That is not Packaging

Here is another lazy memoir. There is a political reference to Clinton in this one.

My eighth grade graduation was a strange one. I already mentioned I felt underdressed, and about what some of the other girls were wearing.

At home before the graduation my dad bought a disposable camera. After he opened it he thought the cardboard around it was some type of packaging. The camera was not unusable, but we did have to tape it up.

When my family got to the ceremony at school this annoying girl wanted me to take a picture of her. I think she did because she saw a camera (the taped up one) in my mom’s purse. She was trying to pose with me thinking somebody in my family was going to take a picture of her.

We had to wait in line around a corner. It was split into 2 parts A-L and M-Z. I was mingling with the M-Z people since that was my line. This is where I saw that girl with the dress I wanted. I was also talking to this guy whose sister liked Sailor Moon. He was more of a Dragonball fan.

The ceremony was really boring. To pass the time I was thinking about ska songs. There use to be this ska show on the radio late at night that I would listen to. I think I had a ska song stuck in my head. I was thinking about music to keep from being bored. Luckily we go to sit on folding chairs instead of the tiny dilapidated lunch benches. In my diary I referred to the ceremony as “boring and sad”. The vice principal talked too much. I got some awards and it was hard for me to get on stage because of my big platforms. The school pavement wasn’t very level. For the Presidents award the principal was reading a letter which was written by the president at the time; Clinton. As it was being read I was thinking about all those sexual jokes about him. This was in 1998 and during his scandal. This is the part when I saw that girl wearing those casual sandals with a fancy dress. Some guy comes by and stands by where her and I are sitting. When her name is called for her to go up the guy starts hollering and whooping. I thought this was really funny and sort of scary.

I remember being upset because I didn’t receive any balloons, flowers or stuffed animals.

Graduation “Gown”

I decided to post a lazy memoir today.

When I was in eighth grade the school graduation we did not wear gowns. There were a lot of strange rules for the girls’ outfits. There was a no bare shoulder/spaghetti strap rule. I was hard finding a dress. My dress budget was $20! Even for 1998 that was pretty meager. I wasn’t even allowed to upgrade to a $25 dress. I wanted something Indian style since that was everywhere that year, and because the look was inspired by Gwen Stefani.

I had to get a cover up and some new shoes. There were no “cheap” shoes that went with my outfit, so I ended up getting these white platforms. I could barely walk in them, but I had to get them since they were the only shoes in the store that went with the dress. There wasn’t much I had to accessorize with. I didn’t wear any jewelry the only thing I used to accessorize with was some purple glitter hair mascara. It matched the color of my dress.

Originally I wanted 2 dresses one for the graduation, and one for the dinner dance. My parents would have nothing of it and would only buy one dress. That would have been embarrassing to wear the same dress to both events. Especially since the dinner dance was held before the graduation. I decided since I didn’t have a different dress to wear I would not go. I was already pissed off about the dress I already had. I did not go. I stayed home and watched my video of “Live in the Tragic Kingdom”. A lot of the girls who were in the same predicament were made fun of.

My friend was lucky she got a formal dress. A lot of girls did. At the graduation I felt under dressed. The dress was too casual, and I did not wear it with nylons because that’s the way I saw some similar dresses worn in a magazine. I had open toed shoes and open toed shoes with nylons just looks tacky.

The funny thing is that some girl I didn’t like ended up getting the dress I wanted. I was sort of glad I didn’t get that dress. I had such a hard time walking in the shoes that when I was marching, and going on stage I had my arms out for balance.

It was funny when this other girl I didn’t like told me she got her dress. She hardly ever talked to me aside from spewing insults. She was so tomboyish I had a hard time imagining her in a dress. I remember seeing her in the dress and thinking, “She looks like a girl.” She was wearing these really casual sandals with her nice (not formal) dress and nylons. It looked so tacky. I liked making fun of her because she would always make fun of my clothes and shoes. I felt it was justified. Her sandals looked like this.

The ceremony itself gets it’s own story. There is just too much to cram in there.

Junky Buick

I was inspired by something that happened today to post this blog. I had been teasing this blog since January. I actually wrote about this in my memoir class as a writing exercise, but since I thought it was potential blog material I did not share it with the class. The exercise was to write about a used car. I was sort of upset when I wrote it because I couldn't reference my "Free Day!" blog. Here is an excerpt from the rant blog I wrote about the day they picked up the Buick from my grandma. The blog was titled "Making a Buck off the Dead".

