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Monday, January 31, 2005

Mein Poodle Hat ist weg, Wiebke!

I don't know why, but I always dread the day I get a haircut. That day happened to be today. Really, if I had it my own way, I would grow my hair out until it physically is uncomfortable, and then I would cut it. But no, my parents have taken it upon themselves to somehow force me to get a haircut. They first start out by making very subtle comments about the condition of my hair and how it's getting long. For example, my dad would say something like, "Get a haircut." I would then respond with the usual grunt of disgust. This grunt is not because I don't want to get a haircut at the time, but because at that time, my dad had not yet changed from his bike ride and spandex is not really's the opposite of dignity and redeeming traits?

Anyway, that's how they first start hinting that my hair is getting long. Then for a couple weeks it is a psychological battle of wits between my parents and I. I know I will eventually have to get a haircut, but I fight it to the death anyway. On this last haircut struggle, my mom pulled a very dastardly move. On a saturday night, she and my dad went to a movie, and just before they left, I was in the bathroom. No escape. She yelled down to me that she left 20 dollars for me for dinner and a haircut. And a haircut. She snuck those three words in such a precise and cunning manner that I have to applaud her for that. However, I myself am not lacking in my own sly and scheming craft. My original plan was to use the $20 to pay a hairstylist to make my hair look like it was cut, but not to actually cut it. It would've actually costed more like $80, but the extra sixty I would be paying out of my own pocket would be well worth it.

This plan didn't really work out. You see, I made the mistake of stopping at Big Daddy's before initiating my master plan. I ended up spending most of the money on an oingo boingo cd, and the rest I used trying to get a lobster harmonica out of one of those claw machines. I never got the harmonica, but I did manage to shake the machine a bit and make all the prizes even remotely touchable settle well out of reach. On the drive home I realised that my parents would expect my hair to be shorter and I frantically pulled on my earlobes, but to no avail. Anyway, they got really mad at me for spending all the money and stuff and made me get a haircut today.

I guess the actual haircut wasn't too bad. The only thing that gets on my nerves is how the haircutter ladies always think that they need to make small talk while they're cutting your hair. I mean, I understand them asking questions like, "how much do you want off?" or "do you EVER use shampoo?" or "Dear Lord! How long has that been living in there?!" but once they start trying to guess your life story from what kind of conditioner you use, that's pushing it. I mean, how can I be expected to talk about my day without fidgeting while someone is cutting along my ear with razor sharp scissors? The worst part though was when other customers came in and sat around me while they got their hair cut. I mean, they were talking up a storm and having a great time. This made my own hairstylist a little jealous, so she proceeded to, shall we say, get a little fresh with me. Normally, I would accept this sort of behavior with much enthusiasm, seeing as I am severally desperate for human contact. However, I had to tell her to stop it, not because her face resembled a rotting hamster carcass, but because I saw she had a wedding ring on her knarled left hand. And I don't want some hamster carcass-marrying husband to get all riled up because he thinks I'm stealing his wife. No sir, no matter how much he begs and pleads, I won't. I'm no home-wrecker.

To make a long story short, I got the haircut and stuffed myself with delicious Cafe Rio chicken burrito. I am a little worried though, because certain undisclosed people had remarked that my hair looked "cute" before I got the haircut. But maybe it'll be alright. I mean, I saw one of those undisclosed people today, after I got my haircut. They didn't actually say my haircut was "cute," but I'm sure I heard something resembling that come out of their mouth. Wait, no, that resembled cottage cheese and small bits of hotdog and corn niblets. But still.

Wednesday, January 19, 2005

The Teacher Who Lost Her Way

Nothing can ameliorate the ineptitude of Mrs. Mathews. Having said that, I can now relate to you the following story:

So it's just another regular day in journalism. Everyone is staying after school to work on the newspaper. Alex is typing the code to another xhtml f-disk site, Nate is sneaking naughty words into other people's articles, and Rob is chewing on the carpet. During all this, poor, innocent Mat6t is working hard to make the ridiculous deadline set for his article to be finished.
That's when it started. Mrs. Mathews called Mat6t to her desk to advise him on the corrections the editors had made on the latest draft of his article. Mat6t steadily and unclumsily walked up to her desk. This is the conversation that took place (seriously, this DID happen):

Mrs. Mathew(s): So you're sure that the word, "its" doesn't have an apostrophe when it's possessive?

Mat6t: For the last time, yes!

Mrs. Mathew(s): It still sounds weird to me.

Mat6t: Anyway, what were you saying about my article?

(I should tell you that the article was about words used too often and presented some alternatives to them with examples as how to use them properly.)

Mrs. Mathew(s): It's all terrible! You're a lousy writer! Now I'm going to write yet another note on your article threatening to kick you out of the class!

Mat6t: No, no, before that. I was asking what you had thought of my article, not your bias and stupidity from which come your unjust and indignant opinion of myself.

Mrs. Mathew(s): gesturing toward part of the article which presented the overused word, "crap." You know what I call this?

Mat6t: No, m'am.

Mrs. Mathew(s): It's B.S!!!

Mat6t: So should that be the alternative word?

Mrs. Mathew(s): Al...ter...a...tiv? Don't use your fancy words on me!

Mat6t: Look, just tell me what you want me to change in my article, and I'll change it.

Mrs. Mathew(s): smiling at imaginary friends at her cleverness Maybe you need to get one of those textbooks and reread it.

Mat6t: Oh Mrs. Mathews, you're such a ham.

Mrs. Mathew(s): smile quickly turns into angry snarl You know, I've bitched and bitched and bitched about this!

Mat6t: Well I've bastarded and bastarded and bastarded about it too. (really, I said that)

Anyway, the conversation kind of simmered down from there. This was because most of the people in the class had started laughing. Well, that, and Mrs. Mathews's "medication" had started to kick in right about then. Indeed, cocaine is a hell of a drug.
A lot of other funny stuff happened regarding to the newpaper and/or its affiliates (I.E. phony phone calls for fake advertisements, more yelling) but I'm sure those events will be documented elsewhere (Evidence Exhibit A). Thank you, and good night.

Monday, January 10, 2005

Chess Piece Face

I decided to start reading the book 1984 by George Orwell. I hope it's better than that crappy, Little Women book. Seriously, if I were in Jo's position, I'd be all over those three other girls. But no matter. I'm sure 1984 will be the right kind of book to get my spirits up. I read the last sentence (as is my ritual for any book I start) and it read, "He loved Big Brother." You can't get any sweeter than that.
Well, I've joined the masses of bloggers who can't think of a title so they just steal one from some song. (IE nate and alex and possibly a rhyme scheme stolen by rob)
Speaking of music, nothing can ameliorate the ineptitude of erp. I won't elaborate. It just needed to be said, as if we don't say it enough already. Poor erp.
I've decided I need to work the word "callipygous" into my news article. There's no way Mathews knows what it means and plus she's still shaken up from the "glug glug," "click click," "vroom vroom," "thump thump."
To save money on this blog, I've decided to write the rest of this entry in Hyper Text Markup Language.


Mein Taschenrechner ist weg!

Oh man, this blog is worse than nate's.