Can anybody tell me why I am such a nice kid?
Seriously. What is it? Upbringing? Social circle? Neighbourhood? The stupid genes that have already fucked the rest of my life up? (Save for my brains. Whatever those are good for anyway.)
No really, I am such a nice kid that when I shout through class (which is like my ultimate act of anarchy) because I'm in the middle of a verbal/intellectual duel with pain-in-the-ass Bas (I'd like to let it be known that I won. Because my ego is like that.) I actually feel the need to go excuse myself at the end of the lesson ánd the teacher almost thanks me for it.
I'm such a nice kid to nice kids that I rat out bad kids. Yeah, shoot me. Like I care.
I wanna be badass, dammit.
I wanna get into a fistfight. Haven't done that since 6th grade, and I remember it relieved a lot of pressure to rip the stupid little prick a few of his precious buzz cut black hairs from his head. I still remember rolling around on the concrete, pulling and pushing and throwing half-arsed punches around 'till the ladies who were supposed to be watching us got us apart.
I must have looked a sight.
I remember I was breathing unnecessarily hard through my nose, which must have make me sound like a snorting horse. My glasses were askew and my face rated 9 out of 10 on the redness scale.
I was truly angry. And I don't remember why.
But what I remember best of all was the feeling. It was glorious, no matter that none of us had won or lost, I had bitch-slapped the annoying little fucker that was AD.
I want that feeling back. I haven't felt euphoria in ages. Then again, if I needed to be truly angry to get in a fight, it's logic I haven't fought in the last 6 years. I never got past the stage of 'supremely irritated'.
So, I wanna show some real fisticuffs. Big deal. Don't think I'm ever gonna get an occasion to that.
And I will leave the school with a blank record at the end of the year, missing my only good resolution I wanted to accomplish. I suck.
Help me, people! I'm seriously clueless and need to get in detention for something other than being late before the end of the school year!
I am so uncool. *Sigh*
Well I guess that crap is genetic too.
PS: Here are some more wanna be badasses like me. Not that the original ever was.
Thursday 24 February 2011
Sunday 20 February 2011
Shut up. Just... shut up.
There's a kid in my house.
There's a kid in my house that I barely know and that won't stop talking to me.
There's a kid in my house whose name is Jules and that I'd love to strangle.
Shut up. Just... shut up, you fat 'moulin à paroles'.
Shut up or I'm gonna kill you dead with my Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy Omnibus you've been stopping me to read by talking to me or to the TV. Shut up. It's a Wii. It's not gonna answer.
I think I like your sister Emma better. She might look and act in a slightly depressed way, she might creep me out, but at least he shuts UP!
Did shut up, anyway. They left now. They were the kids of a nice, real quiet guy, a hunter, that my mother is desperately trying to set up with one of her best friends. A totally doomed teenage enterprise only my mother could think up. But enough about all that drama, how have you been?
I've been okay, I guess. I had a nice evening. I had a 'groupe d'activités' thing, I usually hate everything related to that because the guys look at everybody either not talking to anyone but their friends or making fun of everybody, half of the girls are petty and mean and the other half looks at you as if they'd just discovered you in a heap of dinosaurs dung.
But this time it was okay. Perhaps because only half of the group was present, but more likely because the activity revolved around food.
I love food. I guess this isn't the first time I'm telling you, but I really, really love food.
We made a three-course dinner and ate it afterwards. I had more fun making it with the others than eating it with the others. I liked the 40 year-old cooks better than the people my age. The usual.
I have a theory on food. Making food makes people friendly. A cook is always better company than a dietician. People are chagrined when they are hungry (which is why you show your report card at the end of dinner and not before).
Posts on this blog are either bemoaning or euphoric. When they're euphoric, it's mostly because I achieved something in the kitchen.
One of the cooks was a Frenchman. I don't like them all that much: the ones I know that are grown up are bitchy. The cook wasn't. See there the wonderful effects of good food.
I know I'm being irrational. There is a grown-up Frenchman I know that is friendly. Then again, he might be grown-up in body, I strongly doubt he is in mind: he still plays with cars. Admittedly, his cars are big live old-timers, but they're still his toys.
