Childhood Episode 2

OKAY.

I have so much homework tonight. I shouldn't be posting. I've been avoiding 'Death of a Salesman' all week, and the quiz is tomorrow. This is pretty usual for me. We had ALL SUMMER to read Frankenstein, and I read it the night before the test. Took me two hours. I got a 104%. That's right. I rocked it. I'm hoping that this will be no different.

OH. I have a story for you.

Episode 2 of Nicole's Childhood:

So today my mom and I were driving home from a doctor's appointment and we were talking about the time I was hospitalized after kindergarten. I had this infection in my bone and I was in the Kearney hospital for like a week. I remember the night I was checked in. I was 6, I think, so my dad was carrying me while my mom checked me in. I threw up on him in the waiting room.
Now, you have to understand. My father is HORRIFIED by vomit. Mom has always been the one to clean up after us. He even hates his own vomit. And I emptied my stomach directly on him. It's a traumatic memory for him. I also remember this other thing. They had me hooked up to several machines. A pick line and an i.v. and stuff. I had to drag them with me whenever I had to go to the bathroom. Usually my mom was there to help me. But there was one day when she wasn't there and I REALLY HAD TO GO, so I unhooked everything and dragged them with me one at a time. It took like, 10 minutes. Then, I got to the bathroom and realized.... they had unhooked me from everything the day before. I was a very pissed 6 year old. I got A LOT of presents that week. Enough coloring books to last years. Balloons, candy. My mom said that after I got out and we had carted it all out she asked me if it was worth it. (the emotional trauma in exchange for the gifts.) Apparently I said yes. I was also a rather selfish 6 year old. Although, I'm not really sure that has changed in 12 years.


OH MY GOSH. THEY'RE TALKING ABOUT ARTHUR MILLER (playwrite) ON PLL (yes, I'm still watching. Season 2, episode 16) AND DEATH OF A SALESMAN WAS WRITTEN BY ARTHUR MILLER.
Not that exciting. But still. I enjoy it. Ignore my weird.

Well..............................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................I should probably actually start my homework ..................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................EXPLETIVE. MULTIPLE EXPLETIVES.


Over.

I am lame.

Welp. Today I had my audition to get into the college piano program that I want.

AND I GOT IN.

Thank you, thank you. *bows*

I also had my LAST piano recital today.
My teacher cried.
She loves me.

It is super late. 10:01 pm. THAT IS SUPER LATE FOR ME.
MY SELF-IMPOSED BEDTIME IS 8:30
I know, I'm a wimp. I like my sleep.

So I'm going to go to bed.

I KNOW THIS WAS A SUPER SHORT SUPER LAME POST.
BUT I NEED MY SLEEP OR TOMORROW I'LL BE A BASKET CASE AND HURT SOMEONE BECAUSE I HATE STUPID PEOPLE AND THEIR STUPIDITY IS AMPLIFIED WHEN I'M TIRED AND MY SCHOOL HAS AN OVERABUNDANCE OF STUPID.

I promise tomorrow will be better.

I have ALL night to come up with something good.

And goodnight.

Over.

I have no freaking idea.

WELL. It's Sunday. I had Friday off. It's 7 o'clock on Sunday.

I haven't started my homework yet.

I'M A FREAKING SENIOR IN HIGH SCHOOL THERE'S LESS THAN A MONTH I JUST WANT TO BE DONE PLEASE LET ME BE DONE.

But no. The projects and papers continue.

So, instead I'm on my blog, posting about pointless things, avoiding it further.
Thank all of you for helping me evade the complete horrors that public school has inflicted upon me.
They're torturing me.
SAVE ME.
REACH THROUGH THE INTERNET AND SAVE ME.

Inane facts:
1. Today, my mom found an old iHome in the hall closet. It still works. I have claimed it as my own.
2. A few days ago I made these AWESOME cookie/brownie things (half cookie, half brownie, make it like a cupcake with a peanut butter cup in the middle) (I'll post a how-to) And I have resorted to hiding them in three different tupperware containers across my kitchen because my brother is eating them three at a time. There's even one in the drawer with the towels and washcloths.
3. Those things are probably like 900 calories each.
4. I'm halfway through season 2 of PLL.
5. Even I think that's pathetic.
6. I can't think of another fact.
7. Dang it.

Doo...doo....doo...
What do you guys want me to write about?
You should leave comments with suggestions.
Because my daily life is just not exciting enough to write about.
More tales from my childhood?
Marching band horror stories?

My aunt gave me a little plaque that says, "Tact is for people who aren't witty enough to be sarcastic."

PLAYLIST OF THE DAY:
1. Anna Sun, by WALK THE MOON - it sounds like summer to me
2. Shot In The Dark, by Augustana - I really have no idea. I like it.
3. Eleanor Rigby, by The Beatles - it's a fave. I'm coming back to the classics.


WELL I THINK I HAVE RAMBLED ENOUGH FOR ONE NIGHT.
WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO WRITE ABOUT?
PLEASE COMMENT BECAUSE I'M DROWNING HERE GUYS.

