My Grades Have Gone to Hell

I made an 81 (an 80.8, really) on the first part of a test in Chemistry, and a 67 (a 66.666...) on the second part. I'm missing lots of assignments for this quarter in Spanish 3. Edit: "Lots" being relative. The way our grading system works, you average the first and second quarter together to get the semester grade. Both quarters are fifty percent of your semester grade. I'm missing one of very few assignments and made a terrible grade on another this quarter, so it's a very low grade (a D!) being averaged with my B from quarter one to get my shitty-ass semester grade.

Only three people in Chemistry passed the first part of that test. You'd think the teacher would realize that if only three of twenty-something people pass an examination, it may not be us. It may be his sorry ass. And that maybe he should really get his lazy-ass self into fucking gear and do some legitimate motherfucking teaching. Maybe even engage us students. Fuck him. He can suck a dick.

It would seem he has yet to put those grades in. Or maybe he has, and my extra credit from last semester is just really kicking ass. Edit: Logic! He hasn't put them in yet. There's not a terrible grade under Q2.

Here's a snapshot from the online grades system:

I Blame Disney, Those Bastards

My sisters are bitches. Bitch 1' s goal is for everyone to think she's better and cooler than everyone else, and Bitch 2's goal is to be popular. And I blame Disney.

Mind you, I'm not blaming the classic Disney. Nothing wrong with Cinderella or Snow White in my book. What I'm blaming is Disney Channel and the bullshit television they insist on showing. All their shows are about getting famous, being popular, trying to be "normal." The worst part is that they're directing all this nonsensical bullshit at kids around age nine. These are kids in approximately fourth grade. No wonder middle schoolers are so awful.

I think kids should watch Nick, though I think that's just due to my personal preferences. I mean, I find iCarly to be the funniest shit on television.

I'm Making Up Some Bullshit Now

I have a friend- more of an acquaintance, really- who happened upon my blog. Thankfully, he is not the sort of acquaintance to rip my privacy to shreds by passing around the link. Hopefully. Not that anyone would really find anything that I write here all that interesting. God knows why he bothered to read through all my posts.

Anyways, he has been bothering me to write a post about him. Actually, he calls it writing a blog about him, which is a gross misuse of the word "blog." A blog is a collection of posts. This is a post. On a blog. I will not be writing an entire blog about him, just a post.

*big sigh* Moving on. This is a post about Viper.

Viper is 7' 5" tall, and weighs 350 lbs, easily 360. He can bench press- literally- a million pounds. He has saved the world fourteen times that I am aware of, and quite probably many more that I am unaware of. Viper is, to put it frankly, a badass.

There, are you fucking happy, Hunter?

The Origin of My Decision to Give Up Relationships for Lent: A Poem

You say that you love me
Then you push me away
It's a gamble, so random
Your emotions that day

Why are people so crazy?
Why can't love be true?
All I want is some loving
Some loving from you

You used to give freely
Now it's from push and tug
Your obsession, your interest
You won't call it "Love."

My "What the Fuck?" Moment

I was informed today that Pre-Calculus is a four-point class for me and a number of other sophomores, whereas it is a six-point (or weighted) class for the juniors and seniors taking it with us. Why? Because they took Algebra w/ Trig last year. Apparently math classes are only ever weighted after you've taken four math classes already during your high school career. Which I have not. Pre-Cal is my third (I took Geometry and Algebra II last year). What the fuck?

Honestly, I think that's the most fucktarded rule I've ever heard of. I really think all the math classes you take beyond those required of you (you have to have completed Algebra II in order to graduate) should be weighted. I'm going the extra mile; stop rewarding those who don't want to work for being such shitheads (some people deserve to be left behind) and start fucking rewarding me! I deserve a weighted grade! If McMullin gets a C in that class, he gets four points averaged in with his GPA, whereas if I get a freakin' C, I get two points! My GPA is gonna go to shit all because of that fucking class.

Wal-Mart Will Stalk You Through Your Undies

Well, they say they won't, but they certainly will have the ability once they begin installing RFID (Radio Frequency Identification) chips in jeans and underwear next month, in order to more efficiently track their shipments of your mother's XXL boot-cuts.

But Artemis, you whine, rudely interrupting my subtle attempts at a yo-mama joke, I don't know what a Radio Friggin' Doohickey is. Why should I care? It's like a bar code, right? They've been using bar codes since the seventies, and nobody gives a crap about 'em. At this point, I'm ready to smack you in the face. First off, you interrupted me. That is not cool, my friend. Not cool. Secondly, no, RFID chips and bar codes are not the same thing. They do have one basic thing in common (both of them contain a certain amount of data, and when they're read, this data is sent to a "reading device," like a computer or cash register, which uses that information to do important things like figure out what it is you're attempting to buy or make sure your passport is the real deal), but the way they do their jobs is so different, it's like comparing Elmo (the bar code: sweet, if a little slow) with Oscar the fucking Grouch (the RFID chip: a slimy son of a bitch who'll cuss you out soon as he'll look at ya).

