Killed that math final. Beat it to the ground. Crushed it with all the anger and malice I have ever owned, stolen or had thrown at me. It cowered on its back on the desk before me as I delivered Death by a Thousand Cuts by Pencil upon its sorry body, and it slunk slowly back to the grading pile knowing never again to screw with the God of Logarithms.
Now it's late, and I'm luxuriously stretched out on the couch listening to Shakira sing stuff I don't understand because it's in Spanish, and reading Hyperbole and a Half which I don't understand because of its sheer excellence. "We all know that coconuts smell good, but have you ever seen a coconut burst into flames from sheer excellence?!" See what I mean? No? Well, screw you. Wait! No! I didn't mean that! You should not go cry in a corner because we read different blogs! I want you to read me. Really, I do.
It's pretty here where I live. Not quite as snow-smothered as school, but pleasantly shiny and sparkly without being all Oh*censored*ICan'tGetOutOfMyHouse. Dorm. Whatever. I miss my friends. I miss my freaking chem teacher. Something's wrong here. I miss my friends who live here too. Because one of them had to go to Israel this morning, making my total time allotment with him equal to three hours per two months - we watched Undercover Brother last night and it was great, but now I don't get to hang with him till February. Which is stupid.
So, basically, I'm totally exhausted from finals, and I don't want to do anything again, ever. I will sleep on the couch (my sister has a friend staying, and I somehow volunteered my room for the weekend) forever and be fed. For twelve whole days. Then I will go on a plane and live in England for a week or so. Then I will go to the Library of Congress and be so freaking happy there that I will forget to go home to school. And one day I'll be all "I miss my friends. I miss my friends at home. I miss my freaking chem teacher" and then I'll be all "Screw D.C, I'm going North!" and as soon as I get there I'll regret it because I'll miss Washington, which is a wonderful city where everyone should get to hang out if they're my friend, and hey, this is a run-on, isn't it?
Yesterday I acquired some very exciting sparkly tights I will soon show you, as well as my new-last week neon pink fencenets. It's all very, very exciting. I should probably go do something with my legs in a bit so they're still somewhat mini-worthy when I am set loose on London and Washington. There's this girl at school who's totally gorgeous, makeup obsessed (my maytag model used her huge box of eye stuff on me on the bus yesterday and it was fantastic) and cool, and she lets me take lots and lots of pictures of her and therefore I love her. Also, she lives directly underneath me and doesn't mind when I do occasionally practice my trombone or clarinet or sax... I don't think she can hear the ukulele. Anyway, she said to me the other day, on two separate occasions that I had a) great legs and b) a great ass. You should have seen me prancing around for happiness the moment(s) she was out of sight. Because she should know. Anyway, that's sort of what prompted me to buy another mini skirt. And now I have to be worthy. Because I love her and I do not want to disappoint her by having a not-great ass. Also, I'd just like to maintain my apparently-great ass for the sake of having one. A great one, I mean.
Oh. I burn things. I mean, you know I like fire. But I apparently think destruction thereby is more beautiful than normal people. I was making cheese biscuits today, because my parents are going to a Christmas party. I was invited, too, I just didn't want to go. In case you thought my parents have *censored* friends who don't think I'm cool enough to go to their parties. Anyway, they came out really prettily. But my dad was in a hurry, and the last tray wasn't done, so he decided not to wait for them to bake. He left. I thought "I have abstained from facebook for two weeks. Let me go fry my brain." About forty-five minutes after forgetting the already-almost done cheese biscuits (recipe below), I pulled these out of the oven. And I think they're beautiful.
They look chocolate, don't they? Well, they're not.
Okay, I'm going to ring people up or go to sleep or have a hot bath or something now. Just enjoying not working, but it feels like walking down an escalator and then getting off, and you can't work out why you've lost momentum because your feet are still moving, you know?
Oh, and how about that whole DADT-being-beaten-almost-as-thoroughly-as-my-math-test-though-it-deserved-it-more thing? Are we happy? We are so god*censored* happy right now.
Good If You Don't Burn Them, Pretty If You Do
4 oz soft butter
4 oz grated cheese (any kind - Jarlsberg works nicely)
6 oz flour
Mix it all together until it's sort of a dough. Roll it /4 inch thick and cut or form it into logs, refrigerate them and slice them into 1/4 inch-thick coins. Place the thingies on greased cookie sheets and bake at 350 °F (180°C) for about twenty minutes. And watch them. Oh, and you should put a pecan in the middle of each one, if that's what you're into, before you bake them. Yeah.