Gitchy-gitchy-cow-ow Gitchy-cow-ow

I feel like a bucket of fecal matter. My nose is all stuffy and I can't breathe out of it, and it runs and I sneeze and gross germy things are all over every single tissue in the house. My throat hurts and when I talk it sounds like somebody is sawing down a tree. All scritchy-scratchy, you know? Sinus headaches pain me constantly. And on top of it all, my skin is dry and my lips are chapped. Huzzah.

And my family is in tears. As I write this, my brother sits on the stairs with his head in his arms and my mom bustles around in the kitchen looking at the floor, and I'm the only one not yelling. Baaaaad karma.

For those of you who didn't go, Mitch Madness was slamming, and so was Sr. St. Denis. I hope that he never gets my screen name, because he is quite a looker. Meow. Mr. LoGerfo and Mr. Labansky were hitting it in volleyball, and, in LoLo's case, baksetball. There WAS a catch, though. Mr. Lee wasn't there! He was supposed to shoot some hoops, and the damn man was not there. Me and my posse were so very disappointed. We'll have to give him a talking-to.

Yesterday I watched The Titanic and had two epiphanies through my tears (so damn sad) which some of my friends should think about. Ahem. 1) Despite all the hurt and pain, when death is inevitable, you'd rather have life all over again. 2) It's foolish to choose death for yourself when so many don't have a choice.

I've mulled over this for a while, but I've decided that I'm going to express EVERYTHING in this blog. Everything I feel, even things about my friends that they might not appreciate. I just want to say before I continue that I love all of my friends, although they have their flaws, and I support them in everything that they do. I have very many moods, and sometimes I say things that I really shouldn't. But I love y'all. You be's my homeslices. ::hugs all friends:: So, here goes.

Alicia ... please don't hurt me, babe. I love you lots and lots, but you are just TOO "nice". You undo fun. For example, when Matt hid Jess's bag on top of the safety blanket in Ms. Roger's room, she didn't even notice. Of COURSE we wouldn't have let her leave without it, you should know us better than that. But you have to go over, pull it down, and place it next to her. She never even noticed it was gone. When Matt and I protested against your kill-joy-ish nature, you said, "It's being NICE." No, it's being obnoxious and boring. Lighten UP. Have FUN. Laugh at yourself. Laugh with others. Trust your friends to never purposely hurt you or each other. Trust ME. It's not mean to pull pranks, honey. It's not mean to hide your binder under John's at lunch. I wouldn't let you leave it, and it's not as if I'm keeping you from it when you find it. Just ... chillax.

And, Jess, please be strong. I love you, and I hope you don't get angry with me, but you're being weak and vulnerable. I know you don't like to be that way, but I'm trying to help you get stronger and you refuse to assist my cause. If you don't do something to change the life that you hate living, I'm going to. I don't care what you say, how hard you beg, but if you're going to live life miserably, I'm not going to let it happen. I WILL do things that you don't want me to do. It's not a threat, it's one of those "tough love" theories Mrs. Beers goes on about. ::hugglies::

Sophia ... I won't get into it. THAT, for one thing, is much too personal. I'll just say that I agree with Eerik. With EVERYTHING he says, in accordance to this. I don't care if you say it's not my business. I want to help you ... I hate not being able to do anything.

Whenever I post, I always end up remembering more stuff about the days that have passed, but I vowed to never go back and write more stuff. So the only way you'll get to know more about me is to talk to me ... hmmmm, interesting. Verbal communication.

JUST NOT OVER THE PHONE. Eeeeg, phones. I have a fear of talking on the phone. I don't even talk to my grandparents in Sweden on the phone. I refuse. I pretend to be asleep or lock myself in the bathroom, or run upstairs and hide under my covers and scream if anybody brings the phone near me.

Other odd fears I have ... I have a fear of newspaper material. I HATE how it feels. I can't feel it. Sometimes, when we're on road trips, Steve will be reading the paper and then he'll shove it at me and I'll scream and kick and hit and make him get away from me. Which is real hassle when I try to clean Goober's cage, because we line the bottom with newspaper. Eeeug.

I also find automatic and revolving doors frightful. An automatic door shut on me once, and revolving doors ... just ugh. How are you supposed to jump into a small triangular space while it's MOVING??? Beats me. If you have any tips, post a comment.

Actually, once I get into the revolving door, I like to go around and around, mainly because I can't get out. Hehe.

Chickens. No chickens. Uh-uh. Once, when I was a tike, I was at a farm in Sweden for a party, and this old man, a friend of my morfar's, was giving us a tour of all the animals, and I typically, being young and impressable, wanted to pet all of the 'aminals'. I DO remember that a calf sneezed on my brother. Hehe. Yeah, so, the ole man introduced us to the chickens in their wire cages next to the barn, and I stick my finger in the cage, and the possessed little thing bit me! Or pecked me, whatev. But I started bleeding and crying and ran back to my mommy, who held me close to her hip and patted my wet hair while still chatting with relatives and friends she hadn't seen in years.'

Since I'm writing this during commercials between the Oscars, I'm going to leave you with the remnants of the image of the bloody tip of my finger laying in the bottom of a chicken's cage as it pecks the flesh off it.

Just kidding.