Panic! Or Just Dance

As the fourth and final marking period begins at my school, I find that, as a senior, I have two things to worry about. They are two things I do not want to worry about, but two things that are ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY to worry about because they both DETERMINE THE REST OF MY LIFE.

I see that as a slightly big deal.

The first is COLLEGE.

Yes. I know. Many, many, MANY people go to college, and they love it it, and they party, and they get drunk, and they make new friends. But this all happens AFTER they choose which school they go to. College, in fact, is just one giant stress ball that too many people have to go through IN ORDER TO SURVIVE or else they will face the wrath of EVIL PARENTS.

Or not. Okay, parents aren't EVIL for pushing this on their innocent children. They are actually, in fact, quite smart for wanting their spawn to have a nice future full of plush cars, fancy houses, and 2.4 kids. I'm sure college IS A BLAST and everyone says it will be the BEST YEARS OF MY LIFE (Although, I thought that was high school. Huh.) but what is causing this big deal, you might ask?

Well, I'll tell you, you curious blog-reader.

Picking a college.

There are people who know where they want to go, and they have their college picked out. I mean, these are the types of people who wore diapers with Harvard or Notre Dame stamped across the front. The ones whose mothers ate nothing but Harvard scarves and leprechauns for nine months. They. Know. They're prepared. They WANT this.

Then there are the Me's of the universe, who don't know WHAT they want to do or WHERE they want to go, and looked at some colleges based on the boy to girl ratio because that was the only interesting thing they could think of. It's muy pathetico.

This is turning quite serious, and I'm not a fan of serious. If you've read my previous posts, you should know that me and serious do not add up to anything.

Panicking about college is... necessary. It proves that you are able to actually CARE about where you want to go, and worried that making the wrong decision will, you know, affect your entire life. I mean, it's something horrible, but it can also be enjoyable.

Now I've just got to pick, damnit, when all I want to do is eat really good chocolate chip cookies.

The second reason to panic is PROM.

Oi, with the poodles already. Prom is supposed to be fun, but everything that needs to happen before prom is RIDICULOUSLY STRESSFUL. I don't understand why. It's the END OF SENIOR YEAR. I should be jumping for joy that I get to put on a pretty dress, painful shoes, get my hair done, and have nice looking feet for a change.

Our prom this year is supposed to be really cool. We're having it at this really nifty train station (which, now that I think about it, is much more nifty than it sounds), and we get to take a train there. However, just today, I realized that my date prospects are DWINDLING. And quickly. Very quickly.

In the matter of ONE DAY, I found that one potential-guy-that-could-be-asked-by-Ashley has the possibility of already being asked, and the other, in fact, has a girlfriend. Which I suppose I should have realized before that. But I am a firm believer of IGNORANCE BEING BLISS.

It really is. Not only is it a wonderful song:




(Yes, I actually know these people, and am proud to say they have never bitten me.)

but it is, in fact, VERY TRUE.

Think about it. If there is a bug in your oatmeal raisin cookie that looks like a raisin, wouldn't you MUCH RATHER eat the raisin-like bug than find out that it is a bug so that you can continue to eat the otherwise delicious cookie?

I'm not saying that it's ALWAYS true. I'm just saying that the phrase, "ignorance is bliss," has many true qualities.

So, with the mixture of COLLEGE plus PROM, it's very amazing that seniors around the country haven't imploded by now. I'm impressed. However, once all of this is resolved, once colleges are chosen, once dates are found, dresses picked out, financial aide handled, it will all be fun. I mean, there's DANCING at prom. I can't dance like a normal person, but I can wiggle something fierce, and sometimes in beat with the music and act like a goof, and I think that's good enough.

On a MUCH happier note, today you get TWO random questions about me, because I feel bad for this being such a rambly and un-happy-making (save the epic video) entry.

Can you fit in your locker?
Okay. Story time. I'll set the scene for you. It was the last day of school, and my friends Shannon and Rachael and I were over by Rachael's locker. It was sunny out, and we were getting ready to leave, but we had some last minute locker cleaning to do.

