The Empress Hotel Dress – $59.99

The Goldie Trench – $107.99

Yes, please!

link:   modcloth

So my first term started last Friday.   First off, let me explain the situation: Exams for third term wre Wednesday and Thursday, we had the first day of the new term Friday, and now we have Spring Break until Monday.  So naturally, half the school skipped on Friday.

I, unfortunately, was not one of those people.

My first hour, choir, didn’t change. Except we got a new song.  And it’s totally strange.  To start, it’s named “Las Amarillas.”  The Yellows? Here are the lyrics.  The song’s originally in Spanish, but this is a translation:

The yellow larks fly from their cactuses
No longer will the cardinals sing happily
na-na-na
and na-na-no

The trees on the hillside, since they haven’t revived
For this the larks sing, or the nest hold them down
na-na-na
and na-na-no

You are little and beautiful, and the way you are, I love you
You look like a little rose from the shores of Guerrero
with your na-na-na
and na-na-no

My father was a sparrowhawk and I was born to peck and peck
Where I place my beak, I’m like a trumpeter
na-na-na
and na-na-no

Everyone has their farewells, but none
is like this one. 

Four times five is twenty,
three times seven is twenty-one.

Yeah, you read that right.  Multiplication!  The last verse is multiplication tables!!  Oh, I don’t understand, either.  And you know how directors sometimes have notes along with the song to tell you how each bit is meant to be sung? This song has quite a few. And they’re all innuendos. They’re all things like “a little gentler now, but keep stoking the fire.“    Me and my friend, Hayley Joy, got a huge laugh out of that.

Second hour is Government.  Nothing too exciting there. Only eight or nine people were actually in it.  But there is good news; thanks to roll call, I found out that there are quite a few people I know (and like) in it that hadn’t shown up that day.

Third hour is still Algebra 3. sigh.  Only good thing about that class was we got an extra credit assignment, which I need.

Then came fourth hour.  I’ll miss my AP English class. That switched to Phys Ed.   Yeah. PE. I’ve ben dreading this class.  It’s a freshman class, but I’ve managed to put it off until this year. Anyway, I was heading down the hall towards it when I saw my ex-boyfriend (don’t worry, we’re still good friends. Only occasional awkward moments. However, I assume they’re bound to become more frequent now..).   I gave him a hug and asked what he had next. I flipped out when he said PE. 

He held out his hand to show me his class schedule, which had written on his palm (he has vocational classes in the morning for hours one and two, so he only had two classrooms written). I, in turn, pulled my sleeve up to show him mine (I only had to classrooms change, so that’s all I wrote).

Both apendages read 267, N. Gym.     
   “Wait a minute, are you in my Gov class, too??”
   ”What hour do you have it?”
I have it second, he has it third.  But still. Yet another person I can copy homework from call if I get stuck on homework.

At my school, the grading system starts everyone off at a 100% at the beginning of the term. My PE teacher believes in actually earning you grade up to an A rather than keeping it at one. So we start off with 0%.    So, with a perfect grade, I’ll still be at a 50% – failing – come the midpoint of the term! Not until the last week will it really be up to a A!       Gaaahhhhhh.

So yeah. Interesting new term.  One great thing about it is that I bought a new bathing suit for Gymn from Modcloth. It’s adorable!  See how it says, “sold out”?  Yeah, I got one of the last three!  =]     OMGANDGUESSWHATELSEIGOT.  The Sidecar Tour Dress I featured on here last month! I’m superexcited.

(Repost: from Brandy)

If he always gives you the last bite of his sandwich or the first lick of his ice cream cone, then he loves you.

If he’s seen your high school yearbook photo and says he still loves you, then he loves you.

If he’s counted all your freckles,- even the ones behind your knees, then he loves you.

If, right before sleep, he leans in, buries his nose in your hair and inhales, and when you ask what he’s doing, he smiles a smile that reminds you of a secret and says ‘nothing’, then he loves you.

If he tells you that you make chickenpox sexy, then he loves you. He’s lying, but he loves you.

If he’s laid beside you in a too small bed, in a too dark room and listened as you told him all the ways you feel like you are failing, then he loves you.

If he remembers the name of your arch enemy from the sixth grade and hates her because he knows all about how she started the rumor that you only used boys deodorant, when you didn’t- then he loves you. And he hates her. But he loves you.

If he’s ever attempted to wash your hair because you said that scene in “Out of Africa” really gets you, then he loves you.

