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I'm sick of Catherine and Lydia constantly complaining through every single maths lesson. I mean, I thought I complained a lot, but jeez.
Step one of a maths lesson for them. Complain about our teacher's accent and habit of not drawing curly algebra x's.
Step two. Complain that they don't understand because they've been too busy complaining to listen.
Step three. Complain that our teacher has not given us enough time to copy things down, because they have been complaining too much when they could've been copying.
Step four. Complain about having to write out the questions.
Step five. Complain that our teacher has not been paying attention to them putting their hands up and whining about how they don't get it.
Step six. Complain that our teacher has not explained the whole objective of the lesson to them especially.
Step 7. COMPLAIN AFTER THEY'VE MISERABLY FAILED AT THEIR MATHS GCSE'S.
Yeah.
On to English. And holy s**t, I'm not stumped with writer's block whilst writing a comparitive essay between two poems. I'll make up for the E, I tells ya.
Break. Zoe's lost Beth and everyone else, we retrace our steps from the canteen back down to halfway down to the hill, then agreeing that they've most likely gone to the bottom canteen.
Double science. Sleeping with my eyes open throughout that lesson as usual, then waking up and asking John to summarise what the hell my teacher was just yammering on about. We also failed trying to use chromatography to define which colourings have been used in Smarties.
Traipse down to the bottom canteen for lunch, meeting everyone in the other band down at our temporary hangout. The hidden benches have a long blue rope dividing them, a result of Christian, Cory and Mike making the fence above the Walk Of Shame potentially dangerous. They shook it so hard a ton of bricks came loose and fell off. Nothing's been done about our destroyed ai fence, though.
Josh was trying and failing to skate along the frozen puddles on the roof. Fun. Piggy-back rides, arse-slapping, group-hugs, pelvic thrusting against our new ai fence, good times. Mr Williams ruined it all by coming out and ordering us to put out chairs for assembly, as RPF have irresponsibly decided not to bother. Then there's Miles complaining about how little effort I'm putting in, and chair curling with Jonte. Oh, and me accidentally tipping a huge pile of chairs over in the middle of the hall. Yeah, that was fun.
So, I decided to rebel and sit with all my friends' tutor group instead of mine. Georgia came too, so I wasn't the only one. Dauncy kept fiddling with my bag, Kiera kept fiddling with Dauncy's hand. And Carlie and her chavvy friends behind us complaining about Georgia and I invading their tutor group. Mrs Weekly came over after hearing their complaints and said we'd been sitting there sensibly though. In your face, Carlie.
Off to ICT. Mr Campbell's pretty annoyed with me after using the terms "spifftastic" and "fo'sho" on this GCSE stuff. Seriously, I can't help doing that. I am a Gaian, after all. So, I have devised the cunning plan of sticking post-its reminding me that this is serious around my monitor and computer. I was tempted to put 'This is sewious!' with a picture of a duck with flying goggles, but that would kind of be defeating the point.
Aaaaand, social. Got a couple of Christian nutters talking about their views on sex. Yipee. And in our activity of stand-on-the-side-of-the-room-that-corresponds-with-your-view-on-such-and-such, I was the only one to stand on the "agree" side with the statement, 'There is a lot of sex on TV nowadays, this is a good thing,' whilst everyone else went in the middle. Hollyoaks was mentioned as being one of the greatest television programmes ever. It was good. The female Christian nutter was saying how she'd been sexually abused as a youngin', and how "nobody would ever want to associate or be friends with" her. Now, I've never been sexually abused before (never been sexually anything before ;o; ) but I seriously doubt I'd have that opinion on life if I did. Couple years later, I'd be like, 'Meh.' Maybe one day I'll eat those words. I don't see it happening though.
Walking home. I'm waiting outside the house for a bit, high five Miles and him and Kiera walk past, but Joel, Charlotte, Dauncy and Katie are nowhere to be seen. I decide to give up and walk away. I look round the house to see if they're walking round that way, and I see Miles waving goodbye to Joel as he walks out with Rochelle. So I'm like, 'Hey, I'll walk this way listening to my music pretending not to notice them so I don't look desperate, then I'll start to walk with them,' which was a good plan. So I'm listening to my MP3 and Joel waves at me, I wave back and start walking with them. Then I'm like, huh, this sounds weird. I look at my MP3 player, and it's a voice recording. It's a recording of me walking. I click skip but nothing happens. So then I say, 'Aah! I've accidentally deleted everything off my MP3 player and replaced it with a sound recording of me walking!' and Joel and Rochelle are like, 'WTF oh no!' and we have a conversation from there. Then Rochelle asks Joel if he's got a cheque or something that was someone's, and he stops to look through his pockets and can't find anything. Rochelle gets annoyed and starts nosing around in Joel's inside coat pockets. Because she also fancies him, I gather. I'd do it too if I were in her position. No luck, and we keep walking on, Rochelle yelling at Joel. Then Joel gets in his mum's car and I'm left walking with Rochelle. We see Joel driving off and Rochelle's like, 'Just look at him, driving off!' and I say, 'Well... at least his car's not very nice,' and she's like, 'Oh, that's his second car, he's got, what, and Alfa Romeo at home?' and I'm like, s**t. His family has two cars. I mean, yeah, we have two cars, but Laylee's car is a really old Micra, and we've only got a Hyundai Getz sport. So he's gorgeous, smart, and rich, it seems. I have no chance.
This entry will be editted if any of my real life friends hunt me down on here. x___x;