If You Want Something, Go Find a Better Class

 Warning! Long-ass post ahead! Go grab some popcorn or whatever.

As far as years go, I'd rate this one an 8 out of 10 on the Bieber scale of suckiness. Long story short, depression hit hard again and my parents failed to give a single fuck. This means my grades took a fairly major hit. I had above a 4.0 GPA last year. This was more like a 3.4 year. Anyway, I'm mostly better now, but I have this little... problem. You see, I was getting C's and D's in Precalculus all year because silly old me forgot to do my homework all year while I was struggling to find the slightest scrap of purpose in this strange and saddening place that I thought the world was. I was always falling asleep in class because the insomnia kept me up all night, and frankly, I just couldn't see the point in trying if I was just going to grow up to live in a windowless van down by the river. I was probably going to get arrested for breaking and entering into a nursing home at the age of 27, so why did I care? So I'd leave my tests half unfinished and half wrong. I hadn't the slightest idea what was going on in class. Anyone could see that I wasn't okay.

Now, precalculus was my worst class, and as luck would have it,  I'm technically a year ahead in math, so I can afford to retake it next year. This means that they replace the shitty grade on my transcript and I can probably get into a college that isn't the Mulebreath, Montana University of Mouth-Breathing. So, after making this decision, I was feeling great. My burdens were halved and there was a little extra spring in my step. My thoughts were effervescent and lit up with cries of "Look at all the fucks I don't give! This man is nothing! This class is nothing!" For Christ's sake, I got a 32 on the ACT! I was gonna get out of this barren hellhole that some colloquially refer to as Ohio and I was going to live.

So what did my math teacher do? He suddenly took an interest in my passing this class. Even though there's literally no point in me putting in any more effort this year. He couldn't have helped me earlier when I was coming into the room on a test day and putting my head down on the desk because I felt so useless. No, he had me come in after school and miss an important meeting on the fucking German exchange trip I'm going on in a few weeks. This was clearly more important. Maybe I won't know how to ask for any food in a foreign county besides Nutella and pizza, and maybe I'll end up having to wash my clothes in the sink, but hey, I said. Why not show him that you can put the effort in?

Malnutrition, here I come!

Honestly, I don't know why I bothered. I showed up as per agreement and he seriously didn't know if I was a junior or senior or why I was even there. He fucking forgot. I could've gone home scot-free, but I stuck by my word and he forgot. Oh, and it gets better. He left about five minutes into this little study session. I don't know where he went. He could've been in goddamn Narnia playing grabass with Mr. Tumnus for all I know. He showed up again 5 minutes before I had to leave, clearly worn and haggard from jerking it in the teacher's lounge for an hour. He asked if I had any questions. I asked him about hyperbolas and he proceeded to explain ellipses. He wants me to do more review sheets for homework tonight. Seriously? Fuck this guy.

Priggidy-Prizom: Thugchantment at the Cloughb

Last Saturday was a very magical night for a lot of people. Specifically the other juniors and seniors at my high school, because it was prom night. Yes, I went, and I suppose it was a little magical for me, too. I had my hair done up all pretty, I was wearing a slinky black dress, I'd put on a healthy slathering of dark red lipstick... and I proceeded to dance the night away on the edge of the dance floor with my two dateless friends. And I use the term "dance" very loosely.

I did:

1.) The Shopping Cart
2.) The Angsty Thrashing Motion
3.) The Writhe Around Trying to Look Sensual
4.) The Carlton
5.) All of These Dances Here: http://vimeo.com/39084398

They Did:

1.) Not a Whole Lot

My good friend Monica claimed that aesexuals can't dance, and after a brief but interesting demonstration on her part, I'm inclined to agree with her. To her credit, she'd occasionally give a shimmy of the shoulders. We were a fun-looking bunch, I'm sure. Most of the other attendees started out dancing normally, while the more ambitious couples were grinding about five minutes into the event. Eventually, they all consolidated into the middle of the dance floor and were exclusively writhing and grinding against each other. And that's what really grinds my gears about these events. (Pun definitely intended.) They all laugh about how I dance weird, but are they really dancing? No. They're just mass dry-humping. So screw them! Anyway, it looked like a combination between a fancy mosh pit and a well-dressed orgy and it smelled like a pregnant grizzly bear. So I played it safe and kept doing the Carlton with my aesexual friend. Also, there was free Mountain Dew. It's not how most people envision their junior prom, but it was almost everything I wanted it to be.

This is Totally a Good Idea

Hi. I'm Sarah, and after meeting three strangers from Nebraska on Omegle, I've decided to start a blog. That may sound like a questionable reason for wasting my time on something that no one's ever going to read and showing the internet just how poor my writing skills are. This is probably true, but bear with me; these strangers changed my life.

It all started when my friend Sean and I were cruising around Omegle. We were insulting strangers' grammar and occasionally laughing at their grossly misshapen genitalia. Strange men from Turkey were beckoning us left and right to shed our clothing and join them in low-resolution orgiastic bliss. Also, Sean even got mistaken for a girl a few times*. Sounds like fun, right? Well, eventually we ran into some girls from Nebraska. To our surprise, they didn't next us or start whipping their junk out. So we talked. And we had things in common. Like our love of Darren Criss. And they showed us their blogs. Then Sean's dad came to pick him up, so I guess that's where the story ends for now. But now I'm here to spread the magic of coincidence and the internet, one post at a time. Eh, that's probably a lie, I tend to talk about my cats a lot and like most of Ohio's fine citizens, I don't really have much of importance to say. But unlike most of Ohio's fine citizens, I'm literate, so I get to have a blog. Enjoy, I guess.

*Sean, if you ever read this, don't feel self-conscious. My webcam makes me look like the Pilsbury Dough Boy and a giraffe made sweet, sweet love, had me, then slathered my face in makeup. I don't think anyone looks good on it.