My schedule!

Ok so I finally have my schedule cause I dropped AP Econ and the school decided to ignore me so I had to go and get it fixed. For a while I didn't think I was going to have a lunch first semester, but I did. That makes me pretty happy. Anyways...

1. Lab/study hall
2. AP Bio
3. Spanish 5
4. AP Lit
5. gym
6. AP Calc
7. LUNCH! (finally, doesn't my morning suck?)
8. Honors Econ
9. Chorus

Leave a message on my IM or leave a comment if you have a class with me....I don't remember who all I have classes with...

I know, this post sucked, but this blog is pretty much dead anyways. But if something relatively exciting happens, you know I'll at least think about posting it.

And I found myself sitting on two (one neon yellow and one neon pink) four dollar intertubes around a fire ring with no fire in it, humming absentmindedly along with "Funky Town," staring at a grey golf cart with flames on it with the inscription "It's Ducky Time!" written along the back end, in a place called Little Mexico, wondering how I got myself here.

We Parks like our little share of the country. We'll go camping every couple times a summer and have rootin'-tootin' good time. Little Mexico, however, is one experience that I will never duplicate. The place is is central PA, ok? The first thing you see when you pull onto Little Mexico Road (oh no, I'm not kidding, that's the road's real name) is a huge pen with, I'm not even joking, two emu/ostrich type things and a bull or a bison with huge horns (no one knew what it was) right next to a huge buchering store. Ironic, no? Other than that, the place looks pretty average, a lot of happy campers out for a long Memorial Day weekend with very limited technology (I was tethered to my cell phone with no bars hoping for reception the entire time) but they're ok with that.

The real charm of Little Mexico lies not with the bison, or emu, or even the sheep which look like they haven't been shaved for over a year which baa back if you baa at it (yeah, I was really bored.), but with what I shall lovingly call the Beerbelly-Mullet-Redneck-Die-Hard-Horseshoe Competition. As I sorta mentioned, there is very little to do while camping, other than rafting down the river in four dollar intertubes and walking back (which I did for about an hour), eating, sit by the fire, play Pinocle, play Sequence, eat more, and clean up. Needless to say, me and Aimee were super-bored (see sheep comment...), so when my dad and Steve, the other family's dad, whos family we were camping with, went to participate in a horseshoe tornament, we went over to cheer them on.

There were eleven teams of two and spectators (I never thought I'd see the day when there were two horseshoe pits with freaking bleachers next to it so people could watch. But I did. My dad's team was #9 so we had to wait a while. In the waiting time, we were amazed by all the strange assortment of people there. Having a beer belly seemed to be a requisite. Other than that, there was: a dyed mullet, an old man wearing a Confederate flag hat (central PA, people, it seemed weird to me), many shirtless guys, all with beer bellies, of course, and all were rednecks. Now, I'm not trying to be mean, because they were nice, except when we cheered for my dad and Steve because no one else was cheering for anyone they told us we were too loud...or maybe they were just annoyed because my dad and Steve were winning. Either way, it was a strange assortment of people. So we sat there for three hours, watching as my dad and Steve played a total of three games, and in the meantime, went for many a B-double E-double R-U-N, beerrun. In total, we figured that we brought my dad eight beers, while we brought Steve 12 (he was on his 7th when we started bringing him some. Then other people gave him some, and once the competition was done he had more. We thought he had somewhere between 20-30 beers. He was pretty smashed.)

So after the three hours of sitting out in 80 degree weather, me and Aimee were really burnt. So we demanded money for being faithful cheerleaders so we could go to Rita's. Being as we were the only ones with a licence who wasn't totally smashed, we were sent on various other errands too. When we got back, fully five hours after the competition started, we were told that the men just finished. They came in second and got nothin'. If they had won, they would have gotten a grand total of $24. Steve had nearly drank more beers than that.

Other than that, most of the weekend consisted of drunk adults (my dad actually said to Aimee,while playing a card game, who was jumping around because she was going to win, "Calm down! What are you doing, about to orgasm?" Yeah, that was good.), card games, bug bites, and being just all-around gross. Actually, more things did happen, like the time when I was getting out of the river from laying in my intertube for a long time into knee-high sinking mud where I lost a flip-flip. But that's a different story for a different time.