See, a bar code is a printed series of bars that form a code. (Gettit? That's why it's called a bar code.) When a magic wand is waved over this series of bars, elves appear and make the computer register the fact that you are adding the Deluxe Blu-Ray edition of All Dogs Go to Heaven to your pile of things to buy. The bar code must be visible to the scanner-wand, and the average furthest the bar code can be is about 12 inches. On the total opposite side of the tech spectrum, an RFID chip is a small (like, teeny-tiny) chip that is installed- sewn, implanted, etc.- in whatever it is the installer is trying to track. Not only do RFID chips not have to be visible in order to be read, but they also can be read at pretty amazing distances (one was read from a distance of 69 feet at DEFCON, and that was in 2005- just think about how much technology in general has improved since then!). They can even be read through wallets (if a criminal has the right equipment, they can bump into you, get close enough to your credit cards to scan the numbers and info off them, and use those numbers to purchase things online- and you won't even know about it until your statement comes at the end of the month, unless the credit card company decides to freeze your card) and cars (like the FasTrak®, which can be used to drive non-stop through toll plazas in San Fran- the FasTrak® is read by magical RFID-readers inside the toll booths, and suddenly they not only have a record of all your comings and goings through the toll plaza... they have a record of where you've been the entire month!).


If a Wal-Mart employee forgot to rip out or disable the RFID chip in your jeans (the latter of which is actually impossible- they can stop monitoring it, but unless it gets killed- more on that in a moment- the chip will never really be disabled), then all of a sudden Wal-Mart can see where your pants, and therefore you on the days you wear those pants, are going. They'll know where you eat lunch, what grocery store you shop at, that you're heading to Tony's apartment four nights a week. 


My preferred method of killing an RFID chip is sticking that mofo in the microwave. Nuking that SOB for 30 seconds ought to do the trick. Leaves an arc of burnt metal, but whatever. You are no longer being tracked. Or even potentially tracked.

Independence Day Festivities

I call it Independence Day, because Fourth of July makes you sound like a retard. Independence Day makes it sound like a real holiday, drawn from deep within our nation's history; Fourth of July seems like some dudes just wanted an excuse to set off fireworks and drink cold beer on their front lawn. "So... uh... wanna blow some shit up this weekend?" "Can I bring my kids?" "Yeah, sure. Bring some beer, too." "Okay. Uh... why are we doing this?" "Er... what's Saturday's date?" "July fourth." "'Cause it's the fuckin' Fourth of July, man!"*

This weekend I get to go to a marina in Maryville where my stepdad keeps his boat and watch the fireworks there like we did last year. My dad has the rest of the kids since he and mom are supposed to alternate each year, but- to quote him directly- "It kinda seems like you have your own agenda, so whatever you want to do is fine." And quite frankly, I'm good with spending as little time with the she-devil (ahem, stepmother) and her demon spawn (I MEANT STEPBROTHER!) as possible.

In honor of this holiday (whatever you choose to call it), I changed the design of this blog to something American yet still without much class. Unheard of, right? It was fun to change around the looks- I know I promised the old layout would be there to stay, but when Blogger updated to a "Template Designer (new!)" I couldn't resist trying it out. I'm happy to tell you I love it. Definitely something to try if you like tinkering with appearances!

So, what are your plans for Independence Day/Fourth of July? What do you call it? I look forward to the interesting responses I'm sure I'll glean from y'all.

*Don't tell me you didn't imagine Will Ferrell saying that. Just me?

Oh, PUH-lease

Honestly, sometimes I can barely stand my own species. My own gender, even.

Women need to stop acting all shocked and angry when they notice a guy "noticing" their breasts. Seriously, it's what guys do. They see boobs, they're gonna look. It doesn't matter if you're a 30B or a 46D. Men like breasts. That's why they've invented all sorts of names for them. (This is also why there's four words for fried batter and only one word for love... think about it.)

"But Artemis," some will plea, "it's degrading! We're as good as men, so they shouldn't treat us any differently!" No, you stupid. You are too different from that guy: you have boobs. And anyways, if no guy checked you out for a whole month, you'd start bitching about it.

So, yeah. Just so all my male readers know, no, you will never win with these women. It's impossible.

I'm in Need

And it is not a comfortable thing.

