This blog is experiencing extreme inconsistency. Sorry, bloggy. This week was the closest to heaven I'll ever get, I guess. I mean, I only had the Physics lab report and the crapbook for CL to do. All has been procrastinated by our teachers after our retreat next week.
This is what a senior student can only ask for after countless tedious weeks of revising chapters of theses, and being brutally killed by shadow plays and Dante's Inferno itself. We can all thank the owner of this blog for that awful sarcasm that was able to reincarnate us all.
And, what do you know? I haven't failed a single exam yet. Hmm. What a relief. This is the first time that I nailed most of my examinations. Ever since I entered my current school, it has became so incessant that I would never nail one too many tests. What a major breakthrough. Now I can erase #12 in my Accomplishment list. Yes siree.
My head hurts.
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I looked up 'intimidation' in the reference thesaurus a while ago. Look at its synonyms:
fear, terror, terrorism
Woah. Not exactly what I felt last Wednesday. (Intimidation is the same as sexual harassment too, which I'm guessing that nobody really needs to know.)
INTIMIDATION
Mr. Webster defined it as : to frighten, to discourage, to threat, to scare, to silence
As I define it : to challenge my intellectual susceptibility skills, to f-ing outsmart me in more ways than one, and/or in ceaseless peculiar ways (which surprises me too).
I hate it when someone intimidates me (well THAT's sedately new). It's like I'm in an imaginary contest, and our prize is to total dignity that will further on save humanity. It's highly-similar to that of stupid races with no prizes. Well, in this case, we have pride and that academic award as a prize.
And I know I exuberantly suck at contests and the like. And just in case you're feeling stupid because you failed in something that seems so intrinsic to other people, I want to tell you now that I wasn't able to join that essay-writing contest I bragged a few weeks ago because of..well..inanity. It was scheduled on that Wednesday afternoon, by which I have my GIFT class to attend to. And as each successive day passed by after that show of extreme foolishness, I would always remind myself to ask Mrs. Bronilla if I can still write an entry.
The essays the other contestants made are now posted near the HS Quadrangle, and I am feeling very sorry for my ever-so dumb self.
Intimidation. How I hate you, I cannot say.
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It is a wonder why you have optimistic people like that of the members of GreenPeace, and on the other hand, you have a human proof right here that Satan is a girl. And if you're still wondering on who the hell I'm referring to, please..just please..get your ass out of here.
I don't get it. Why do you have to be optimistic? We all know that good things are becoming less and less likely to happen each day, much gratitude to pollution and politics(talk about Ebony and Ivory, or any interracial couple).
There's a lesson here somewhere. I'll look for it. *disappears into highly-polluted air*
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I like someone.
And that someone is I.
It's quite stupendous how being a point away to the highest-pointer of the Physics exam in your class makes you so narcissistic, you've forgotten all your social burdens for a second.
So narcissistic, you're denying your former crushes just because you think you're smarter by 1 quintillion brains.
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Dad and I have this weird father-daughter relationship. When he's up there in Europe, we email each other like we're relatively close, hence by talking to one another almost everyday. But when he's here during the Christmas season, we would never have that chance to blab all we want to, like we always do in the virtual world.
It's kinda guilt-strickening too that amidst all that parental duties my mom has been doing for the past 16 years, I still consider my dad as my hero.
When we went to Poland 4 years ago, I had this unearthly allergy on both of my asscheeks. They itch like hell, and everytime I would stand behind a mirror to see what a nightmare my ass looks like, I would see bleeding scars and the likes of 'galis'. It was very tormenting. I can see the grimace of our Polish housekeeper everytime she would caught me putting my left hand inside my very loose shorts. It's like a wave of Satan's fart passed by everytime I would do so.
And so, my mom and dad decided that I should seek a doctor. If you would use your common sense, an 11 year old with a living hell on both of her asscheeks can never be susceptible of going to a doctor of a country she barely heard of. Before we went to Poland, my dad encountered a vehicular accident that made the company he was working for to confiscate his car. So for us to go to a doctor, we have to call for taxi to get us there.
Commuting with my dad is, by far, one of those experiences a daughter of an OFW will never ever forget. He went to the doctor with me, even if my ass by then was on the number 2 spot of that SCARY THINGS list. And of course, Michael Jackson's topped it. Dang it. I don't get it why the bleeding scars ON MY ASS are nothing compared to this child molester.
We went to the mall together, shopped together, went home together.(Well of course we would do things together. I'm his daughter, for Christ's sake)
Strangely enough, we can never ever ever ever do this when he's here in the country.
I think I'll blame it on the climate.
Or the current president.
Because it would be so clichéd if I would blame it on my parent's relationship again. Ooh, and so conformist too.
The truth really does hurt sometimes.
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