(P.S. I think I've made a record for having a blog this long and not making an entry...)

Friday the 13th

So, a new post! It only took me, what, 20 days to the day? Wow, good one Alex! You can tell when you need to update your blog more (not that anyone is really a devout reader here) when you type in the website link in and the little box underneath it doesn't come up with the rest of the link when you're halfway through typing it like all your favorite sites do, like my e-mail and lame icon sights because I constantly need a new icon for AIM...I'm just weird like that.


Anyways, it's Friday the 13th ladies and gents! My personal favorite day in the 'weird days' category; like Groundhog Day, and Makeout Day, and Hamburger Day (which I don't know is actually a day but I bet it is), and you get the picture. I seriously love this day because while everyone else believes that today is the day most likely to die, fall down the steps, break a leg, arm, vase, etc, I consider this day lucky. And, no, I'm not just trying to be one of those 'I'm different from everyone else because I reject people!' sort of folks, I just like the day. Proof is that today in Lit, I won Vocabulary Bingo. I know, I know, 'So what?' you're thinking. But wait, it gets better. Not only did I win Vocabulary Bingo, I won Vocabulary Bingo...TWICE! Ooh la la. I did not end up winning the signed Hines Ward jersey, though...which is a pity because he definitely rocks my socks.

But this post will get better though, I promise. While we're on the subject of the Steelers, you know how Big Ben Roethlisberger's called that like that big clock tower in London is called the Big Ben, right? One of our Vocabulary words was allusion and one of the examples was Big Ben the man and the clock. Up until that point I honestly thought he's called that because he's a big dude, right? Like Big Ben, Little Alex? I seriously thought that. Then it made sense. I was one of those kids that do the loud, "Ooohh!" in the middle of class for no apparent reason except something just clicked. But this is when the story gets good (and if you don't like this one there's another one that should be better, but I royally suck at storytelling so maybe not). So last night at work, this guy came in with this huge duffel bag of Steeler stuff. T-shirts, blankets, hats, watches, flags, the list went on and on. And because it wasn't 'official NFL' wear it was super cheap. I bought a T-shirt for $5, and when you only have $6 total, that is a very good bargain. So I bought this shirt (I had no choice; all the rest were adult XL and L, and I barely fit into an adult small, this one was a kid size 14) that's black and it says 'Big Ben' and there's a picture of Big Ben the guy and Big Ben the clock and some of the city of London and it says on the bottom 'The time is now.' Clock, time, Big Ben. Get it? I felt pretty good that I actually understood the shirt before I bought it thanks to normally useless vocabulary.

And then, this morning, my bedroom is right across the hall from the bathroom. My dog's cage is in my bedroom, ok? Just to get the scene set. So I have the radio on in my room with my usual morning wake-up music (either a mix or My Chemical Romance currently) and I leave the room, turn off the light and shut the door so I can brush my teeth, right across the hall. My mum comes out of her bedroom and said, "Um, Alex? You realize that you left your radio on, turned off the light, and locked your dog in your room in the dark?" My dog was sleeping in her cage when I had left. My mum opened my door and gave me a mean look.

"Well, I did know about the radio because I'm just going to brush my teeth, I'll be right back, but no, about Lana, I didn't know. Sorry."

"Alex, let me tell you a story."

"Alrighty then."

"So my friend has a two-year-old, and you know how toddlers don't speak all that well right?"

"Uh-huhh..." I replied wondering where this was going.

"Well, his favorite toy is a dump truck. Except he cant exactly say dump truck. What he says is dumb f***." Ok, so I don't think I'm allowed to actually say what she said online but it rhymes with truck and starts with an f. Got it? Even I can figure this out, y'all (with all this 60 degree weather we're having, I'm an honorary red neck. Yee-haw.).

Ok anyways, my mom goes, "Alex, that's what you're being right now."