Over.

Dying..........................

My teachers are trying to kill me. Like, seriously. They're poisoning me. THEY ARE CHOPPING MY LIMBS OFF ONE BY ONE WITH THESE HOMEWORK ASSIGNMENTS. I'm losing the will to live. 

Slowly. Everyday. Little by little. I estimate that I have 42 percent of life force left.

It is day 7 of being stranded in the desert. “hey is it hot in here or is it just me” I say to myself. I may be losing my mind, but I am gaining self confidence.

I told you. Brain cells are dying. Actually it's more like they're exploding.

SO. My AP English teacher has assigned us one of the most pointless assignments I have ever received. We just finished reading Hamlet and this weekend we are supposed to find a literary criticism of Hamlet, 8-20 pages (Easy enough. Normal.) THEN WE HAVE TO WRITE A LITERARY CRITICISM OVER THE LITERARY CRITICISM WE FIND. 4 PAGES. I can't- I can't even. Done. 110% done.

And I have an AP Government project due over court cases related to sexual harassment. FUN.

Hm... what to write... what to write....

I'm watching Grey's Anatomy.

NEW EPISODE.

THAT'S MY FAVORITE THING.

That and books.

I'm addicted to buying books.

Dan claims that I am single-handedly funding Amazon.

He might be right.

OH MY GO- SHE'S DYING. SHE WAS FINE JUST A SECOND AGO NO SHE CAN'T BE DYING 

NOT OKAY HOLD THE PHONE EVERYONE JUST SHUT UP SHE'S FREAKING DYING.

She died. I am very sad now. She had a kid. Very sad. Sad sad sad sad sad sad sad. I have nothing inside but sadness. I AM DROWNING IN MY OWN SADNESS. THE POOR FREAKING KID.

Also, tomorrow I have a 5 HOUR ENGLISH SESSION AT 7 O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING. Yay for my Sunday. 

This post got really weird in the middle. Sorry. I get really into my TV shows. I sort of start to believe that I'm IN the show. Which is SO not healthy.

This is a strange post. But I'm publishing it anyway. (That's what the little button says. Publish. It makes it sound so official.) I might post a story later tonight if I can somehow manage to make myself think coherently. Good luck to that.

Over.

Episode One of Marching Band

Yesterday we had to take concert band pictures for our local newspaper.
That means we all put on our band uniforms, tried desperately to find a pair of shoes that fit, and stood on stage holding our instruments. (I'm a French Horn by the way.)
IT WAS MY LAST TIME WEARING MY MARCHING BAND UNIFORM. EVER.

I asked Mount Dawg (Mr. Mount, the band teacher, he's the coolest and we call him Mount Dawg) if I could buy my uniform if they ever bought new ones. He just looked at me and said, "Why?" The rest of my section echoed his sentiment. BUT I LOVE MY UNIFORM. So many memories. So many parades and football games. I had some great times in the uniform! Plus, the pants are super comfortable. (Mount Dawg called them 'trousers') AND THEY HAVE SUSPENDERS. The uniform also has many lovely pockets. I have hidden things such as cell phones, candy, reindeer antlers, deodorant, several pairs of earrings, and a LOT of lemon drops in those pockets. Quite roomy. I'm going to put my band shoes out at my graduation party with a little plaque that reads, "Here lie Nicole's marching band shoes. RIP the rest of her uniform. She loved it dearly." Or something along those lines.
I have so many marching band stories. So many. Some sad. Some funny. Some terrifying.

And here I will write my first band story:
Episode One of Nicole's High School Marching Band Career:

The summer after my Freshman year was my band trip. They do one every four years so every band student gets to go once. We went to Boston. AND SOMEHOW WE MANAGED TO GO ON THE HOTTEST WEEK BOSTON HAS HAD IN TEN YEARS. According to the news. It was at least 100 degrees (fahrenheit) EVERY DAY. And since we were tourists, we did a lot of sightseeing, OUTSIDE.
Then there was the parade. The band trip always involves a parade in whatever city we're in. They told us it was 2 miles. IT WAS ACTUALLY FOUR AND A HALF. SOMEONE CLOCKED IT. AND HALF OF IT WAS UPHILL. AND WE WERE IN FULL UNIFORM WITH OUR PANTS AND JACKETS AND GAUNTLETS AND HATS AND FREAKING PLUMES. I'm still in pain from the injustice of it all. Every other band was in shorts and t-shirts. And all of the people on the sides watching were like, "You're doing so good!" "You're almost done!" "Just a little bit further!" "You're almost ther-" NO WE WERE NOT ALMOST THERE. WE HAD THREE MILES TO GO. (But we must have looked like dying cattle because they were all very sympathetic and encouraging.) We had a couple of kids pass out from heat stroke and paramedics met us at the end.

(More on Boston later. It's full of stories.)

Over.

              (Here is a photo of me in my band uniform looking sexy as all get out.)

(Seriously. Look at those shoes. And that jacket. And I promise that the suspender pants are super comfy.)

Over again.