"My dad is going to try make another profit off his dead uncle. When he died he left a car. My grandparents took it. They were not sure what they were going to do with it. At first they were just going to sell it. Then they were going to trade it in because it was a clunker, but they waited too long. By the time they were ready to the program was over.

So my parents went off to get the car from my grandma’s house.

For me that means free day! ^-^ "

Anyway here is the story about the Buick. (it's somewhat edited) That junky Buick my dad coveted. Since it was from his favorite now dead uncle. Actually this can blossom into some good blog material. Dad thinks his uncle left behind a lot of "valuable" things including his car. My grandma was messing around because her and my grandpa wanted to cash it in for Cash for Clunkers, but when the money ran out from that program they let dad have it. I didn't bother going to pick it up. Why should I? I got a free day! (drawings of anime emoticons) Although it didn't take as long as I hoped. Since dad thinks he's always right. (Garbage song reference edited out) He couldn't see that car was a piece of junk from the get go. He got rid of the Grand Am for that?! He should know better. I say "should" and emphasize it. I know that from People's Court getting a car you know nothing about in an impulse buy. He didn't even get it checked out after he got it back home. Just because it was 2 years newer didn't make it better. His uncle obviously didn't take care of the car. The tires were rotten. It leaks fluid. The passenger side door won't open properly. The interior side of the passenger door is coming apart. His uncle left a bunch of renuzits (stick-ons) in the car to make it smell better. I think there is something wrong with the trunk. But he wanted it because it has power everything which by the way doesn't work! The power of stupidity. An old man driving an old car. It's like that Seinfeld joke about tiny old people in huge cars.

"God, Please Spare me more Rejection!"

I was thinking about how some songs retain or become relevant again. I was thinking about this while I was watching the video for "Why Don't You Get a Job?" by The Offspring. That song came out in 1999. It gets a lot of airplay now even though the song is 11 years old. It's better than constantly hearing "The Kids Aren't Alright". I can't stand to listen to that song anymore.

I thought about how much I liked the song "Army" by Ben Folds Five back then. After watching some of those music videos I recorded off the tv circa 1999. I could probably write a lazy memoir (narrative) for each song on the list.

I'm feeling generous, so here is a somewhat lazy memoir. It was a rejected submission. I thought it wasn't fit to turn in. It needed a little editing. The idea came about when the class was trying to brain storm different ways to present a memoir besides the narrative format. Some people also did poetry. Lists were also a popular idea. Personally I liked the idea of a playlist. It didn't need to only be musical. It could be a list of movies, books, or tv shows.

Note: All the songs mentioned are not necessarily from 1998/1999.

Playlist Memoir Freshman Year

New by No Doubt
Sailin’ On by No Doubt (cover)
Special by Garbage
Army by Ben Folds Five
Maria by Blondie
Celebrity Skin by Hole
Pretty Fly for a White Guy by The Offspring
Lucky Denver Mint by Jimmy Eat World
Pressure Drop by the Specials (cover)
You Get What You Give by The New Radicals
Prisoner of Society by The Living End
One Week by Barenaked Ladies
Beautiful Stranger by Madonna
Kiss Me by Sixpence None the Richer
No Scrubs by TLC
Soap Disco by Kara’s Flowers
Daydream Believer by Shonen Knife (cover)
Radio Listener by Teen Heroes
The Set Up (You Need This) by Reel Big Fish
What’s My Age Again? By Blink-182
Josie by Blink-182
Are You That Somebody? by Aaliyah
Perfect by Smashing Pumpkins
Everybody’s Free (to wear sunscreen) by Baz Luhrmann
Praise You by Fatboy Slim
The Pokémon theme song (English dub season 1)
My Name Is by Eminem
Malibu by Hole
Battle Flag by Lo Fidelity Allstars
Steal My Sunshine by Len
Got the Life by Korn
Freak on a Leash by Korn
Never There by Cake
Playdough by the Aquabats
Heaven Sent by Esthero
Superad by the Aquabats
Road Rash by Mad Caddies
Math by Supernova

Besides the lazy memoir I posted I want to talk about going back to school. I don't know why people don't understand there is no money left. With no funding I can't go anywhere or do anything. That's why I've been looking for work. I was hoping I'd be lucky enough to find something, but with the lack of degree. I've found nothing! Why are people mad at me? I'm not insolent this time. This really is a problem. I'm not lying.