Oooouch. Like she was just kidding, but who wants to be called a dumb f***? Even less by your mom! I felt kind of bad about myself. But I still thought it was funny too. That's just the sort of messed up person I really am. So I told all my friends about what happened and they laughed and told me I was hilarious, and asked why this sort of crazy shit happened to me. 'Who else would it happen to?' is all I could say. And then we have to do comments(stand up in front of the class and say something...pretty much anything actually) in my Lit class and they all thought it was pretty funny too. So either I am really funny (someone even told me I should go into stand up. Right. They've never read my el suck-o blog-o) or people pity my life.

But that is my post for today and I'm wearing the Big Ben shirt that I understand and am cheering them on on Sunday (I know you will be too)...oh, yeah, someone came to school today with a Colts jersey on. Do they really want to get their ass kicked? Seriously, when in Rome do as the Romans do. And if you want to stay alive, cheer no one but the Black and Gold.

And we have a three day weekend and I only have to work Sunday night in all four nights which makes me pretty happy. But I've spent enough useless time of your life filling you up with stories that you didn't want to know already.

I would think of some clever thing to say in Espanol, but that would require being clever, which I'm sort of lacking in that area.

Dog walking

Walking my dog is not only an experience; it is a lesson that will never be forgotten. Some is her fault, and most is mine. So my mom got mad at me because I was sitting in my room watching TV and not doing anything so she said either I had to clean my room or take the dog for a walk. I don't really care if my room looks like a tornado ripped through it or not, so out me and my dog went. Somewhere along the line, we lost my dog's normal leash. When I say 'we' I mean 'me' because no one else takes her for walks. But anyways, we're left with the 20 foot obnoxiously purple leash or the highlighter yellow leash the Humane Society gave us when we bought her. I chose the yellow.

So we go walking around the normal neighborhood and if anyone has ever walked a dog in the winter can sympathize with me, that it is easier to walk a dog in the summer, not only because it is too hot for the dog to pull on the leash but when they take four pisses in one person's lawn, the owner is oblivious. When the yellow stain on the otherwise white snow accompanied by dog tracks, hiding it is slightly more difficult. While Lana didn't pee four times in one person's lawn she did pee in four separate people's lawns. How dogs have so much stored inside of them, I will never know. But some guy did see her pee in his neighbor's lawn when my attention wavered due to one of those vulgar blow-up Santa decorations that people put in their lawns that they call 'cute.' So Lana and I were forced to dash away, dash away, dash away all. She also pulled and pulled and pulled until my wrist was red from her and she couldn't breathe normally, just gasping wheezing breaths of someone having an asthma attack.

unfortunately, that is not the worst. Considering how Christmas is two days away (and it's 43 degrees outside and it's supposed to rain on Christmas...what's this world coming to?) and most people have Christmas decorations up in every variation. Including those wooden white reindeer with those red bows. Five separate times, the hair on the back of my dog's neck rose (and so did the hair right before her tail, but not in between, my dog's so weird) and she dragged me to the side of the street so she could growl and bark at those strange creatures that don't move but might be threatening.

But, sadly enough, the worst is yet to come. And it is not Lana's doing. Considering it is Christmas and an excess of Christmas cookies and eggnog is constantly in my system, that might be the only explanation of what I did. So we were about half way done with the walk, and my arm is aching from constantly yanking Lana back from chasing wooden reindeer, licking the melting snow, eating the melting snow and the like. I wondered what Lana would be like as a guide dog. Maybe if I pretended I couldn't see, she would stop pulling and just walk normally. We were walking down a side road, not like there were going to be any cars or people or anything watching me, so what the hell right? Wrong. Way wrong. I shut my eyes, one hand still attached to my dog, and the other hand stretched out way in front of me, like...well, like a 17-year-old pretending she can't see. What I soon learned was that no one over the age of, um, 11 should do that because not only did a car come right at me and I nearly didn't see it, but a few little kids were out playing in their yard and they started stretching their hands in front of them and took robot steps with their eyes closed and then pointed and laughed. I, once again, ran away.

