"They don't deserve capes."

 As soon as I published the last post, the internet died for the rest of the week. Because of my grandfather's Alzheimers, my family pretty much had the same conversations everyday for the entire week. The monotony was making me die on the inside. I was left to comfort myself with 1984, something which is rarely used for comforting one, but it seemed to work. I also ate my weight in sunflower seeds because camping's constant proximately to the outdoors allows this to be done without the use of a spittoon.

I got my IB French mark back as soon as I got cell phone reception after the ferry on Friday. "The IB," being the sadistic trolls they are, give you three random numbers (only one that has previously meant anything) on the piece of paper that I was given at the end of the year. There were two blanks to get into the website and I used trial and error until one combination finally worked (it was the two numbers that meant nothing previously). Then it gave me an error because the server was so overloaded from anxious IB students wanting to know their fate. When I did finally get it (a 3/7, which is funny because I got a 81% in the course), I freaked out briefly, cursing belcurves, went into an all caps rage at Maegan over text, then realized that an IB French certificate actually has no use in my life and I calmed down. I've come to terms with it now and realize that I'm kind of an idiot for taking IB French in the first place.

On Saturday there was a barbaque with a bunch of my classmates. We ate normal barbeque stuff, Indian food, watched "Shutter" despite my screams of objection and my well known aversion to horror movies, played a bastardized version of basketball where tickling the opposing team was allowed, and sat on the deck until fairly late and had intelligent conversation. On the way home, Katie and I stopped for ice cream at McDonald's, who's ice cream machine was broken. I was sad, especially because Katie and James both work and McDonald's and were going to use their 50% discount for me. I want half price ice cream.

I like having friends who can drive because we can crank up the radio, have mini dance parties and nobody tells us to turn it down. No lie, that's actually the best part. When I get my license, I'm going to drive around town blasting dubstep and gangster rap, simply for the irony of a white girl driving a Jetta or an old Honda Odessy, blasting dubstep and gangster rap. Irony is such a good motivation. Being able to go places easily and getting out of my house when I can't stand it anymore will also be nice. (That said, my driving skills are kind of sad. I'm just kind of oblivious sometimes. Of all things that I could be reasonably untalented at, why something that most mildly intelligent life forms can accomplish?)

This part of town, this suburb on the edge of nowhere, not only proves to be the furthest proximately to anything interesting, but also the hardest to get away from. It's filled with hockey moms, old people, and ignorant teenagers who watch TV all day. Like 90% are grumpy, hate their lives, and have resigned to mediocrity.

I will end this post of unrelated snippets with a quote from my brother: "In a zombie apocalypse, I'm going to find a giant mutated sparrow and fly out of North America." What's even better is that he wrote a story about it in seventh grade and won a creative writing prize for it #swagger.
Love,
-J-

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