Wow, today has been such a perfect day, and its not even four o'clock yet. It's been raining (and still is) all day, the clouds are a serene gray, the grass is vivid green, and my room is filled with the calming scent of spring freshness. Formal starts in about three hours, and I'm already in stage one of preparation: hair. Right now its air-drying, but when its done my mom is going to curl it and make it very Tyra Banks-ish. Stage two is makeup, which includes silvery-black liquid eyeliner, mascara, white sparkly eyeshadow, body glitter, and lip gloss. Stage three is ze dress, ze shoes, ze shawl, and ze purse.

Man, I can't WAIT! I'm gonna show up at school with my four-inch heels, sexy black dress, and ginormous boobs...them skinny blonde bitches ain't gonna know what him 'em. And neither is Nick. He's gonna catch a glimpse of me and be like "whoa...I should have asked her out a long time ago". Well, fuck you, Nick! You can suck my balls because if you have the cojones to just say "maybe" to my offer, then you aren't they guy I thought you were.

~ michelle

As some of you might know, tomorrow, Saturday, May the fifth, two thousand and seven, the year of your fucked-up lord Jesus Christ, is the day of my formal (or "ninth grade celebration dance!" as the dance committee puts it). Last night, I had a really vivid dream about it. The dream depicted my shoes and purse not matching, my make-up smudged, and my hair messed up. I seriously woke up in a cold sweat, not even jay-kaying you. But today I was at Natalie's house and I told her all about it, and she said that probably the opposite is going to happen. I love Natalie so much

Today when I was over at her house, she practiced formal make-up on me, and damn it looks good. She's gonna come over to my crib and do my make-up, my mawm's gonna do my hair, and damn...I am gonna rock ass. Fuck all you guys in my school for not asking me out, I'm about to show you what you have been missing all these years.

I'm gonna take a whole lot of pictures and I might post them on this blog. Stay tuned!

P.S.: I got my period last night, which means I'm gonna have my period tomorrow. I hate being a woman.

~ michelle

HAHAHA I GOT INTO ALP HAHAHA FUCK Y'ALL BITCHES THAT DIDN'T GET IN HAHAHAHA!!!!!

Ahem. ALP (Autonomous Learner Program) is a program that most of the HP freshmen tested to get into for our sophmore year. It combines English and social studies into one class, which leaves room for three more electives. However, this class is not all sunshine and daisies. It is quite challenging and the teachers expect you to perform above and beyond the expectations. So in essence, this class is for the cream of the intelligence crop. I am uncertain of whether my fellow comrades got into ALP, since the letters were all sent out on different days, but if such un-HP people as ***** and **** got in, then I am quite doubtless that my peeps got in. Tomorrow is going to be an interesting day...

~ michelle

Wow, sorry I haven't posted for so long. I'm just what one would call a "lazy-ass". But regardless, here is what's on my agenda as of now:

Formal.
I hate men. Why won't Nick just give me a straight answer? I asked him out to formal once in person and he gave me a hopeful "maybe". I asked him again over SMS, where he just changed the subject. Then I asked him yet again over SMS where he said "Hah, sounds good," but I'm not sure whether he was saying yes to my request or to the possibility of doing weed brownies after formal. Whatever, fuck him. I'm asking him one last time sometime this week, and formal is this Saturday, so he'd better give me a definite answer. But if he says no, I won't be as emo as I'd thought I'd be. I've come to terms with not having a date, and the fact that I have a really sexy dress consoles me a little.

ze dress...

Yeah, that's not me. I'd kill myself if my jaw was that manly and my boobs were that pancakeish . But yeah, that's my dress. I'm gonna accessorize with a pair of hot-pink high heels, a matching hot-pink clutch, a black gypsy shawl, and a kick-ass pair of diamond and pearl chandelier earrings. Plus, mah bestest bitch Natalie is gonna come over to my house and do my make up all pretty-like, since I can't put on make up for shit. I wub you, Natalie

My "F" in English class.
I'm not one to blame teachers for my own academic ineptitude, but seriously, my English teacher brings shitty teaching to a whole new level. She hands out worksheets and packets like nobody's business (hell, who even NEEDS trees?) and never tells us when they are due. This results in missing assignments galore, which in turn means no possibility for extra credit unless its all handed in. Sly little crone, isn't she now? Fuck. If my high school English teacher is going to be anything like my current one, I am seriously gonna elbow someone in the crotch. Fucking fuckity shit slurping cunt pie.