If he makes sure that you never have to sit beside his friend Dominic, the one who never washes his hair and smells like the bottom of a dumpster, then he loves you.

If you are Salma Hayek, then he loves you.

If he’s consumed your mom’s burnt chicken, let your brother win the basketball game and laughed too long and too hard at your dad’s jokes, then he loves you.

If he told you how hard he cried when his dog childhood dog died, then he loves you. Or, he’s made up the story to get into your pants. But he could love you.

If he tells you, “I don’t know how to fix this, but I want to”, then he loves you.

If he sits through “The Hills” every Monday night, then he loves you. And possibly Heidi. But he loves you.

If during hour five of an eight hour roadtrip, he sees you are bored and flips the radio station to a horrifying boy band song and begins to serenade you with his best falsetto, while keeping the beat with his hand tapping your knee, and refuses to quit until you laugh, then he loves you.

If he’s ever bought you tampons, then he loves you.

If, while vertical, sober, and full clothed, and without hope or agenda, he tells you that he loves you, then he loves you.

If he knows exactly what scene in “The Bridges of Madison County” make you cry the hardest, and he waits until the movie is over before he begins to make fun of you for crying in the first place, then he loves you.

If his favourite stories are the ones of you as a kid, if he calls you ‘my girl’ in front of his friends, if he remembers that you like the kleenex with the lotion in it, if he lets you eat his french fries when you know they are his favourite, if he makes small talk with your grandmother when you can’t deal with her crazy, if he tells you that your cute victory dance is worth his own defeat, if he checks the road conditions before you leave for a trip, if he’s ever attempted to sew a button on your favourite dress when you are running late, then he loves you.

If he’s ever fallen asleep holding your hand, then he loves you. Of course he loves you.

Wishing a love like this for you this holiday season and all the days after.

       So I did actually go to my school’s Home Coming dance! The theme this year was “Welcome to the Jungle.”  The class t-shirts have my school’s name printed with different animal prints for each year. There’s snakes, cheetahs, zebras, and giraffes. 

       Did you catch that error? Only one of the four animals depicted on our class t-shirts is correct! Cheetahs, zebras, and giraffes don’t live in a jungle! They live in the savanna! There’s a huge difference.

Savanna:

Jungle:

       Yeah, whoever is in leadership should be embarrassed.  Did none of them catch it?  Lol.

       But anyway, the dance was great and I had an awesome dress!  My only complaint is that my hair sucks and doesn’t hold a curl for more than two-ish hours. But I had so much fun.  Way more than freshman year (I didn’t go last year).  

       Ahh… Perhaps I should elaborate.  At that time, things between me and this guy were confusing. He “liked” me and I wasn’t sure if I liked him. My major excuse not to date him was that I am a Christian and he’s not. And I know it’s just high school fun, but I didn’t want to regret anything about my first boyfriend, you know?  Anyway, I spent all day primping and when I got to the dance, when the guy found me, he came up to me, held his hands out to his sides and said “Hey, look! I dressed the part!” NOTHING about me the entire night.  Now, I’m not conceited, I don’t even think I looked that great, but what kind of a clueless idiot doesn’t know to compliment the girl about something when you “go with” them to a dance?

       And he ignored me the entire night and I got swept up in drama, in a way. Because I was the only person who wasn’t involved in drama, so therefore, people all came running to me about their drama. Gr!  I ended up sitting out in the hall quite a bit until my date decided he didn’t want to be alone in front of everybody else for the first slow song, so he came and got me. He didn’t say a word, he just walked out into the hall and held out his hand, assuming I wouldn’t possibly reject him.

       ….I didn’t at the time, but I kinda wish I had. He was a jerk. And the next month to follow, he got even worse.  Ugh, I won’t explain all that here, though.

       But this year was so much better! I went with my best friend (other than my sister) and there was no pressure to dance at all, even though we did. Both slow and… regular(?).  It was a blast.

Thing to smile about #14:  Going to the Home Coming dance with a friend you’re 110% comfortable with, and know that there’s no pressure about anything.  =]

      The girl stepped out of the shack, clad in a long, white nightdress. She stepped onto the cobbleston path leading only to another house. It was dead silent. A large, stone fountain that no longer worked cast a dreadful shadow in the dimly lit path. No stars were out. The only light came from a single, yellowish lamp to the left of the door of the single house ahead of her. The girl didn’t seem to be scared at all, only careful. She was pale – practically colorless – and with light hair that floated down to the middle of her back and pale eyes. When she was near the house, a young man stepped out of the door and put one foot on the porch step. He reached out his hand to help the girl up the stairs and to welcome her.