Ginger Fro

Today. Today.... Today is a day. A Thursday. A Thursday in April. April the 25th.
Thanks to me for stating the obvious.
I'm on episode 14 of Pretty Little Liars.
After 3 days.
This is bad.
This show is freaking me out.
STOP IT NICOLE.
STOP IT.

Today in French, Seth spent half the block making a ring out of a silver gum wrapper. It was a work of art really. Took him 40 minutes. And then when he finished, he handed it to me and said, "One ring to rule them all." I was so excited. I put it on my ring finger and announced, "Seth asked me to marry him with the ring of power!" Then my French teach said, "En Francais" and our engagement was broken. So sad.

So, today...today I wrote a fugue. Well, I presented the fugue that I wrote. For those of you not taking advanced music theory, a fugue is a type of classical song. Like a sonata, but not. And I had to write one.
DO YOU KNOW HOW HARD IT IS TO WRITE A FUGUE? THERE'S THIS EXACT FORMULA BUT AT THE SAME TIME IT'S SUPER VAGUE AND YOU KINDA DUMP STUFF ON THE PAGE BUT IN A WEIRD EXACT ORDER.
Google it. It's hard.
I advocate Google a lot. They should pay me.
FREE ADVERTISING PEOPLE.
BUT I DON'T WANT IT TO BE FREE.

I will be officially done with high school in less than a month. A MONTH. 13 YEARS OF PUBLIC SCHOOL AND THE GATES ARE VISIBLE IN THE DISTANCE. (I use all caps a lot. Does that bother you guys? I hope not. But then again, I don't know if I'd really care. CAPS FOREVER.)
But yeah. School's almost done.
Well, of course there's college. And probably grad school because I manage to expend the greatest amount of money possible at all times. And I'm going to be an English major. And that's every father's dream. Because you know, English majors have great job security.
(Sarcasm. If you don't know me, that was sarcasm. We're very fond of each other, sarcasm and I.)
But I'm not thinking about college right now because there is a TON of party planning going on. (I'm having a pasta bar! I love pasta.)
And I have to figure out what to wear!
I was explaining to Ted in French today that girls have to wear dresses to their grad party. This astounded him. And it has to be a new dress that no one has ever seen before. Because... that's just how it is.  And we need a DIFFERENT dress to wear under our graduation robe (with cute shoes).
We females are very confusing. I don't even get us most of the time.

Sorry about writing about girly stuff for the whole post.
I promise next time I'll talk about something manly. Like... I don't even know what guys talk about. Sam (my little brother) spends all his time in the show. And Dan (my older brother) is kind of in the middle of a midlife crisis at the age of 21. He goes golfing with his friend Adam and some of their other friends' parents and has started wearing khaki shorts and polos. Real khaki shorts. Not cargo shorts. Khaki. I can't look at him without laughing. Dad told him that the 50's called and they want their shorts back. Dan came back with, 2013 called and they want you to get a fashion sense. Dan, of course, is a straight male who spent most of his high school career with a GINGER FRO.

Over.

Stockholm Syndrome?

TWO POSTS IN ONE DAY.

I'm spoiling you guys. I really am. I don't know if you deserve this.

BUT, I got on this evening because I was (and currently am) kinda bored.

AND I GOT 38 VIEWS YESTERDAY. 

WOAH.

I only started this two weeks ago!

38 probably doesn't seem like a lot, but since it's just my stupid thoughts and stories on a website, it's kind of amazing that people actually want to read it. Maybe I'll become an internet sensation. But probably not.

BUT I WOULD LIKE TO THANK YOU ALL.

Also, it said I had some viewers from Germany. Where did you guys come from?

SHOUT OUT TO THE GERMAN READERS.

AND THE AMERICAN ONES.

AND THE NEBRASKAN ONES. (Technically they are also in America but I have to give a shout to my roots.)

This is a pointless post. Totally pointless. Let me think of something funny. 

OH. Yesterday, during my library aid block at school (yes, I'm a library aid AND I WORK at a library. Total nerd.) we somehow got onto the subject of Stockholm Syndrome. And we researched it. Like hardcore researched it. I know way to much.

Here is brief explanation: Stockholm Syndrome is when a captive begins to bond with their captor/kidnapper/whatever. Like if you get kidnapped and then start falling in love with your kidnapper. 

MESSED UP.

But I guess the psychology of it is that they control your world. Your food and comfort and all of that and it just happens.

The first case happened in Stockholm, Sweden (NAME ORIGIN) when 6 or 7 bank employees were held captive in a bank vault for 6 days. They apparently tried to keep from getting rescued when the cops came, and they testified FOR the robbers that held them.

I'M SO DISTURBED BY ALL OF THIS NEW KNOWLEDGE IN MY HEAD.

Another case!

A girl (can't remember her name) was kidnapped by a group that was ransoming her for several million dollars and he parents wouldn't pay and she ended up JOINING THIS ORGANIZATION AND HELPING ROB BANKS AND KIDNAP OTHER PEOPLE. 

I can't get over this.

So weird.

So messed up.

Never research weird syndromes.

You'll probably regret it.

Over.