It was almost as embarrassing as the time a few days ago when my sister and I went shopping for my brothers at Kohl's and I somehow got lost in women's robes (how do I get myself in these situations) and thought my sister was right behind me so I started yelling, "Carinne. Carinne! Where are you?!" Until the 80 year-old saleswomen asked me if I was lost, sweetie. Then she walked away again and I thought I saw her and was halfway through saying, "No, dad didn't call us but I don't---you're not Carinne," when I realized it was not my maroon haired sister, but a middle-aged woman with a toddler who was laughing at me. Bad things just happen to me, what can I say?

But it's Christmas, and the Steelers are playing tomorrow so Merry Christmas to all!

Semaine Français

French Week in Shaler Area is a sight to behold. Now, all of you Shalerites know how strange it is. Most schools would not call it normal to have pictures of girls drawn on the walls doing the Can-Can in fluffy skirts and having their hair tied back, which more looks like a flag than actual hair, nor is it normal to walk down the Language hallway to have huge (and when I say huge I mean like longer than a classroom huge) drawings of different shop-fronts from the main street in old Paris. Now, get me straight, I'm not bashing anything. If you think I'm making fun of the artist who drew (has drawn? Hell if I know; grammar and spelling are for pompous people) those Can-Caning girls, or the architect who painted the Moulon Rouge on the window of our cafeteria, or all of the shopfronts, consisting of Virgin Mobile Megastore, and some cafes that I can't even pretend to know how to pronounce, or Sephora, or of course, the Eiffel Tower, you're sadly mistaken, my friend. Anyone who has gotten a note from moi knows that art is not my special talent (I seem to be unable to give a note to a friend without one stick-figure with crazy-ass hair depicting anyone from myself, to a teacher, to anyone I have basically ever known. It's just what I do to spice up an otherwise boring-as-all-get-out note. If I could somehow put stick-figures in everyone of these posts, rest assured that I would.).

But the best thing to behold on French Week is that I do believe it started on a Wednesday (starting on the beginning of the week just makes too much sense, it's too easy to predict then), when I was casually strolling down the Lanuage hallway, trying to get to my Sociology class, when I passed Madame Maiser's room. Those of whom who do not have French don't know that Madame is about....Well I don't know, but she is not a young woman anymore. Walking down the hallway, staring at all of these huge posters of places you've never been to and not even heard of that seemed to have put themselves up overnight (because they did), and all of a sudden all you can hear is the Can-Can blaring out of the French room. Even that is, you know, copable? Able to be coped with? I dunno. Give me a break, it's a week before Thanksgiving (37 days until Christmas! I'm excited!) and all I seem to be able to think about is turkey and chocolate cake.

Anyways, hearing the Can-Can out of the French room is able to be dealt with, I mean, it is Shaler and stranger things have happened, I can tell you. Actually, I can't. I am unable to think of one semi-interesting/shocking thing that would make a random song coming out of a room seem ordinary. But anyways, what throws me for a loop is hearing not-quite-so-young Madame Maiser singing and dancing along to said song. My mouth drops open, and all I Can-Can do is laugh. I keep on moving and laughing, which turns out not to be the smartest move ever because I'm walking alone and people tend to stare at the girl who laughs for no reason.

Oh, well. All I can say is rock on to the French people, because they can pull it off. If Spanish tried it, no one would care nor help (I'm living proof of that. Ask me to help put up signs of famous Spanish/Mexican landmarks all around the school, you better brace yourself because you're going to be getting laughed at.), and no one really cares about Latin. I'm sorry, erm, Latin-ers, but they don't. The only reason anyone takes it is for the SAT's, am I right? And if Japanese people tried to put Anime people all over the walls? With all the Gothic and not-so nice people, and well, just un-cooperative people in Shaler(more specifically, me), I really don't think it'd wash. If I insulted your language, I apologize, because I know you're very attached to the subject you're learning, but it's only my opinion. Which is kind of why I started this blog. To whine about things that happens to me and tell strange things that don't always necessarily happen to me, but simply talk about it. Maybe I just started this to talk. That sounds reasonable.

Well, unless something absolutely amazing happens at work this weekend (I think I'm working all three nights again, what joy), I doubt I'll post again before Thanksgiving, and beware: at this time of year I go Christmas-happy. So for the next four weeks, my posts will probably all consist of something related to Christmas. I'm just that obsessed, and it happens. Anyways, have a good Thanksgiving to all and don't kill yourself playing a Turkey Bowl (us girls are too fragile to play...)

