it, but I got bored watching my dying summer roll around nakedly in the rapidly evaporating puddle of precious liquid that I pored onto the hot concrete.

Aside: Why the hell is my mother's cell phone beeping? IT'S ANNOYING.

It's rather disturbing, watching a summer die. It's sort of like watching your dreams go up in flames, or your favorite character in a book die, or watching practically anything on VH1. It's an ugly, uncomfortable, itchy, and inconvenient experience, and I'm sad to say that practically everyone has experienced a summer die.

But you know, I think I'd much rather watch a summer die than not have a summer at all. I mean, what the hell does summer mean to adults with jobs in the summer? It probably just plain sucks, but whatever.

Point is, my summer is dying, I'm watching it die, it's rather disturbing and I really sorta wish someone would come and give it CPR or prick it with an IV or give it open heart/brain surgery since I'm in no way qualified to do any of those things - I'm afraid I might only make things worse.

STILL. Ricardo Arjona on the 28th. WHOOP DA WHOOP! Nice way to finish off a rather uneventful summer, wouldn't you say?

Math Lessons, Unfounded Theories/Accusations, and REVOLUTION

Today has been quite the day. Lots of magical stuff happened. For example, I realized why I feel so weirdly stuffed/bloated/whatever during the school year. It's simple maths, really.

Lemme teach you mah mathematical SKILL.

Me + Homework = Sitting
Sitting + Homework = Bored
Bored + Sitting + Homework = Procrastination
My favorite form of Procrastination = EATING. A lot. As in "inordinate amounts of food." Copious amounts of food. Choose your word.

So, if we are to take the math relativity/transative laws or whatever they're called we get:

Me + Homework = Sitting
(Me + Homework) + Homework = Bored
(Sitting + Homework) + (Me + Homework) + Homework = Procrastination
My favorite form of (Sitting + Homework + Me + Homework + Homework) = EATING

THEREFORE

EATING=ME, homework-sitting, bored ... & Homework = Homework

WAIT. STOP THE PRESSES. I just realized something. Homework also = Bored/Boring

This changes my equations considerably.

Regardless of my horrible math skills and your obviously confuzzled brains, the point I was trying to get to was when I'm doing homework, I get bored/distracted by things, and usually those things are food, and I just eat a lot without moving. The whole point of that exercise was to show how much non-exercise I get while I do homework + the extra food I wouldn't usually eat because I wouldn't be procrastinating, which leads me to a new idea, which I think is as Revolutionary as a bunch of American colonsits reading the writings of John Locke.

(Regarding COLONSITS: Yes, I did typo. Then, I saw my typo, and decided it was a really good one because, truth be told, Ben Franklin, John Adams, Patrick Henry, and all those other men that I love nearly and dearly were a bunch of colonists who sat a lot and wrote philosophical/revolutionary-sparking things down... and they also sat on their colons.)

Prepare yourselves for the brain-splosion that's about to impact your, er, brains.

SCHOOL = OBESITY.

I know, I know. If I were to present my brilliant theory to the health professionals of this orgasmic nation that we all call our home, I'd be locked in a dungeon somewhere and called mad. Later, I'd die of some weird disease, but only after having dug a 50 foot tunnel between my cell and some cell of a dude really far away. Having dug my tunnel, I would hasten to teach that young man all of the wonderful knowledge that my brain held, making sure to put an emphasis on the school = obesity theory.

I mean, think about it. We go to school. Sit on our butts for long periods of time. Eat a ton of food to make up for our boredom/hunger or whatever. Then, during P.E., nobody gives a flying frankfurter; everyone just walks around being all, "I DON'T WANNA RUN."

Then homework? Yeah. Even less movement. And then those high-calorie snacks we eat while trying not to contemplate wars from many centuries ago, or why the hell the British Parliament was so goddamn hung-up on taxing the damn colonsits.

See what I mean? It all makes sense now. I say we start a REVOLUTION, my friendlies, and boycott the American educational system altogether, protecting our health and our rights as human beings to revolt against a government that does not have our best interests at heart, that is not doing all in its power to protect our unalienable RIGHTS.

Bitches, it's time to read John Locke, put on our bifocal glasses, and throw some goddamn tea into a goddamn harbor. Cause I've had it with these motherfucking snakes on this motherfucking plane.

That is all.

This is what happens when you try to concentrate on work during the summer. It does funny things to your brain, TRUST.

Cocaine? Why yes, I would like some.

90% of United States one-dollar bills bear trace amounts of cocaine, according to a new study. Washington D.C. bills carry the most while Salt Lake City bills carry the least. (According to Time Magazine.)

Make of that what you will.

ALSO, and waaaay more importantly: I got a box full of free books. It's like the book fairy's been spewing word diarrhea from her hind regions and it has been materializing in the shape of books. I mean, Mr. Poe's storylet randomly showing up on the sidewalk? Old woman giving my father a box of books because she has too many already or something?