I've never been in need before. I've always- well, for as long as I can remember- had food. I've had a fridge. I've never been without electricity at home for five straight days.

I don't feel like I'm in need, but apparently I am. I feel like, well, I might not have lighting or a full pantry*, but... I don't know. I guess this is what it feels like, though. I'm incredibly grateful for all the help we've received and the kind people around Nashville- the Jews up at the Jewish Community Center that gave us tennis shoes and deodorant (both of which were desperately needed, let me tell ya), the Section II Clubhouse here in River Plantation (great food!), Logan's Roadhouse (free dinner last night), and the folks at 107.5 The River (best top 40 radio station evar), who donated $225,000 to the various shelters.

For those of you not in the know, Nashville experienced some serious flooding. My mom's house only got a foot of water, but a foot does enough damage. We ripped out all the carpet and laminate on the bottom floor of the house, as well as the bottom two feet of all the drywall. Since we're in a condo, you can look through that bottom two feet and see inside the neighbors' house.

And, on top of all this, it's been in the nineties temperature-wise lately, so of course the damn mold is setting in where people aren't properly drying things.

Next door, the lady was just kind of sitting in her wet carpet. After two days. So me, Mom, Todd, Nama (by grandmother), and David (Todd's friend) went in there and ripped up all that carpet, and got rid of the stuff that was gonna mold, and just worked our asses off for about six hours. So then I went to bed smelling kinda musty, with a bit of wet carpet perfume and cat piss cologne mixed in there. (Yeah, she has a ton of cats, and she's lived in that place for twenty-five years.)

Anyways. I'm staying at my grandmother's tonight and going to work with her, now that we're at a standstill at the condo, waiting for things to dry. There's not much I could really do there, so I'm going to her office to hang out.

Have a wonderful freaking evening, internet.

*Though we did rip the pantry out, so I guess it couldn't be full regardless of the situation.

Only 15 Hours Left!

Just in case you care: there's only 15 hours left to vote on my poll! Look over at the top of the right-hand column, please. Observe the poll. Now vote.

Fuckin' Baby Boomers

If I have to hear another word about Baby Boomers, I'll shoot someone. I hear about this generation everywhere. I mean this literally: everywhere. In the news. In casual conversation. In my textbooks.

I'm aware that they are influencing the economy. I'm aware that they are a large generation. But honestly, why are we obsessed with the elderly? I'm not saying they don't matter, but studies have proven that happiness actually increases throughout the sixties and into the eighties and beyond. They don't need for us to wait on them, hand and foot.

There are 75.8 million boomers (born from 1946-1964). Some of them probably haven't made it this far, so we'll round down to 67 million. The total US population is approximately 309,119,859. This means that boomers constitute a grand total of 21% of the population. My approximation of the number of adolescents (aged 10-18) is 38 million*. That means that the number of citizens born in an eighteen-year time period have only 1.99 times as many people (75.8/38) as those born in a short eight-year period, when really this number should be closer to 2.25 (18/8). 


All this math should prove to you a few things: a) I have way too much time on my hands, b) Baby Boomers are not that big of a deal, and we need to focus on those who have a higher number of people compared to the amount of time we gave them to be born, and c) I forgot what this was supposed to be, but if I only have two things to say, I'll look like a moron.

So there.

*I couldn't find any direct information on this (thanks, US Census!), but in 1993, there were approximately 31 million adolescents in the US. I plugged this number into a proportion comparing the US populations in 1990 and 2010.

50 Dire Questions Answered

1. What is your name spelled backwards? kcalB simetrA

2. Where were your parents born? Mom was born in Frankfurt, Germany. Dad was born somewhere in Estonia, I do believe.

3. What is the last thing you downloaded onto your computer? "True Stories I Made Up" (a comedy album by Daniel Tosh)

4. What's your favorite restaurant? O'Charley's or Applebee's.

5. Last time you swam in a pool? Yesterday.

6. Have you ever been in a school play? Fo sho.

7. How many kids do you want? None.

8. Type of music you dislike most? Opera. I like pretty much everything else.

9. Are you registered to vote? Nope.

10. Do you have cable? My parents do.

11. Have you ever ridden on a moped? Don't think so.

12. Ever prank call anybody? Well, duh!

13. Ever get a parking ticket? I don't drive, so no.

14. Would you go bungee jumping or sky diving? I would do once- just to be able to honestly say I've done it.

15. Furthest place you ever traveled? Jamaica and the Caiman Islands.

16. Do you have a garden? HA! Me? With plants? Riight.

17. What's your favorite comic strip? xkcd

18. Do you really know all the words to your national anthem? Yes.

19. Bath or Shower, morning or night? Shower at night- I sleep with my hair in a towel and by morning it's mostly dry, falling in tendrils.