The end of the school year. 
Holy crap, has the year really gone by this fast? I swear, it feels like yesterday was the first day of ninth grade, thinking I was so cool 'cause I was at the top of the junior high food chain. Psh, I can't believe how naive (I'm too lazy to put the trema over the 'i', fuck you) I was. No one really gives a damn if you are the oldest in the school, its not like the seventh- and eigth-graders can help the fact that they are a couple years younger. Fuck all of you arrogant cocks who think that being mean to sevvies is "cool", I hope your genitals fall off.

High school.
Zomg, junior high is gonna be over in about a month, and then SENIOR HIGH is gonna bite me in the ass. I really am looking forward to it, but the only thing that is making me bitchy and pessimistic about it is waking up so damn early. When I feel like getting up early for some odd reason, which is at about six fourty-ish, I can already see people walking to the bus stop as I look out through the window. Seriously, how does the school administration expect students to function when they have to get up at fucking six in the morning to get ready for school? I hope every person on the school board gets brutally ass-raped with cacti for making me get up so early. Anyhoo, here are some of my hopes/ambitions for my sophmore year in hell:

~ Become friends with some really cool people that have their drivers' liscenses
~ Be more sociable, hang out with more peeps, make more friends, etc.
~ Strengthen my friendship with Natalie and my other friends
~ Don't be so judgemental and socially-retarded
~ Hopefully get a boyfriend who is a junior or a senior
~ Hell, get a boyfriend at all
~ Get all straight A's, and not all A's and one A minus, which shits all over my GPA changing it from a 4.0 to a 3.945 (and I thought they added on an extra .3 for taking all advanced classes; whoever told me that can fry in hell)
~ Be a smidge more fashionable
~ Try not to instigate drama
~ Be in a whole bunch of extra-curricular activities
~ Lose some damn weight

This summer.
I have high hopes for this summer, for a change. I'm be volunteering at my mom's hospital two days a week (where I'll have to get up at six in the morning, FUCK YEAH), working at the movie theater *cringes with disgust*, camping out in front of Barnes & Noble for Heddy Pottah and the Deathly Hallows, going to the midnight premiere of Heddy Pottah and the Orda of the Phoenix with my friends, and maybe...just MAYBE...go to either New York or Montreal (again, too lazy to put the accent aigu over the 'e'). Oh, and my fifteenth birthday will be on June 16th, man am I psyched.

Music.
SCISSOR SISTERS, HOLY CRAP. If I had known that they were such a good band sooner, I would have...well, I don't know, but the Scissor Sisters fuckin' kick ass. The song "Filthy/Gorgeous" is so delightfully raunchy and smutty...it satisfies my inner slut. I just love it. I've always loved gay people, but the Scissor Sisters make me love dem homosexuals even more. Screw you Catholics for hating them, I hope you get shanked.

~ michelle

Hello dearies, guess where I am going today on this fine March morning? That's right, the shooting range.

Usually I'm not the type of person who believes in gun rights, but there is just something alluring about guns. Lately, I've been perusing Wikipedia, and looking researching various types of guns, from the peashooters to the rocket-propelled grenades, and...wow. There is something mysteriously orgasmic about guns, and I'm about to figure just what is so amazing about a piece of hollow metal that shoots another piece of metal out the end of it.

My dad is making me pay the $30 for ammo, but he's paying for the line. Who knows, maybe I'll end up being some sort of prodigy and end up shooting the target in the middle the whole time! Hashem only knows...