We were a very random bunch of people. The three of us, plus three more of our friends, had study hall fifth period, and we'd go to the library. There, we would sit between the shelves looking for books, occasionally finding random trap doors that were useless so we left notes in there and sitting in random places we thought we could fit. Eventually, the librarians decided we were a disturbance and intimidated people who wanted to go through those particular shelves to look for books, so we went to a corner.

For your entertainment, to see how random we actually were in the library, I give you the following, possibly paraphrased, but ultimately true, conversation.

Shannon: *did something to make Rachael annoyed*
Rachael: I can't hear you. I put up a force field. *holds up hands to symbolize said force field*
Shannon: Move over.
Rachael: I CAN'T hear you!
Shannon: *shoves*
Rachael: Hey! *being shoved* Stop!
Shannon: What was that, Rachael? I can't hear you. There's a force field.

It was definitely one of those times that you HAD TO BE THERE for, however I still find it funny now. They were sitting in this little cubby thing in between the bookshelves. I know, it might not seem funny to you, but trust me, blog-readers, it really was.

Maybe if you pictured them like this:


Anyway, back on topic. Rachael was cleaning out her locker, and I'm pretty sure, once she finished, one of the exclamations was, "Oh my God! It's so clean! Like, someone could probably fit in there!" (Note: I'm using the fact that I was a FRESHMAN when this happened as an excuse for the possibly excessive omg's and like's.)

Also, I was about locker size, then. So, we decided that I should hop into the locker. And so I did. And they shut the door. And Rachael COULDN'T GET IT BACK OPEN, which was tragic, because I thought that I'd be stuck in this stupid locker ALL SUMMER LONG, while everyone else was off going swimming and having fun, and oh man, what if I had to pee? and it was awfully cramped in there and uncomfortable.

So, after much fidgeting with the lock, the door opened, and I was able to escape into the wonderful glory that is summer. Thank god.

I don't think I can fit into my locker NOW though, because, you know, my hips got bigger, and I grew like an inch. Only an inch in four years, which sucks. I was just measured today, too, randomly, because during gym the substitute was like, "Name?"

"Ashley," I answered, quite used to this protocol.

"You need to go to the nurse."

Blank stare. "Me? Really?" astounded that I had the honor of going to the nurse, therefore missing the first ten or so minutes of gym where I would have otherwise been running around, looking like I was doing something active, but not really doing it.

"Yes."

So I went to the nurse, where they took my blood pressure, height, weight, eyes, ears, all that good stuff that got me out of gym! Yay! It was extremely random, though, because I already had a physical this year for tennis. Not that I'm complaining. I suck at all things in gym. Except badminton. That's fun.

And that's how I figured out I've only grown an inch.

What did you eat for breakfast this morning?
This is actually a very good story. And it wouldn't have happened if I didn't have very odd, very random friends.

I was distracted reading blogs this morning before my friend came to pick me up. Normally, if I'm distracted for too long and don't realize that she's already here, she'll text me to let me know. This morning, my phone went off while I was reading a blog, and I jumped up, and asked my mom if she was in the driveway. I wasn't even going to read the text message, because I figured it was her telling me that she was here.

However, my mom said that there wasn't anyone in the driveway. So I pulled out my cellphone and looked at the text message.

"'Want some toast?'" I read to my mom. We both laughed.

I immediately sent back my 'yes,' because toast is excellent, especially random surprise toast.

When she finally did get here, I jumped in her car and she offered me her toast, complete with jam and everything. It was very delicious. And square. Like, perfectly square. Not a cube, because, while interesting, that would be very difficult to eat, especially with jam all over it, just square. I was quite intrigued by this.

So for breakfast this morning, I had a square piece of toast with raspberry jam.

I feel much less witty and clever than I do other days (which is strange, because I'm hardly witty or clever then), so excuse me if BEDA 6 was suck-tacular. Tomorrow, I will try to make it better. Would you like to hear about bees? Or ghosts?

Let me know in the comments. Those stories are much more interesting than today, I promise.

Slaters,
Ashley