The Horrors of Highschool Homecoming

It was really loopy.

I mean loopy in all ways possible. It’s probably the only word I can use other than the ambiguous “fun”.

My friend, LeRain and I walked around from the gym to the cafeteria for the first hour, talking to her band friends while I regretted my class decisions. (I didn’t take band because I’m trash at ze flute and drawing interested me more.)

It was kind of boring at that point and the only thing that saved it from being that way was the yummy ice cones and this physical Angry Birds game. So the game basically went like this: step on the wooden thing and try desperately to knock down a tower of plastic bricks. Easy, right?

Wrong. It was so hard for me, even with my eight-inch heels (that’s a story for another post) to get the bird to hit the building. I knocked down the tower once in the twentyish tries I had. At times like this, I question why angry birds don’t have wings.   

After that, I met up with my other friend, Ash. She was dancing with her friend, Zip and introduced her to me. We danced a bit in the gym then went to the cafeteria since we were a bit tired. This was when the loopiness began.

Since the Gatorade was an odd grey color, we joked around that it was laced with illegal substances. We laughed so much that Ash spilled some of her drink on her dress. A guy passed by and said that it looked like a private part of the human body and snickered.

In an attempt to cover it up I gave her my Spanish crossword (which was due the next day) and tucked it under her dress so it looked like a bib. We walked out of the lunchroom then, Ash looking magnificent.

Outside the cafeteria, I saw a girl who had THE SAME EXACT dress as me and I just started laughing so much because of all the odd events that were somehow circulating around me. The girl probably thought I laced my own Gatorade with illegal substances because that’s what I sounded like at the time. I managed to say “Nice dress,” before promptly making my exit from her glaring radius.

Later, Ash, Zip, LeRain and I all went to the gym and played a game similar to Mad Libs. We danced more afterward, joining a dancing circle of freshmen doing stupid dances. Once in the middle, Ash danced like a goddess, but then was suddenly bombarded by two girls doing a sickening butt-slapping dance. Luckily, all was back to normal when this person went in the middle and started to do the chicken dance with incredible finesse. I think now I fully understand why people call highschoolers “weird”.

Lastly, LeRain and I did a slow dance to “A Thousand Years” since we were both third wheels to a couple. The song was a nice end to the rather loopy event.

Accidental Shoe Thievery

After reading this post, I was reminded of a story from years ago that I completely forgot about.

Years ago, Spinette, some mutual friends, and I went to the temple for some celebration/holiday or something or the other. In temples, it’s customary to take off your shoes before you enter. I really hate doing this because sometimes the floors are wet with mystery liquids, but that’s beside the point. So everyone leaves their shoes in this big, communal pile of shoes outside of the door. It’s common for your shoes to be stepped on, be buried underneath piles of stranger’s shoes that you then have to dig through to find your shoes, or other shoe-related horrors.

Anyway, after the celebration/holiday thingie, Spinette and I were planning to go to our mutual friends’ house. They’re a family of three sisters, Leaf, Leafie, and Leafster, the oldest of whom is two years younger than Spinette.

The Leaf Family and my family left to go to their house before Spinette and her family did, so we were at the house for a while when Spinette entered.

 

When Spinette was leaving the temple, she discovered that I’d left my shoes in the communal shoe pile, so she, like any well-meaning, helpful friend, brought them with her.

 

So when they opened the door, Spinette was holding a pair of blue sandals similar to the ones that I was wearing.

Spinette: You forgot your shoes!

Arachnid: … Those aren’t mine …

 

Spinette’s dad went back to the temple to return the shoes to the communal shoe pile.

Partying in New York and Other Social Struggles (and a rant about school)

Hello, nonexistent peeps!

So as you may know, I recently went to my cousin’s wedding in New York. The wedding was really different from my other cousin’s wedding in Bangladesh. While the Bangladesh wedding was strictly traditional and tedious, the New York one consisted of three straight days of partying with much alcohol involved. While I don’t enjoy parties (or people in general) I did have fun discovering a new version of people-watching: Drunk people-watching.

The drunken peoples did many, many idiotic things. It was hilarious.

One dude was very, very drunk and he was dancing flopping like a fish out of water. At one point he fell asleep on my cousin’s shoulder, and my cousin just let him stay there. After that, he fell asleep on the floor for a bit before finally sleeping on one of the tables at the banquet hall.

The drunk peoples also wriggled around on the floor doing a “snake dance”.

Before people got overly drunk, there were some social struggles. I was wearing an off-the-shoulder dress at the party, and an older lady touched my shoulder and asked if it was the style or if it was ripped. I usually keep my sarcasm inside my head with strangers, but I was annoyed, so it kinda slipped out and with a little extra bite. I said, “No, it ripped” with an unspoken Of course it’s the style. This is obvious. And it’s rude to ask people if their clothing is torn. *Shrugs* I was feeling mean. And then EVERYONE within earshot gasped. My mom tried to play it off because I had, in fact, just ripped my skirt.