But before I go to the shooting range, I'm gonna go somewhere to eat. Seriously, this house has NO food at all. I feel like I'm living in a refugee camp. This morning I was looking forward to enjoying a nice bowl of Honey Bunches of Oats (with strawberrys! ZOMFG!) but when I poured the milk onto those glorious flakes, I realized that milk is not supposed to have chunks. Fucking sick.

So yeah, at three o'clock I have to go to work at the movie theater, where I am a "popcorn techinician". Yeah, doesn't that make me sound so important? I take pride in knowing that I can put just the right amount of butter on the popcorn to make it lethal but not soak into the bag.

When I get off at six, I might see "300" with Nick. Oh, Nick. Such a hottie. So deep. So...cool! I really want to go to Formal with him, so maybe I'll ask him when the movie is over. But I'll have to be careful, because there are many other girls who have their eyes on him, so I'll have to be swift.

Wish me luck, everyone!

~ michelle

I reflect on my life, on the simpler times of childhood. I read the blog of Juhee, one of my friends who now lives in South Korea. I think about how blissful my childhood was.

But you can't dwell on the past.

Sometimes I look back at the 7...8...9...10 year-old me and just marvel at how different I am now. Sure, I was a chunky monkey, but I didn't constantly worry about looking skinny like I do now. Sure, I was intellectually precocious, but I didn't try to blend in like I do now. And yes, sure I was loud and obnoxious, but I didn't try to change myself like I do now.

I can't believe how many friends I had, how often I would go over to someone's house or go to the mall or the movie theater with my friends. I can't believe how well-liked I was, how sociable I was.

But now, I'm just a nervous wreck. Every waking moment is spent worrying about my grades, about school, about stupid teenage drama that makes me want to go on a homicidal rampage. Next year I'm gonna be a sophmore, and for the next 3 years, my life will center around getting into Harvard. The grades, the extracurriculars, the volunteering, everything will revolve around college.

Maybe its just my intense fear of failure. Maybe its just the fact that I am a perfectionist and I will not rest until I get that acceptance letter from an Ivy League college. But most of all, its an ego thing.

My whole life, I've always been an exceptional child, always going above and beyond of what was expected of me. I remember one day in fifth grade when my teacher announced that the highest score on that standardized reading test, was in fact, mine. The test showed that I read at a tenth-grade level, that my score was literally off the charts.

I was always precocious. I am precocious. And I will always be precocious.

I'm an adult trapped in the hormonal body of a teenage girl. I can't wait for that day when I'm eighteen years old and I waltz into synagogue and catch the eye of the most gorgeous Russian-Jewish man. We'll talk. We'll flirt. We'll date for a year or two. And then he will get down on one knee and ask me the four most beautiful words known to mankind: "Will you marry me?"

We'll travel the world, hand in hand. No one will get in our way. Forever I will be in his embrace, staring into his beautiful brown eyes.

We'll create a huge, happy family. And no matter what happens, we will always be together. I will die a happy woman and I will meet him once again in Heaven. Then we can finally spend eternity basking in G-d's glow and wrapped in each other's perpetual arms.

Yisrael, if you are reading this, just know that I am so sorry for what I did to you.

I love you so much.

I have really treasured and cherished our ten-month journey. Just know that I'm thinking of you.

To the rest of you, just ignore this post.

~ michelle

Today I will take the chance to tell all of you about my daily schedule at school...it's really cool, I swear!

Well, I get up at about 6:45 in the motherfucking morning, which I still bitch and moan about because its TOO DAMN EARLY! Seriously, how do the teachers expect us to work to our fullest capabilities when we have to wake so early! Not all of us are perfect angels that go to bed every night at eight o'clock and get the full nine hours of sleep reccommended to us by our doctors. Anyhoo, I get dressed, brush my teeth, eat breakfast, the norm. Then I go out to my bus stop at about 7:30 and stand out there for a few minutes until the big yellow box comes and wisks us away to school. Nothing really bad so far, except for these two assholes on my bus stop that always cut in front of me so they can get on the bus first and take the back seat. Apparently, sitting the farthest back in the bus denotes your "coolness" level, so I guess they have to somehow make up for their tiny penises by being retarded faggots. Fuckers.