P.S. I still suck at Powderpuff. And if you didn't know, I think I posted this last time but I don't care, come support Juniors this Monday night, 6:00 on the HS Turf. Be there! Actually, you'll be able to pick me out because I was absent from school today and didn't get a jersey, so I'll be the chick who's sharing several people's jersey...For the total of like once I go in.

Anyways, Adios (I can't seem to be able to end this damn post)...Or should I say, Au revoir?

Powderpuff, baby!

Well, it's that time of year again, ladies and gents. Powderpuff football! In last years fiasco, the Juniors got their asses handed to them when they lost to the Seniors 27-zippo. This year, us Juniors swear that it'll be different, I mean, can we can't out-do last year's Juniors...The only thing is, for as long as we can remember, all the Juniors swear that this year will be the year that changes things. This year will be the year that the Juniors kick the crap out of the Seniors, rather than the other way around. Last year, I sat in Spanish listening to all the Juniors brag about how good they are and how they're going to win, and we already mentioned the end of that game....But the point is, everyone's saying the same thing this year. All of my friends swear that we will end the curse, and we'll win, and I can't pretend that I don't say that, because it's all part of the game.

So, anyways. Today was the first practice. There are three practices for two hours. Do you expect us to be any good? I figure the Seniors are always better because they got three more practices than the Juniors...Even if it was a year ago. So I decided that I should be a receiver. Can I catch you ask? On a good day. Can I throw? God, NO! Any wonder I didn't try out for quarterback? I realize I'm fast...So if by some un-Godly chance the ball gets thrown to me, and , even more unlikely, I catch it, chances are I can out-run most people. It's the catching stuff that gets me. We learned the Hitch, Slant, and, well, I can't remember the other one, but it's the one when you fake down the sideline and I'm pretty sure it starts with 'F.' The Hitch and Slant I can do, but the other one? Oh, man. We were practicing them (along with which side you had to go on...That was confusing if anything ever was), and one of our coaches (all the Junior football players took it upon themselves to try to teach us), Marcus, decided that I should do the long one just so he could throw the ball down field to hit one of his friends. That was great. But our coaches were really nice. Todd told everyone they did good, even those who sucked *cough, me cough*, and gave a genuine effort to teach us the right thing. Marcus just kind of supported him and was a laugh. I told Marcus that I was not a quarterback after my attempt at throwing the ball back at Todd and all he said was, "I think everyone has figured that out by now." Just smile and nod...

Then we tackled defense. Ha! That was great. I am not someone who can tackle at will. I am not someone who can even try to stay with someone. It just doesn't work. That's all I need to say about defense. I'm an offender and that's that.

Actually, the most fun was when they threw the ball down the field and everyone had to try and get the ball. It always ends up in a huge freaking pile-up, when everyone just jumps on each other, really. Hence the name "Tackle the man." But I got there first, but being a munchkin, I sorta got picked up...And someone ran off with it. I was also the one at the bottom of the pile, getting there first. That was quite fun, let me tell you. It was sort of a negative.

But maybe everyone else is good. We're supposed to get equal time, but somehow the groups got put into 'popular' and 'not.' I was part of 'not.' Laz, the actual coach, said that we're all supposed to get equal time but when there's 20 receivers alone, it's just not going to happen. If I go in once, I'll be one happy camper. Someone said that there already was a list made up, and I'm sure I'm not one of them. It was made before the practice, and this just reinforced it. I promise though, I don't mean to whine. If you think I joined up because I was actually good, you're sadly mistaken. I suck and I know it. I'm just there for a good time.

But if you're bored on Monday the 21st, come out and watch us. We normally get a pretty packed house, will all the guys just wanting to watch girls play football and all the girls trying to see the Seniors get their asses whipped. Plus all the parents. But if you come, bring some dollars 'cause it costs something because all the money goes to Breast Cancer. So it's for a good cause. And if you do decide coming is the thing to do, make sure you bring a sign that is neon-pink with orange letters screaming, "ALEX PARK IS A BEAST!" Just kidding, but keep it in mind....lol.