Survivor Flame

I distinctly remember this happening when I was a junior because I remember thinking about Survivor. That show premiered during the summer 2000.

I had to go to some type of officer meeting. It was during the evening after school. Nobody told me the dress code of the event. I came in there was wearing the same jeans and t-shirt I wore to school. I was embarrassed that the even was semi-formal. I took a seat in the back next to another girl wearing some jeans. Although her top was fancier than mine. It was a ruffley corset type top. Like this. I didn’t want to be noticed. The meeting was for a changing of the officers. There was something about a candle and a flame being passed on or something like that. I can’t really remember. All I really remember about it was that it sort of reminded me of the torches used at tribal council that were used in Survivor. Because like Jeff Probst says fire represents life. I imagined somebody’s flame going out. (Somebody I didn‘t like). I also imagined Jeff Probst putting out somebody’s flame.

With Honors

My position in the Honor Society was questionable at best. I never felt I was really in the club. Most of this happened during my messy junior year. Half the time I wasn’t even sure if I was in it. That was due to my academic probation and the “no F” rule. Which meant that if you had an F in any class you were immediately kicked out of any extracurricular actives you participated in. Or at least that’s how I understood it. Whenever anybody else (student or teacher) explained the rule to me it got “changed”. The details of this rule were sketchy at best.

The club really only needed me for “grunt work” or when people didn’t show up for something. Let’s see I was only really “needed” 3 times.

I was needed to help make the “flower” tissue paper banner for the graduating class. It’s a large number banner that is hung over the football scoreboard, or at least it use to be. The other thing that I didn’t like was that the club was always taking random pictures of the members doing mundane things. Does somebody really need to see a picture of me cutting up tissue paper? Those pictures weren’t even used for the year book or anything.

I had to help at the graduation as an “usher” I‘m using the term loosely. It was so horrible! First I didn’t have the right clothes; which was a white collared shirt with a black bottom. Everybody knows that collared shirts are more fancy than uncolored shirts. Aside from the clothes I wore; I was being told to do different things from different people. One person told me to get drinks then as I got them somebody else told me I was not suppose to get them. Huh? Then a bunch of people just bitched at me. Including office workers who were just there attending the graduation, and had no part in the club. They didn’t even let us have the unopened leftover water bottles to drink!

When I was a senior the club needed people to help garden the school. They wanted the members to go and help garden the school during the winter break! We had to bring our own tools! It was so boring! Hardly anybody came because who would want to spend a morning of your break off from school at school? They must have been pretty desperate for people to call me up. I would not have been on the “second string” list I would have been on the “desperate” list. I think I got a call about it the night before. I only went because I was desperate for service hours. After I graduated sometimes I would pass by the school during winter break, and see students going to school carrying gardening tools. The teacher who advised the club was a gardener. She use to grow beautiful orchids.

This is why I like to take easy classes I’ll excel at more than hard classes I might fail. I’d rather look smart than be up for a challenge. For some reason people are impressed with good grades no matter if you took remedial math and aced it or if you got an A in calculus.

There is another antidote about me going to a club meeting that I can write from memory. It happened in 2000 because I was a junior and I remember thinking about Survivor. I’ll save that for another time.

I'm Not a Poet, and I Know It

Here are somethings I didn't mention my mom didn't feel the earthquake yesterday. She was the only one in the house who didn't feel it.

My pride has gone out the window I'm pretty much desperate for work. As long as it's not an MLM or something like that. I've stooped that low. :(

Here is a lazy memoir about poetry.
Why I don’t write poetry. It’s not that I don’t like poetry. I like reading it. I just hate that everybody thinks they are a poet. You can find bad poetry anywhere; on myspace, public bathrooms, in weepy notebooks, and so This is one thing I think I’m not good at. I never felt I could be a good poet. I hate the poetry I write. It’s too contrived. I think I’m good at narratives, so I’ll stick with that. My poetry is so bad I won’t even post it.