The gods have smiled upon me, and I, in turn, am smiling up to them. It's like one big smiling fest up in this biatch.

WAIT NO I LIE. The LAST WEEK OF SUMMER '09 will be here round midnight, and I'm getting antsy. The homework/timeliness gods have not smiled upon me, so I'm a tad OFF SCHEDULE. Biology's gonna take this whole damn week and I still don't truly understand what they're asking of me. Wait, yes I do, but I pretend not to because it's just more fun that way.

Currently reading: The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas. It's actually sorta EXCITING. It's like supah fun adventure story of doom taking place in the time of Napoleon the Short (me and ol' Bonaparte share a common bond, people. We see each other every year at the short people convention and share in each other's sorrow). Then again, the fun-ness of the story might be due to the fact that it is, in fact, an abridged version of The Count.

I say, if something is abridge-able, then the writer obviously did something wrong in the first writing. JERUSALEM CHRIST.

Registratrion? YES PLZ.

One of the most ridiculous and useless things that school has created is the registration process. Every year, THOUSANDS of students around the country - and perhaps the WORLD - flock to their local educational institutions to stand in line after useless line, talk to ASB students that they may not necessarily like, and walk about looking confused/frustrated/constipated for an inordinate amount of time.

Friends, I had to suffer through the registration process today, strangely enough, for the first time ever. The last two years I've been gone for the registration days and thusly had to take my ass to the mini-gym every single first day of school to turn in my crap. It was always fun, because I got to miss like the 1st four periods of the day since people were soooo fricken disorganized.

BUT NOT TODAY.

Instead, I walked confusedly into the gym, became #108, sat with a few friends/family, waved at some other friends, and waited for my person to be called into DA STATIONS. Which I did. I was feeling awkward the whole time, cause I looked like crap and knew for a fact that my ID photo would look like crap too, but looking like crap has never stopped me from attending school functions (lol), so it sorta didn't matter.

When I turned in my donation to the PTO, I answered a question I wasn't even asked. GREAT. Way to look retarded, Rahlia.

When I bought my yearbook, I was actually quite smooth. Corrected a girl on her spelling of my name and EV-ER-EE-THANG. Photo time went sorta smooth, though I suffered much like another friend of mine and ended up standing awkwardly while waiting for my ID because I had no idea what the policy for standing was.

DUN EVEN GET ME STARTED ON SCHEDULE PICK UP.

I stood in a line. Listened to some chick who told me I had to go INDOORS to get my paper. Meandered around the counselor's office, noticed nobody was approaching their counselors for schedules, and cursed the polite but ultimately incorrect young lady who had directed me here for my paperwork.

Do not fear! I quickly exited that evil, evil place and picked up my schedule which was, luckily, quite the BREEZE, seeing as how the girl in charge of schedules was sort of my neighbor in math class freshman year. GO ACQUAINTANCES. (I mean, she remembered my name and EV-ER-EE-THANG.)

Media center's never my favorite thing, because it always hurts to see other kids picking up like two or three books of classes I've already taken while I have to go pick up 5 books for all the retardedly-advanced classes that I've committed myself to. I mean, I got TWO books solely for math, and I recently discovered that I may need a $50 calculator (that's the price for a used calculator) that I won't even need for future high school math classes. And there's no way I'm being anything math related for my career, whatever it will be, so I don't even need that stupid calculator for college.

WHAT THE HELL?!

And it's not like I can steal a calculator from my older cousins because, oh joy, none of my cousins have ever GOTTEN THIS FAR. I have a lot of cousins, so it's extremely disappointing that NONE of them could have this calculator.

Oh yeah. And if I lose the disc of my biology book I have to pay the full price of the book - $130. Good thing I ain't gonna lose the disc, eh?

All in all, book pick-up was discouraging because a) it's not fair that I will need two math books b) other kids got lucky and were carrying three books and were STILL whining over the weight and c) I have no valid third reason, but the sole fact that it's TEXTBOOKS sucks enough for 20 more reasons plus 2.

Poor Anette tried to wave at me while carrying her books. It was disaster, and she had to force her knee to do its part and help with the weight.

On the way back to the car, after whining to my mom about my TWO math books, my mother found a copy of The Pit and the Pendulum by Edgar Allen Poe on the sidewalk or pavement if you're British, which you're most likely not. The find cheered me up substantially. Free books that don't cost $130 (notice the redundancy of the previous? I hope you do) or weigh enough to curve my spine into unnatural shapes? Count me in.

And if you were wondering: my ID card came out fine. I tend not to whine about my ID pictures too much because I'm sorta stuck with it/I can go change it any time I want by pretending I lost my ID card, though I'll never do that because it's such a waste of time. Only problem? Flash created a shiny white bright spot on my forehead so it looks like I wiped cream cheese/whipped cream/cream bleach/ice cream/bird feces/mayonnaise on my brow, creating the illusion of a Count Olafesque unibrow or some weird tribal make-up that I've donned before taking my required photograph.

GWAR.