Soon after, I was retrieving my food from the buffet and I was trying to pick up the naan, but I dropped the tongs on the floor. I tried to get the waiter’s attention while the line was growing behind me. The lady behind me told me to just put it on the table. As soon as I exited the line, a new waiter arrived and put the tongs BACK IN THE FOOD.

and I didn’t say anything.

At the actual wedding, I wore a dress that weighed a LOT. I’m certain that if someone weight trained with it, they would grow some serious muscles. (Is that the proper terminology?!) My mom said that I could change out of the dress after a couple hours, but then she accidentally left the normal dress in the car, which was driven away by a valet-dude. But I convinced my mom to let me wear my sneakers with the dress. So people were drunk. Other people got married. One of my cousins asked his wife who she was. One cousin tried to give away his credit card. One person I don’t know was feeding people desserts from a communal spoon. Etc. Many cousins wriggled on the floor pretending to be snakes.

There was also this priest-dude. In the middle of a ceremony, he got a phone call. He talked for fiveish minutes, in the middle of the ceremony. “Yep. Hi. Sup. Yeah, I’m marrying some peeps right now.” And then after the phone call, he started the ceremony over again.

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Bonus: A Random, Unrelated Rant.

So yesterday, we got our schedules for school and mine was pretty messed up. They kicked me out of the honors math program and put me in precalculus instead of honors precalculus. This is because I’m doing the class as a tenth grader with eleventh graders and the upperclassmen get priority for honors. Because I’m in regular precalculus, all the honors precalculus homework that I spent the summer doing is now obsolete and the year after, I’ll have to do Calculus AB instead of Calculus BC like the honors kids.

On top of that, instead of a biology class I REALLY wanted, I got health and architectural design, which a super bummer because no one likes health (which I’d planned to do over the summer) and I’m not interested in architecture. So instead of the biology class, which is full, I asked for Physics, but that’s full, too. So then I asked for Spanish 3, but that doesn’t work either. My friends who also wanted the biology class all ended up with Physics. This is awful because I wanted more science.

I am like cookie monster. I want math/science.

GIVE ME.

I’m upset.

What’s In My Purse?

I’m not one to flaunt around my femininity, but when I do, it’s with a purse. Some girls don’t like purses, but within my purse, I always have things that I need, such as earbuds for when the insides of my ears get cold, chapstick for glossing my always-dry lips, or spare change for a nice jingling sound at Christmas, only 11 and half months away.

So, what do I have in my purse?

• My phone
• My ID
• Three mechanical pencils
• Two Chapstick
• A random highlighter I stole from an office
• Spare change (eight dollars, six quarters, five dimes and two pennies)
• A single dream-catcher earring
• Two pens (one used to write in blue, but it is out of ink)
• A scrunchie that I never use
• Earbuds
• My “bookmark” (basically a hollowed bag of gummies folded hot dog style to serve as a page holder)
• A purple eraser
• And a paper for some dentist thing

Honestly, I don’t remember what the paper is for exactly. It’s for the smiles are everywhere program that helps people with no dental insurance. But I have dental insurance…

It was actually for getting the free mints they were serving with the papers.

A Makeup Tutorial from Spinette

Dear nonexistent readers,

Due to the impending doom and sneaky approach of midterms, it seems as though the days have inexplicably shrunk.

Apologies to all who have been here long enough to have read this post before, but I will be reposting an old post by Spinette.

Hello! Today we will go over the basics of how to cover up your web blushes! Most people don’t have web blushes because they know how to apply makeup properly, and if you are a lousy bum like me and can’t put on this stuff, this should be very useful.

First, we get the foundation! I like to use a moderate layer of cupcake frosting, since it comes in all different colors and is very diverse. Put it on your face, making sure to cover up everything! If flies and frosting lovers surround you, you are doing very well. Soak up that attention!

The next thing we do is the blush. This is a very, very, very important part of applying cosmetic appliances. I enjoy using Arachnid’s red stick that she puts on her lips. She honestly has no concept of beauty, since red is used for blushes and she doesn’t even have any! In circles, put it on your cheeks. At this point, your red stick should be only a stub. Don’t hold back!

Now for the lipstick. With the little stub you have from the blush, use the last of it on your lips. It should be pink now since you rubbed it onto the frosting (or some other shade with a touch of red if you are a person of color) This, in turn, will give a natural look to your lips. Use the whole stub.

Last but not least, the eyeliner! I use a black fine-point Sharpie to do this. The fine point will allow for thin lines and thick lines too. Use it on your eyes and your eyebrows. Make your eyebrows thick and pointy, making sure the eyebrow doesn’t even look like an eyebrow!  It is very unnatural to have eyebrows since you could look like a certain fourth-wall-breaking slug.

Most people would stop here, but I go above and beyond and do my hair as well. I usually do a messy bun, using a bread bun to measure how high my hair poofs up. On special occasions, I put sugar in my hair, since it makes me look like Elsa and it tastes nice when I get nervous.

For fashion, I usually choose long, dramatic, blood-red capes; short, sunny, yellow tank tops; and Aladdin size pants. I look good in almost everything, except high heels. I still wear them though, as a weapon for defense, in case Arachnid gets mad at me for using up her red stick.