All that fuss to say that I barely passed the introduction of my omnibus and dinner was good.
*Sigh...*
Well, what are you still hanging around here? Go do something productive! Write a blogpost!
There's a kid in my house that I barely know and that won't stop talking to me.
There's a kid in my house whose name is Jules and that I'd love to strangle.
Shut up. Just... shut up, you fat 'moulin à paroles'.
Shut up or I'm gonna kill you dead with my Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy Omnibus you've been stopping me to read by talking to me or to the TV. Shut up. It's a Wii. It's not gonna answer.
I think I like your sister Emma better. She might look and act in a slightly depressed way, she might creep me out, but at least he shuts UP!
Did shut up, anyway. They left now. They were the kids of a nice, real quiet guy, a hunter, that my mother is desperately trying to set up with one of her best friends. A totally doomed teenage enterprise only my mother could think up. But enough about all that drama, how have you been?
I've been okay, I guess. I had a nice evening. I had a 'groupe d'activités' thing, I usually hate everything related to that because the guys look at everybody either not talking to anyone but their friends or making fun of everybody, half of the girls are petty and mean and the other half looks at you as if they'd just discovered you in a heap of dinosaurs dung.
But this time it was okay. Perhaps because only half of the group was present, but more likely because the activity revolved around food.
I love food. I guess this isn't the first time I'm telling you, but I really, really love food.
We made a three-course dinner and ate it afterwards. I had more fun making it with the others than eating it with the others. I liked the 40 year-old cooks better than the people my age. The usual.
I have a theory on food. Making food makes people friendly. A cook is always better company than a dietician. People are chagrined when they are hungry (which is why you show your report card at the end of dinner and not before).
Posts on this blog are either bemoaning or euphoric. When they're euphoric, it's mostly because I achieved something in the kitchen.
One of the cooks was a Frenchman. I don't like them all that much: the ones I know that are grown up are bitchy. The cook wasn't. See there the wonderful effects of good food.
I know I'm being irrational. There is a grown-up Frenchman I know that is friendly. Then again, he might be grown-up in body, I strongly doubt he is in mind: he still plays with cars. Admittedly, his cars are big live old-timers, but they're still his toys.
All that fuss to say that I barely passed the introduction of my omnibus and dinner was good.
*Sigh...*
Well, what are you still hanging around here? Go do something productive! Write a blogpost!
Wednesday 2 February 2011
It iz fini, Madame.
It iz finished. I'm finally over that pathetic impossible love phase.
Only one thing I can say, 'bout bloody time. Really, I'm ashamed to think what a mess I've been on the emotional side for the past few weeks.
How I can be so sure?
Let's just say that I saw the guy and didn't feel the stupid pang of yearning any more. It seems my mind has come to terms with the fact the impossible does not happen, unless it's possible and trust me, this is just so phantasmally phantasmagorially impossible that doubt does not exist. Comparing it to last month's thoughts it seems unbelievable, but I'm just happy to let him be. Amazing that it stopped like that.
Makes one wonder if I was in love with the guy or in love we the idea of being in love. It's bound to happen when your fellow teenage girls spend the majority of their time talking about it and the majority of the songwriters advertising the 'wonderful feeling' (and there you go, now Flashdance's 'What a Feeling' is stuck in my head).
It kind of worries me that I'm unable to make the difference. This is gonna sound very melodramatic (hey! it's weird long word day!) but what if I meet my soul mate (yes, yes, that's cheesy) and I get that feeling again and dismiss it as 'oh no, my mind wants to be in love' while I actually am in love?
How do you know that you're in love? Let's face it, the popularly advertised symptoms are far from clear. 'You think of him/her all the time, he/she is constantly on your mind'. I know people whose stomach are constantly on their mind. 'When you're near him/her, you feel like the rest of the world has vanished.' Oh yeah? Even when crossing the street? My, my, lovers must be an endangered species. And let's not even mention the 'butterflies in your belly' myth. I feel that when my digestion is getting grumpy.
And the most irritating thing of all is 'When it happens, you'll know.' No, I won't! That's why I'm asking! D'you really think I'd bother asking if it's to get that kind of an answer?