Make sure you support the JUNIORS of '07 because we're great.

And some chocolate covered pretzels are calling my name so I'll give you another interesting story some other day!

P.S. If you know anything at football and are willing to coach a short, bad-catching Junior, leave a comment. Or just leave your support. Comments are always appreciated!

Open War

I have declared open warfare on 1/3 up to 1/2 of my household. My father has decided that Spanish class is brilliant work, even through my mother and I insist that Isreal is, indeed, a nutcase. That, no matter how many times you say it, or try it, learning about how to put your suitcase in a baggage claim in a Spanish-speaking country, I will never care about the words dealing with an airport in Spanish. Never.

The whole point of this is that this weekend, the entire Park Clan is going up to visit my sister. And I'm not saying 'the clan' figuratively, oh no. My grandparents and my aunt and uncle are coming down with us. We're staying in my other uncle's house. The entire clan. Now, don't get me wrong, I love my family. It's just, I don't want to be driving down the Turnpike with an entire slew of cars behind us, looking like a bloody caravan. No thanks. I don't mind that they're coming, it is Carinne's birthday after all, but right now, more than ever, I wish I could take a vacation away from my family. Go to Mexico with my friends. If I had the money, I would definitely want to. Anyone want to pay the way for a girl to go to Mexico? Anyone? At all? Oh well, it was worth a shot.

You're probably wondering how Spanish class fits into all of this, hmm? Oh, it's good stuff. Well, because my father felt generous, actually he probably wanted to miss the traffic, he offered to get us out of school at noon. Now, the rest of the paragraph goes with the 'fortuanetly' 'unfortunately' book that everyone reads in second grade. Fortunately, I'm in Spanish at noon. Unfortunately, one of my brothers is in-between classes at noon and the other is in lunch. My dad said that he would pick them up first and me last. I told him to pick me up early, at 11:30 and I can go pick them up at the end of the period. Oh no. That would be the smart thing to do. The rest of the conversation gets very angry and ends with, "I've made my decision and that's final. If you want to argue anymore, Alex, I will only get angry."

"FINE! Fine! Make me miserable! Make me miss the only three classes I actually like! Make me suffer through the hellish class dubbed 'Spanish Four.' " (Ok, so I improvised here, but you get the picture.)

"If you want to go to those classes so much you can have a whole day and stay home for the weekend!" If I was intelligent, I would have said fine and proceeded to have a party after all had left. But, as all of you know, I am not smart. The thrilling idea didn't occur to me until I was driving Cameron to swimming, but I wish I was just a bit quicker. Like 45 minutes quicker.

So that is my tirade against Spanish, Ms. Isreal, and my father. But, oh no! The whining continues! It's like one of those bad movies, it just won't end. Anyways....

My little brother, the angel, as most of the world sees him, is a crapface. And that's being nice. He did not want to go to swim practice so badly that he would not drop it until I flipped out and started yelling. This is after the Spanish incident, of course. So my blood pressure is high enough anyways, add a whiney 12 year old who has the world at their beck and call. (Older siblings, don't the youngest ones on your nerves? Youngest ones, don't piss off the older ones, they will eventually get payback...somehow. Remember, our older brains can think of payback in ways you can't fathom. Ok, so we try but then you tell on us and we get in trouble again. Middle children, get out while you still can. You never win. Beleive me, I know. You're not their first baby, nor their last baby, you're just baby. And that's not good.) Then he called my parents so he could get his way. Wonderful.

Gah. I know reading about someone bitching is not so fun, but I had to get this out and all of my friends know how angry I am. Maybe anger management might be a good idea....I already tried screaming into a pillow. No result except my throat hurts. If you have any good suggestions on releasing my-family-is-driving-me-up-the-wall anger, please need a comment. And anything short of a long vacation to Aruba, I will be willing to try.

So until next time, I'll hopefully figure out how to put some pictures of my beautiful new car (which I'm already grounded from, cringe) and maybe this weekend. I just need to figure out how.