It's my birthday and I'll whine if I want to!

I was in my new school the whole day yesterday, prepping for my first nursing-doomed schoolyear when I was informed that my MATH needs major improvement. Hahahaha, laughable stuff! I wasn't even shocked. Like I've always been aware that I severely suck at it. Not that I didn't seek help, nor never attempted working on it, it's just that... Math and I are like Paris Hilton and Linday Lohan. We'll get along one day, and catfight the next. It's just never gonna work! But no matter how limited my knowledge about it is, I know I'm still capable of adding, subtracting, multiplying and even dividing whole numbers. Hahaha, seriously, I can do that. Hence my hysteria over dissatisfying scores! MATH = not college ready. Are you kidding me? I may be mathematically challenged, but my brains aren't sophomoric. I got a good score in reading and very high praises for my writing skills! I know Math is totally different, but not college ready?? Not college ready?? This is ridiculous!


But what can I do... It's not like I could bitchfight my way out of it. I have to pass Elementary Algebra, (I repeat, ELEMENTARY!) to get 3 units (Nursing prefuckinrequisite) of Algebra II or College Algebra. Man, can you imagine my numeral-loathing head revolving around these demanding subjects?? Don't even be surprised if you just heard one day, I hanged myself in the attic because of it. Like seriously. What was I even thinking when I've decided to be a nurse and ditch my dreams of becoming the next Paula Dean? What were YOU thinking?!!

But it was my birthday and I wouldn't let anything as embarrassing as this ruin my very day. Since there weren't plans of partying, I just asked my dad to drop by Walmart so we could get the usuals: orange chicken, strips with country gravy, mac and cheese and a humongous pizza for the day. Hahaha, celebrating my failure. Why not? But guess what. I'll try it just one last time. Who knows, I'll be Cady-mathlete one day. Haha, birthday girl can dream!

Before I forget... thanks to the blogger beauties who remembered to blow me kisses yesterday. Ate Clare, Jen, Bone and Jennie. And my CUZ, Hannah. You have no idea how you made my almost suicidal day. :)

Big Brother Trainee.

Drama Queen?

In the immortal words of the now infamous Whitney Houston... Hell to the NO!

You know, life is just a game of manipulation. You just got to have an unshakable strategy to reign victorious each time an assault awaits you. Some worthy allies who you can surely depend on along the turbulent ride. Utilize your face's holes and smart senses effectively to easily distinguish those who are capable of stabbing you in the back, regardless of relationship. And you gotta have faith, just exactly how it goes in that aging George Michael record. Well, not really. But I digress. Of course, there will be episodes when you'll find yourself in such a baffled, clueless, Paris Hilton disposition that you can only have the slightest idea of ejecting the clogs that hinder your journey to the top. But at the end of the day, you only have to be a sharp contriver and a fearless combatant in order to survive. You only have you. I only have myself. No more, no less.

These emulous schmucks just ultimately love feasting on - well, what they begrudgingly call - my falsities. I therefore manifestly discard my tendecies of caring too much about what these fuckin' nincompoops had to say about me. And I quote Mary C. Kraemer, "I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired". So you know what? Kiss my Asian ass, bitches. You can rot in hell, for all I care. *folds arms, rolls eyes, stomps right foot, and proudly walks away* ((:

I'm supposed to be strong.

In the event you find out that this one person, who you know/knew will be by you until your last days on this motherfuckin' planet, categorically hates you, and you're absolutely unaware of it all along... how are you supposed to react and assuringly bounce back from it?

You cry?

Scream?

You fuckin' curse?

I honestly don't know.

When I got my heart markedly broken the first time, I was in a friend's house, porking out on a can of Selecta, which anyhow made me feel better. There's actually some left over ice cream in the fridge, but mother will kill me if she doesn't find a dessert before she goes to work later. What do I do? I feel like Jennifer (of Sa Piling Mo) who habitually sneaks out late at night, only to get attacked by her excessively suspicious husband. The shock value, and the furious anxiety. It sucks so bad! I seriously need something to cool me down. At quarter past 3 in the fuckin' morning. I wish I can easily drive thru DQ. Walmart. Or something.

I hate to be a Drama queen. That's the last thing I would want people to call me. But if you think that I'm starting to become one, then fine. Maybe I deserve it. After all, life has been quite uneasy for me. All I've prayed for was to die blissfully, and I can't believe that even this ultimate wish now may never be granted. Because certain people just hate me (to fuckin' pieces). Even those who I least expected to hold vicious grudge against me. A free cookie to anybody that can give me something more depressing than that.

I'm doomed. I can only cry myself to sleep. Poor girl. Can do nothing but whimper.

My Social Life = dunzo!

I think I just had the most boring summer of my life.

Ow, shoot! It's not over yet. We're only half way through. Fuckge!

The plans remain as is. With all the unexpected expenses that parked our front door, there was no way for us to enjoy the season somewhere else. The heat here is sickening! But no matter how pissed I am right now, I have no other option but to stay home, and find something else to entertain myself with. Reality TV has been serving me fine, ermm, some BBQs too and the backyard pool. But that is sooooo wallpaper-ish. I want some nightlife! I want some new friends, some parties! I want my social life back!

*whew*

That was some rant. Excuse this child, she's currently a loner. I need some sugar. Later!

I want to be made!

Quote (not exact) from the MTV show Made, episode Girly Girl.

Cosmo coach gives boyish girl her task for the day...
Boyish girl: Oh fuck!
Cosmo coach: Oh my God! You just didn't curse.
Boyish girl: What, it's just an expression!
Cosmo coach: You can always say fudge!

Fudge? What the fudge? Err, doesn't sound good... Aside from being a professional athlete, another half of my biggest frustration is to actually be a girly girl. For reals. Well, I do make-up, yes. I try. But I can only sigh whenever I see young pretty girls walk by me with such a posture, a demure aura that can easily turn heads. Not that I'm aiming for that kind of charisma, but I just want to be a girly girl even in the littlest way possible... emotionally, physically, and ethically.

Today, going to church, I once again attempted a style. I wore this pink blouse that had been stuck in my closet for the past couple of years, matched it with a pair of black slacks, some pearl earrings with necklace to make me look expensive, and a pair of one-inched heeled sandals. For the first time in a long time, I felt like a lady. A grown up one at that. But not even half way through the mass, my feet were already itching due to the edge of them damn sandals. I swore not to wear them ever again. I'm pathetic.

Not only do I poorly execute femininity in the way I present myself physically, but as well as how I control my emotions and the way I act around people. Honestly, my piehole is almost unfiltered. In a house centered by democracy, I have the power to blurt out what I feel is needed to be said. Derogatoriness may be inevitable. Well, it is. So I can totally relate to the quoted above. A friend of mine once asked me, "what do you get from cussing everytime you feel like crap?" I replied, "it's my own little way of venting, unless you wanted me to charge you". See? I am far from being the girly girl I want me to be.

I don't think I'm at a worst-case-scenario (yet). I'm wearing boho skirts, so I think that's at least, a girly thing. This is tough though. I have now to start controlling my eating habits in the Chinese buffet, walk like a shiny plastic, and talk like I'm from Laguna Beach. Fuck, that's suicide! I think this takes serious rehabilitation.