Peer Acquaintances Forever

There comes a point in every peer relationship where I feel the need to point out that, though it may sometimes seem like it, we're not actually friends.

Usually such times occur when the person checks on my well-being, or asks how my weekend was, or some other unnecessarily personal comment that reeks of a lingering hint of concern.

It's adorable.

In a strictly "aww, you're so naive" kind of way.

I have to strongly fight the urge to pat them on their cute, presumably fluffy little head like you would a puppy who just tried to eat a hair tie.

For instance, a couple days ago in choir. A guy who for all intensive purposes we will heretofore refer to as Moob-Man broke one of those "peer acquaintance only" boundaries.

But first, let me preface the situation.

A few nights before, I played Halo with a bunch of guys at one of my friend's houses. I didn't want to go because I thought I would suck, he took the bullet and played on my team because we were already acquainted with each other through theatre and choir, and then I ended up kicking everybody's asses.

Well, not everybody. But not the point. The point is at the end of the night, I definitely fought the head-patting urge.

Back to choir.

I sit down with my drum, he sits down with his drum, I'm planning on sitting in social silence until the director stops arguing with the loud, talkative girl. He decides this would be the opportune moment to ask "So hey, how was the rest of your weekend?"

...

Dawww.

I'm sorry, this is the time for an etiquette intervention. We're not actually friends. Thanks for playing, though!

This is me we're talking about. If I want to be your friend, I'll be your friend. If I haven't talked to you except when trying to avoid an awkward situation by striking up conversation with the person nearest me, that most likely means you will be stuck as a peer acquaintance forever.

Sorry, bud.

That was a mere head-patting example, but there are, however, those who I actually do want to take by the shoulders and speak those exact words to them in my most patient, pitiful voice so that maybe, one day, they can understand.

We're not friends. We... are not friends. Nope. Not us. Me and you, we're just... well, we're not friends. Get it? We're not friends.

My most awkward tutoring student ever decided to tell me as I left into the gale force winds yesterday to "be careful out there, you might blow away."

Umm...what.


Buddy, buddy, buddy... not friends. I tutor you. That's it.


And you're bad at it to boot.

Trop mal, mon petit ami.

Please don't name your stuffed animals after me.

Clusterf#*%

That's what this post will be.

For the benefit of those children that may (or may not) read (but really shouldn't read) my blog, I censored the title.

Take that as a warning.

To not continue reading into the clusterfuck.

Aka, stop now.

Anyway. So much has happened over the past month or so, I literally have not had any time to write about it.

So, in order to put a halt on this unfortunate shunning of my blog, I have spent the entirety of this afternoon pondering the best ways in which to consolidate my thoughts of all of the things that have been going on.

In one sentence? People are entertaining.

Usually not on purpose.

In fact, it's usually quite serious. They just fail at being intelligent.

Like when people call in to work to place a phone-in order, and I can't understand their name, so I ask them again. And then the phone beeps, or there's static because they're using a hands-free, or they just have a really freaking weird name that I don't understand.

So after the second time I ask them "I'm sorry ma'am, can you please repeat that one more time for me?" they SCREAM it into the phone.

Which simply exacerbates their problem of white noise.

Making it so that I can't understand their name.

Again.

And while they're getting angry, I'm trying to keep from laughing. I usually just end up making up a name for them. Cross my fingers, hope that it's right.

Or the great people who called in on 4/20. "Would you like silverware in the bag?"

"....SuuuUUUUuuuure!"

Umm... Okay... Just silverware, nothing to get excited about sir.

Or the people at the Rise Against concert that I went to with Jen last week.

Concerts are essentially an excuse for all of the potheads, drunks, and bad dancers to emerge from their holes and mingle with the rest of society.

And it is absolutely hilarious.

Like the one girl who got so excited she started whipping her hair, and then almost fell over because she was completely wasted.

And you could always tell when somebody took a puff of weed, because this nice consolidated little cloud would slowly rise into the air.

Puff... OH LOOK! someone's gettin' high over there.

Then there were people getting hammered while standing in the line. Talk about time-efficient.

But enough about stupid people. Because honestly, I could go on all day.

But I would rather not.

And I'm sure you don't want me to either.

Think Nasty, Think Nasty

I hate people.

I usually have mean thoughts about them.

Sometimes I try not to say them out loud.

My walk home from school today was accompanied by a nice long rant about the kid who lives down the street from me.

It went somewhat like this:

I hate you. I hate you so much. Every time I hear your stupid cowboy boots click on the pavement I hate you. I hate your jacket. No, it's not even a jacket. It's a fucking trench coat. I hate it. P.S. It's the 21st century. And it's not wartime in America. Put your stupid trench coat back. I hope you realize how stupid you look. Because you look stupid. And I hate you.


On the bright side, I had a good long conversation with my teacher in French today. I felt competent. And it made me smile.

Oh, and they call the wind Maria.

That makes me smile too.

And You're Being Educated?

Oh, school. Nothing like a good long two and half weeks off to make you really appreciate the wealth of stupidity contained within its walls.

I mean, seriously. Some of those people... I wonder how they function.

And it's not only the people who ask stupid questions in class. Granted, there are quite a few of them too, but I'm talking about the people to which common sense is apparently a foreign concept.

Exhibit A: The girl wearing her cheerleading uniform in honor of (and excitement for) the boys basketball game tonight which, may I say, was quite ecstatically publicized. Now, school spirit is great and all. I personally don't really partake in it, because let's admit it, most of the time it makes you look like a fool. But hey, if that's what floats your boat, go get 'em tiger.

But the problem that I had with this girl was that her outfit made me stop and wonder: Why? In the thoughtful way of the cheer coach, cheerleaders all have a cheer sweatsuit for those days when it is not actually mini skirt weather. However, today apparently did not make the grade of "not mini skirt weather." Because this particular cheerleader was proudly sporting a short skirt.

I mean short.

Like, cheer short.

You could practically see her big ol' cheer granny panties.

There is snow on the ground, and yet this girl found it necessary to show her school spirit by sacrificing the outer layer or her skin, and probably coagulating the better part of the blood in her extremities.

Of course, I would be lying to say that I was altogether surprised by this behavior. The cheerleading population at Niwot does not leave the rest of us with very high expectations.

Exhibit B of, shall we say, "challenged" people at Niwot: The ones who don't realize that when they talk and the whole class laughs, it's not because we think what they say is funny. Actually, we just think they're morons.

Now these people are not new. They have been these people, and will continue to be these people, throughout their entire high school lives. I have only been graced with the presences of the most obnoxious specimen this year, however, in my A.P. classes.

You know, just because they're advanced placement classes, I didn't know that having enough obscure trivia about the presidents stored up in your brain that you can answer practically every question on a worksheet that is intended to be a joke in government class was suddenly considered cool. In fact, I'm pretty sure that it's still just an unnecessarily dorky showcase of how little of a social life you actually have. Oh, and the history lesson on the origin of the S in Ulysses S. Grant's name was . . . well . . . yeah. It was nice.

Don't take this the wrong way though. As much as I may want to punch those people in the throat when they start talking, they definitely spice up the lecture material by adding inappropriate peals of giggles to the otherwise sedate and lethargic mumbles and bumbles of the rest of the class. So don't stop with your social inadequacy, please. It's really quite entertaining.

Unfortunately, no matter how many good internal laughs you get out of them, there are some voices that make you go:

"Gee, aren't you glad to hear that voice again?"