Yay! Now you can go out and look super duper pretty! People might point out your incredible fashion sense, laugh with you on the streets, or gaze at you with lovesick side glances.

Have fun with your new look!

 

(Not) Brushing Your Hair

When I was little, I absolutely detested (and rarely) brushed my hair. It was so painful. Like stabbing porcupines into your skull. (I had the fine-toothed combs.) I was (and am) one to favor comfort over fanciness, so I never brushed my hair. Maybe once a month if it was a lucky one.

I didn’t like it when my mother brushed my hair for me because it always hurt more so than if I were to brush my own hair. Therefore, when I was forced by my mother to brush my hair, I would pick the lesser of the two evils and brush my own hair.

But I never did it well enough. I never really tried. So it always looked the same before and after I brushed it and my mother would insist that she do it again herself.

I never did well enough because “brushing hair well=pain,” so I shirked my brushing duties and usually only brushed the top layer of my hair.

So I thought of a new idea to get rid of the accursed knots in my hair.

I would brush my hair myself, and whenever I came across a knot, I cut it out.

Eventually, I did learn to like brushing my hair.

In fact, I loved it.

This sudden change in attitude to hair-brushing was due to a very special brush. It came in a craft kit and it was a little compact brush that you could put sequins on. AND THIS BRUSH DIDN’T HURT!

I was mystified. I was entranced. I was lost in the magical depths of this hairbrush.

I would spend all my waking hours brushing my hair until it was really soft and shiny and people commented, “How lovely. I wish I could have hair as lustrous as yours. What shampoo are you using?”. (I didn’t use shampoo that often.)

But this time of ignorant bliss was coming to a close.

We went on vacation.

I was in the bathroom, brushing my hair when the brush flew out of my hand and fell into the toilet.

Mustache

I grew a mustache yesterday.

It is fun to stroke, and I think Arachnid thinks it’s pretty fancy. Or thinks I may be a man. Either one has its perks. When I look in the mirror, I fashionably twirl up my under nose hairs, like the Pringles man. He is one of my role models, with that amazing facial hair of his, twirling with no end.

The funny thing is that I have never grown such hair before, and am already a pro. Perhaps I ate too many Pringles, or am turning into a giant tarantula.

Am I the next Spooderman?

Taking care of a mustache is almost as easy as taking care of a cactus without the poky things. It is just a patch of hair, gray and messy just like the hairs on my head. Plus I don’t have to do my makeup since everyone thinks I’m a boy now.

Yesterday, I went inside the bathroom and a lady with a pink shirt and a mini human screamed. I looked inside the mini human’s lumpy underwear, checking if she had any problems. The pink lady gazed on in horror, until eventually taking her mini human away. She thought I was a man. Surely, no one would scream for a mishap in manners, right? Also, I put a pun in the last sentence. I was bathing my mustache.

Today, I am going to set my mustache free! So for the remembrance of my manly and beautiful mustache, I am making this blog post.

So I release it from its terra cotta pot and watch as it flies far away. I hope it reaches a proper owner.

Soon, I hear Arachnid yelling curses next door.

It seems as if my attachment to Arachnid has been passed on to my facial hair in a rather literal way.

 

 

 

 

Pockets: A Rant

I am a girl. Therefore, I wear girls’ clothing. Girls’ clothing includes pants.

PANTS THAT DO NOT HAVE FRONT POCKETS!

It is an abomination!

I am a pragmatist. Therefore, I like things that are practical. Pants that do not have front pockets are not practical.

To clarify, our pants do have front pockets, they are just FAKE. As in, you can not put ACTUAL MATERIAL POSSESSIONS in them. Only imaginary material possessions fit in these imaginary pockets. But what is the use of imaginary material possessions in an actual world?

As our pants do not have front pockets, we are forced to use our back pockets, which are absolutely minuscule. So if we somehow manage to stuff all our material possessions in these absolutely minuscule back pockets without ripping the entire pocket off, we are still forced to sit on our material possessions. What if your material possession happens to be a black hole encased in glass that would devour the entire world if the glass were ever to shatter?

Since we have no place to put our material possessions, we girls are forced to carry around inane mobile pockets called purses to tote our belongings. They are incredibly irritating and they get in the way of everything and you always have to watch out for purse burglars. If only we had actual pockets. It is quite difficult to steal a pocket.

An absolutely marvelous idea is presented in Keeper of the Lost Cities by Shannon Messenger: What if pockets were on your ankles?

Wouldn’t that be spectacular? It would solve all problems! Front pockets could be fake, but you’d still have a place to put your material possessions. And, as a bonus, you wouldn’t have to sit on your stuff (which is absolutely absurd, by the way), which means the world wouldn’t be devoured by a rampaging black hole!

A note to fashion-people: Make pants with pockets at the ankles.

Mavis Dee also makes a lovely addition to this worthwhile argument about the imperative lack of pockets which you will find by clicking on the word “link”.

Link