20. Best movie you've seen in the past month? How to Train Your Dragon.

21. Favorite pizza topping? Black olives.

22. Chips or popcorn? Chips. Plain potato chips.

23. What color lipstick do you usually wear? Peachy-pink or candy-pink.

24. Have you ever smoked peanut shells? Um, no.

25. Have you ever been in a beauty pageant? ZOMGLOL. No.

26. Orange or Apple juice? Orange with no pulp. If there is pulp, then I will take apple.

27. Who was the last person you went out to dinner with and where did you dine? My maternal grandmother and I went to Cancun.

28. Favorite type chocolate bar? That stuff from Trader Joe's. The extra-dark with like 72% more something-or-other.

29. When was the last time you voted at the polls? I have yet to.

30. Last time you ate a homegrown tomato? The summer before my parents got divorced. When we grew tomatoes.

31. Have you ever won a trophy? Not that I can remember, but there's always the possibility.

32. Are you a good cook? Average, I think.

33. Do you know how to pump your own gas? Yeah, even though I don't drive yet. I got my grandmother to show me how.

34. Ever order an article from an infomercial? No.

35. Sprite or 7-up? Sprite- I do have a small amount of sanity, you know.

36. Have you ever had to wear a uniform to work? Never had a real job, but if I get hired at Publix like I want, then I'll have to.

37. Last thing you bought at a pharmacy? Tampons, probably.

38. Ever throw up in public? In a public restroom.

39. Would you prefer being a millionaire or find true love? Honestly? Being a millionaire. I know, that may make me seem like a heartless bitch, but whatever.

40. Do you believe in love at first sight? Yep.

41. Ever call a 1-900 number? Uh... I don't believe so.

42. Can exes be friends? On occasion.

43. Who was the last person you visited in a hospital? Hmm. I dunno, actually.

44. Did you have a lot of hair when you were a baby? I don't remember (obviously), but according to my mother, I had "an average baby amount of hair." I don't even know what that means.

45. What message is on your answering machine? It's a recording from peta2 (Silverstein): "Hey! Silverstein here! The person you're trying to reach isn't here right now, so leave a message- and while you're waiting, go to peta2.com!"

46. What's your all time favorite Saturday Night Live Character? Bon Qui Qui (she was SNL, right?) or that "Can I have yo numba?" guy (was he SNL?).

47. What was the name of your first pet? Yoda. It was my first stepdad's cat. He was fat and mean (the cat, not the stepdad).

48. What is in your purse? A crumpled dollar bill, some coins, cell phone, iPod, camera, few sheets of paper, broken ink pen, working pen, unsharpened pencil, sharpened pencil, graphing calculator.

49. Favorite thing to do before bedtime? Shower, then text.

50. What is one thing you are grateful for today? I'm grateful that I don't have a birth defect (walked a marathon for retarded kids today with Todd).

Stage... Anxiety

In Beginning Theatre, we're doing our first memorized performances (though we're still allowed- encouraged, in fact- to bring our scripts onstage with us as "security blankets" this time around). And I'm a little anxious. I've never really had stage fright; I've been a dancer since I was about five, and I've performed with a professional ballet company at the Tennessee Performing Arts Center (TPAC, for y'all Nashville savvies). You get over stage fright when you do that. But it still takes a big, heaving push to get me in front of people. So what do I do? I take Theatre.

It's helped. It really has. I still have to take a breath before I go on, and at first I'm a little tense, but I don't feel like I'm going to throw up like some of my classmates have said they do. I just get anxious.

It's like I need encouragement or something. I dunno. I never think I'm doing something right, regardless of whether I am, in reality, doing it correctly or not. It's a thing I have. Like counting stuff. (I count stuff: letters in words, steps on a staircase, etc.) It's me. It's a quirk of mine, I suppose.

Or a mental disorder.

Whichever, really.

Songwriting...

It's one really easy way to make things awkward. I think that all songwriters should receive a manual. What would be in this manual, you ask? Well, for starters, it would probably tell you in big, bold letters on the first page- possibly even before the table of contents, right after the publication info page- that you should never, under any circumstances, inform the person about whom the song is written that the song is in fact written about them. Nor should you use their actual name within the song. Either make up a name or omit the whole name problem entirely, adding a term of endearment with the same number of syllables ("babe," "sweetheart," "oh, baby,").

Those would be the kinds of things in the songwriters' manual. It shouldn't be written by Taylor Swift, I believe we can all agree. She tends to break all preconceived rules of songwriting.

Today has most certainly not been a fairy tale, dammit.