Besides, what good is it to feel all those things and end up with a one-sided love affair, feeling miserable for months like a... no actually two friends of mine. I think the girl (one of two) has it worse though, 'cause she got a taste of it before the guy back-pedalled. Not interested in relationships at the time, or something like that. I was kind of honoured when she told me, because even if she's a very outgoing girl, what's deep she keeps to herself. She told me her story, I told her mine, and altogether we had a very satisfying drama-swap.
Right now, all I understand from what I've heard are the innumerable 'love is such a torture' songs. Because I've been miserable. Utterly miserable, stupid and totally not myself. And it's not even a sweet torture, it's just an elaborate mind fuckery.
What really doesn't bring us one step closer to the heart of the issue: how do you know you're in love? Don't know the answer. Don't wanna keep asking the question. So I won't. It iz finished, I'm gonna focus on more enjoyable things from now on. Like knowledge. And food! Yes, definitely like food. Speaking of food, today's Candlemas! We should eat crêpes (which are like pancakes, but better)! Apparently, if you can flip one with a frying pan while holding a coin in the other hand, your family is assured prosperity throughout the year.
If you do it while holding heart-shaped candy, is it assured love?
(Yes, this whole post was a monstrous massive cheese attack)
Only one thing I can say, 'bout bloody time. Really, I'm ashamed to think what a mess I've been on the emotional side for the past few weeks.
How I can be so sure?
Let's just say that I saw the guy and didn't feel the stupid pang of yearning any more. It seems my mind has come to terms with the fact the impossible does not happen, unless it's possible and trust me, this is just so phantasmally phantasmagorially impossible that doubt does not exist. Comparing it to last month's thoughts it seems unbelievable, but I'm just happy to let him be. Amazing that it stopped like that.
Makes one wonder if I was in love with the guy or in love we the idea of being in love. It's bound to happen when your fellow teenage girls spend the majority of their time talking about it and the majority of the songwriters advertising the 'wonderful feeling' (and there you go, now Flashdance's 'What a Feeling' is stuck in my head).
It kind of worries me that I'm unable to make the difference. This is gonna sound very melodramatic (hey! it's weird long word day!) but what if I meet my soul mate (yes, yes, that's cheesy) and I get that feeling again and dismiss it as 'oh no, my mind wants to be in love' while I actually am in love?
How do you know that you're in love? Let's face it, the popularly advertised symptoms are far from clear. 'You think of him/her all the time, he/she is constantly on your mind'. I know people whose stomach are constantly on their mind. 'When you're near him/her, you feel like the rest of the world has vanished.' Oh yeah? Even when crossing the street? My, my, lovers must be an endangered species. And let's not even mention the 'butterflies in your belly' myth. I feel that when my digestion is getting grumpy.
And the most irritating thing of all is 'When it happens, you'll know.' No, I won't! That's why I'm asking! D'you really think I'd bother asking if it's to get that kind of an answer?
Besides, what good is it to feel all those things and end up with a one-sided love affair, feeling miserable for months like a... no actually two friends of mine. I think the girl (one of two) has it worse though, 'cause she got a taste of it before the guy back-pedalled. Not interested in relationships at the time, or something like that. I was kind of honoured when she told me, because even if she's a very outgoing girl, what's deep she keeps to herself. She told me her story, I told her mine, and altogether we had a very satisfying drama-swap.
Right now, all I understand from what I've heard are the innumerable 'love is such a torture' songs. Because I've been miserable. Utterly miserable, stupid and totally not myself. And it's not even a sweet torture, it's just an elaborate mind fuckery.
What really doesn't bring us one step closer to the heart of the issue: how do you know you're in love? Don't know the answer. Don't wanna keep asking the question. So I won't. It iz finished, I'm gonna focus on more enjoyable things from now on. Like knowledge. And food! Yes, definitely like food. Speaking of food, today's Candlemas! We should eat crêpes (which are like pancakes, but better)! Apparently, if you can flip one with a frying pan while holding a coin in the other hand, your family is assured prosperity throughout the year.
If you do it while holding heart-shaped candy, is it assured love?
(Yes, this whole post was a monstrous massive cheese attack)
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