       From another angle, another woman watched the girl through binoculars. She saw the girl cautiously move down the stone walk. When the young man emerged from the house to greet her, she felt her neck grow hot. She knew this man. Unfortunately for her, all romantic possibilities with him had been torn from her future. She continued to observe the man; he was certainly pleasant to look at – tall, composed, clean shaven, brown hair, dark eyes, also pale. His clothes were simple and near colorless, too. If only the old fountain wasn’t blocking some of her view.

       Everything’s strange, she thought, crouching in the dark above the dreary scene: a path leading from a doorstep of one house directly to another house’s doorstep; there were no side paths branching off of it. What was the point of that? 

       The pale girl smiled gently and took the man’s hand as she floated up the steps, following his lead. He had let go and turned around, no longer welcoming. He went through the door first and reached for something beside the door frame on the inside. The house was peculiar. The first room that you walked into was lined in books on shelves from floor to ceiling. The books were old and dusty. Some were on the floor, bent and lying open. Directly ahead of her, perfectly aligned with the front entrance, was another doorway. This one had no door. She could see through it to another room, also lined entirely with books. Only this one was lit – by candles, maybe. The same yellowish light poured from the room. The doorway was as far to her left on the opposite wall as possible. She could see room after room, all identical, with books and either dark or dimly lit, the doorway in the exact same place on the wall, no doors…

       The man continued to walk into the next room, the room glowing with dreary light. As she entered, she saw what he had taken by the door. The light glimmered off of an uncommonly long, silver sword. He casually held it pointing downward.

       She looked around. She couldn’t identify the source of the light. It seemed as if the room was just lit on its own, as if the light came from nowhere. This room had books strewn across the floor and two couches – One to her right along the same wall as the door that she entered through and one to her left, also along a wall. On each couch was the corpse of an old woman. On the couch to her right, a woman with long colorless, braided hair lay on her back with her hands on her stomach. On the other, the woman’s body was draped over the arm rest towards her, face downward. Her arms hung limp and straight down past her head. Her hair was frizzy and kept tied back.

       ”You must do this,” the young man uttered low. “There are two very solemn people.” At that moment, the pale girl became aware that she had been seen walking to this house. Out of nowhere, she just knew about the woman watching her enter the house. Back to the beginning, she thought. She panicked.

Change of scene.

       She was back on the porch of the first house, stepping onto the first step, towards the ground. She walked along the cobblestone pathway, leading to the house with the books and corpses. This time she couldn’t let herself be seen. This was strange. It wasn’t as if something would happen if she was seen again and she didn’t really care if anyone saw her. It was just as if she wasn’t meant to be seen and if she did, it would stain the folds of the future. But nothing would come of her being seen. The future would go on the same way as would have last time.

       She made it to the other house again. This time, the man did not come out. She walked through the first room into the second, where the man was standing there, holding the sword in the same manner, waiting for her.

       ”Two very solemn people,” he repeated. Suddenly, the old corpse with the braided hair jerked up. He legs remained propped up on one end of the couch, on the arm rest, but her entire torso lifted, still straight. It was as if she was reclining on a plank and it had increased its angle to the ground. The pale girl couldn’t tell if the lady’s eyes were open or not.

       ”You must do this.” The man was still looking at her, not the corpse. He knew about the corpses, of course. And he knew this one was moving, yet he acted as if nothing peculiar was occurring. The lady wheezed.

       ”One, breathe. Two,” The raspy voice was strained. She had practically coughed the word “breathe” and she had left no time at all between the words “breathe” and “two.” The girl wasn’t breathing – just being. Was the corpse telling herself to breathe? It didn’t matter. The woman continued. “There are two very solemn people.” The old woman flashed to sitting on the couch normally. Her hands were open and moving in front of her while she spoke. “They don’t enjoy…. Or having organs inside them or anything.” The wrinkled hands moved to her abdomen.

Change of scene.

       The girl was back in the first shack, made of planks of wood. It had one door, one window on either side of it. Inside there was a whole wall full of books on shelves. She had ripped some books off the walls. Sweat made the nightdress cling to her skin and made her hair matt. Colorless hair clung to her face. A book sat on the floor, closed. The girl took the sword with both hands on the mantle, lifted it above her head and brought it down onto the book. She did the same with another.

The solemn people. The apathetic characters.