Accomplishments during Vacation:

1. I made a platypus appear on my calculator.
2. Realized the dire state of my AP exams. err yeah.
3. Ate a lot?

I have to say, numbers 1 and 3 were my favorites.

I think I’ve gotten so fat that both my spine AND toilet are complaining. Or maybe my spine’s simply aghast at my inability to recognize the chain rule, even when it’s tap dancing naked in front of me. eeehhhuughhh.

C. O. Jones. (Christopher Oliver Jones?)

Tienes tu sus Christopher Oliver Jones?

Lumpy takes on a new meaning.



What are the chances of 3 home runs in a row?

Pirates of the Caribbean memory thingies!

I think the concentration of snoggers (couples/L*atm) has risen somewhat. Like by selective precipitation vision or something. And all’uvasudden, the partial pressure of “zomg, X is going to bob around for some 3 hours in mutually uncomfortable clothing at a highly ceremonious yet meaningless thing” has risen too.

This is the stuff of which hermits are made! In fact, I think Thoreau got fed up not with taxes for wars/policies he didn’t support, but with springtime, when “a young man’s fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love.”

why are the unimportant presidents so much more fascinating than the..important ones on whom we have assessments?? eeeeeeee. ln(eeeeeeee)=8.

Applebees’s no longer has the Happy Harmy rating. They gave me a squishy strawberry with my tasteless chicken meat chunk on untoasted bun today, as well as crisp-deficient apples.

Errr. So far, I’ve learned the accomplishments of four presidents.

Out of 25. Or 25 terms, or 25 people; but Willy Henry Harrison and John Tyler are like the same person in that they cover the same 4 year span (but they had to have contrasting policies, with the former being Clay’s puppet and the latter being a Whig-wing-weirdo, the sort who doesn’t like a tariff, opposes internal developments, and ..something else.

Poor presidents. Harrison died of pneumonia, and Zachary Taylor “the competent one from Tennessee” had chronic diarrhea (and died of something wonky in his intestines.)

I am inordinately happy that my calculator can graph cool-looking rotatable shingleshapes and balding-man-scalp designs. In fact, I spent a great deal of my afternoon (and battery, I presume) being amused by how my senseless twiddles can make a little snake weave between the hairs of the bald man and twirl around tulipshapes and batwingshapes.

Tomorrow, I shall quasi-sacrifice my integrity as a music history person to fulfill poetic necessities.

Henry Clay is like the Red Sox, the Cubs, and Catiline, all crammed together into a blender with a bit of soymilk. My pity for him grows with my stack of APUSH notes.

ehh you win some, you lose some.

I’ve been skipping class (legitimately) a lot, lately, or so it seems. That said, I bet that’s why my legs hurt–because I’m strolling ’round the school fleet-footedly multiple times a day.

That’s what gym class should be. A-gym can run like maniacs and race up stairs, B-gym can have clumsyfolk (like me) who impede the athleticfolks’ running up stairs, and C-gym can stroll around into the bathrooms.


Free Cone Day @ Ben and Jerry’s is the same day as “show command of english language dae” and “teach children cool stuff dae.” Then Wednesday is going to be “let’s watch a play dae” and Thursday is going to be “run around like headless chickens day.’

Es obvio que necesito usar mi Lunes con mucha sagaz. Y al mismo tiempo, empezar a estudiar para los examenes. Ay..

Y creo que yo espanto a todos mis profesores con mi discomodacidad (wow)…uh I meant to say…torpeza. y otras cosas.

My arms are too short.