So yeah, I get on the bus and try to find a seat for myself, because I HATE sitting with other people on the bus. The twenty or so minutes I spend on the bus ride every morning are twenty minutes that I would like to have to myself without some fag telling me to "scootch in" every five seconds. In the mornings I usually whip out my iPod and read a book. The book I'm reading now is S.D. Perry's "Resident Evil: City of the Dead" which is the novelization of Resident Evil 2. I really love her books, and I love the amount of gory descriptions she shoves into the story. They make me squeamish sometimes but I still love the cheesiness of it. Here is an excerpt from "City of the Dead":

"He brought the heavy weapon down and across its face, the butt sliding across flesh that peeled away in a thick flap. Blood gushed from the wound ass the grips crushed into its nose, cartilage separating from bone with a wet crunch."

Or who could forget this magnificent excerpt of literary orgasm:

Once Claire realized what was wrong, she couldn't force herself to un-realize it, as much as she wanted to. There was only a pool of drying blood where the waitress's head should have been, a sticky puddle surrounded by fragments of skull and dark mashed hair and chunks of micellaneous gore. The cook had his hands over his face, and as Claire stared in horror at the headless corpse, he let out a low, pitiful wail.....He was eating the waitress. His thick fingers were clotted with dark bits of tissue; the strange and alien face he raised into view was smeared with blood.

Ah, the corniness. S.D. Perry is by no means a brilliant author, or even a good one at that, but there is just something about her crappy writing that I admire. Maybe its because she's the only author who has novelized the Resident Evil series, or maybe the fact that she heavily uses swearwords in her writing. Either way, her books are a snapping good read if you have the will power to order them online or search the deepest darkest crevices of Barnes & Noble to find them.

Continuing. So I get off the bus and to my locker and then to my first hour class, which is French. Good Lord, I love French. I seem to have an enormous aptitude for it; its only my first year and already I can converse intelligibly with my teacher. But of course, outlandish intelligence has its disadvantages, such as a jealousy from my fellow peers and the default role of teacher's pet, but its all good to me. Any attention is good attention, right guys?

Alright so after French I have metal shop, which is cooler than I thought it would be. Nothing really worth mentioning here, except for the fact that I am only one of about five girls in the class of 30. Glass ceiling, here I come!