I presume you can guess what happened from the above rant.

Ugh. Males suck (no offense intended towards Logan or any of my other precious male followers- you guys can't help the shape of your genitals; it's only natural that we think you suck sometimes).

Tune-a-Licious Tuesdays

In an effort to force myself to listen to popular music (and remember to post), I'm starting a little thing I'll call Tune-a-Licious Tuesdays. Musical Mondays are over-used, so there.

I'm great.

No, this isn't just, "Hey, I like this song." It's also, "I think that this is a good website to find new music, and this one sucks, and check this out- you probably haven't heard any of their other music, have you?" I think I'm really going to get into this.

Feel free to tell me about songs and albums you love/hate/both, and how much of a... you know, I was going to make a Miley Cyrus joke, but I can't even bring myself to go there.

Hanging out in the A+ Lab at school; the juniors are taking the ACT and we're going to be stuck in first period for the next, oh, three and a half to five hours. At least Wilson (he teaches Biology, my first period) isn't with us- we're in the lab because he's one of the proctors. The library and the entire math/science wing are closed to anyone but proctors and people taking the test.

Since we're in the A+ Lab and bored to death, Wilson gave us the opportunity to do extra credit: concept maps (in Inspiration® 8.0, if you want to know) on a) Cell Theory and Cell Parts, b) Monomers, Polymers, and the 4 Essential Organic Compounds, and/or c) Scientific Method.

I did the Scientific Method because it's the easiest. Pretty straight-forward, with a small loop at the end (where you re-test the hypothesis). Meh. I figure I'll get a decent amound of points... here's a screenshot [edit: and... apparently not]. I would totally have done it a bit prettier, but I'm not on my Mac, and I can't be bothered to put in that much effort when on my computer- as opposed to this thing from the early 2000s- it would just take pressing three buttons. But I digress.

At least I can still save in png format. :P

Edit: GOD FREAKING... *urgh* I can't give you a screenshot because the school is retarded and has blocked all image hosting sites, even ones where it's impossible to see everyone else's pictures. You know, made for people like me. Fucking hell...

Homophobic Jackasses Need to Burn in Hell

Sorry for the obscenity. People like this REALLY piss me off:

"Homosexuality is a mental illness,period!Why and when did our great Military allow people with this sickness to enter?Or was it the case where nothing was said and they slipped through the cracks?Either way,if it goes on,it will be the end of our military establishment as well.Men and Women make up our fighting force,not loons!"


That is a direct copy-paste from the comments section on one of Yahoo!'s news stories (link in the title of this post for ya).


Thank you to Jeremy, Michelle, and all the others that defended gays. Here's one of my favorite retorts:


"I am a happily married heterosexual that believes that being gay is a bad choice and a mental illness."


"One more thing, mental illness is NOT a choice nor has it ever been. Are you HONESTLY suggesting that people who are schizophrenic CHOSE to be that way? You use these words like "mental illness" yet prove in the context of your writing that you really dont understand what those words mean. Tell me something, are you a psychiatrist? If no then shut the F up. I will have you know that gayness is NOT considered an illness in psychiatry no matter HOW MUCH you say it is. Say it some more... maybe next time you can convince yourself that you are right."


Way to go, Jeremy. You're my new best friend :)


Disclaimer: no, I'm not gay, I just don't think they're "sick" or "disgusting." They're people, and all you damn homophobes need to get the hell over it.


All right, I'm done cursing now.

This Has Gone Too Far.

Read the title. What do I speak of that is so blasphemous, you ask?

Misspellings. Now, for the record, I don't mean weird words like "Mongolian" and "virtuous." I mean perfectly normal words. Words everyone uses every day. Like "definitely" and "like." Or, as they're apparently spelled now, "defiantly" and "liek."

This has gone way. Too. Fucking. Far. These misspellings disgust me, and I want it to end. I say we start a revolution! A revolution to change the world into a place where proper spelling and grammar makes you a royal, not a geek or nerd- or the forsaken dork. (You know what a dork technically is? A whale's penis. Now you know.)

A revolution! Who's with me?

Nobody?

Ugh.

Retarded 3rd Grade Question

Are you smarter than a 3rd grader? My 3rd grade sister apparently isn't.

Question from "Brain Quest: Math Basics (3rd Grade)" (bolding added by me) was this: "Mr. and Mrs. Lee are the parents of 3 sons. Each son has 1 sister. How many children in all?"

She thought it was six, which makes total sense. One girl to each boy: three boys, three girls, six children total. Apparently, though, it's four. Why? Because that book is irritating.

The answer: "Four. The brothers all have the same sister."

THE FUCK? I believe a nice XKCD comic is necessary here.