So after metal shop I have High Performance social studies where I congregate with my fellow HP. Then after that I eat lunch with my fellow HP (anyone see a pattern here?). Then after lunch I go to HP English and sit in the corner listening to my iPod and telling dirty jokes while my oblivious teacher rattles on about simple sentence patterns.

~~~

Fuck, I don't know whats wrong with me. I think I have ADD. I'll finish up this post later, right now I just feel like playing DDR.

I'm really am sorry. I start typing and then I get sidetracked...I seriously have a problem. I think I need some Ritalin!

~ michelle

Dear all...

Well I haven't really been using my blog lately, and last I checked, my last post was on Rosh Hashanah. Recently, my mind has become clogged with psychological grime and I saw this dormant blog as a nice outlet for my thoughts. I'm not really much of a diary type, since my handwriting is abhorrent and I just plain feel stupid having to confide my thoughts to some notebook that I'll probably lose. At least on an online blog, other people can have an insight into your thoughts and comment and stuff. Way better than stupid gay MySpace, which I hate with a flaming passion. Fuck, don't even get me started on MySpace.

This post is kinda my introductory post, just to get things flowing. I'll probably be posting much more frequently, so you can count on me! I swear!

It's so amazing how one's interests can change so suddenly. I mean, after two years of being obsessed with the Beatles, I am mildly shocked that my new thing is now Resident Evil.

It all started when I was about six years old. My older brother Eugene - six and a half years my senior - was playing Resident Evil 2 on his PlayStation One. At the time, I thought it was the scariest game EVER! Seriously, sometimes I would have to sleep on the floor of my parents' bedroom for WEEKS at a time, fearing that a zombie was lurking in the dark. I know, I know - how can pixelated zombies be THAT frightening? I was SIX, okay! Shut the fuck up!

So Resident Evil has always been part of my life, whether I liked it or not. I remember one time on Halloween about 5 years ago, my best friend Natalie came over and we were telling scary stories in the dark. Guess what my scary story was about? Raccoon City, that's right. Of course, at the time I only understood the gist of the story, not really noticing the intricacies of the plot until just recently. I rekindled my interest in RE on one Saturday afternoon, when I was sitting on my computer surfing Wikipedia (which I regularly do) and delving into the little nooks and crannies, such as the different types of monsters in the games, all the viruses, and all the plot twists and turns. It was a very enlightening day, a nostalgic day.

I think thats really a big chunk of why I like RE so much - it was part of my childhood, and as I mature, I look back on those simpler times, the times when I didn't have to worry so damn much about school, reputation, stupid high school drama, college, or self-image. Everything was just so...nice. I can't really put it into words, but I'm sure most of you know what I mean. According to Wikipedia, childhood is regarded as the best time of your life. And I totally agree.

Right now I am about to go to bed, and as always I have some unfinished homework strewn across my desk, but my English teacher isn't really strict about late work just as long as we turn it in a week after its due. This is where the procrastination part comes in. When I get home, I just don't feel that orgasmic urge to do homework that so many of my fellow peers seem to have. But of course, I'm not really like my fellow peers. I'm part of what's called the "HP group", an "elite" group of neurotic misfits who have been in all advanced classes since junior high started. It's kind of hard for me to explain what all of these people are like personality-wise, but when I read the Wikipedia article on "Giftedness", I was shocked to see how accurately it described me and the HP. One of the traits that make up an HP fag is procrastination and perfectionism, which basically sums up my entire essence. I mean, I was FLOORED to see how true that article was...I am so glad to know that there is a name for this bizarre "condition" that I have.

And another thing, don't be offended when I use the word "fag" often, because rarely do I ever use it to mean someone that's actually homosexual. "Fag" to me just means a person, a bloke, a sap. Not a really negative connotation, but if I mean it as an insult you sure as hell will know.

Yeah...that's the "clique" I'm a part of, if it can so be called. Over the years though, there have been major rifts and shifts within this cohesive group, but we nonetheless share an unspoken sense of camraderie, even if we don't the know the person that well. Case in point: Carson Jordan, a kid I have known since first grade, was part of the HP. He was a quiet, humorous fellow who was well-liked by his classmates. I always imagined that I would be graduating with him, along with the other HP. Whenever I envisioned my class, he was always just, there. But then on December 14th, 2006, the strangest, most tragic thing transpired. Carson, age 14, committed suicide by shooting himself with a shotgun. When I first heard of it, I thought it was some nasty rumor - y'all know how vicious rumors can be these days - but then I asked one of his best friends and he confirmed it.

I was numb, numb with shock. It was impossible - the fact that he would never sit next to me in math was just IMPOSSIBLE - it just can't happen. But the reality of it eventually sunk in, whether I liked it or not. He was gone.

Before, I always considered suicide as the coward's way out, as the last resort for some emo faggot who couldn't deal with his emotions. But its real, people. Its real. Its a real problem, and even though it might be selfish to suddenly leave your friends and family to grieve, some people just have problems that the rest of us can't understand. Like Carson. Even though I'll never know what he felt or how he dealt with himself, I'll respect his decision. Not something I would do, but nonetheless, I still respect him. I firmly believe that he is in Heaven right now, not in Hell as so many other people believe.

It's nearing my bed time of ten o'clock, so I must depart on a particularly sad note -- but I'll be back tomorrow with more musings and bitchings.

~ michelle

As some of you might know, tonight is the beginning of Rosh Hashanah, or the Jewish New Year. Tomorrow morning I am going to the Russian synagogue with my dad, and hopefully I will get an eyefull of Jewish hotties. Well, I gotta go straighten my hair for tomorrow.

Apples and honey!