i have no idea how to format dialouge (saturday night jail cell)

"wwuouoohh..."

"You are such a wimp," I smacked Harry upside the head, while still rubbing my own with the other hand. "You're a lightweight. You're a coward. You're a candy ass... weenie."

He slowly sat up on the cold bench that hung from the cold cell wall. "Damnit...." he still wouldn't open his eyes. “My gramma’s gonna kill me.” “Not as bad as what I’m gonna do to you, you, you... milquetoast.” He stopped groaning and looked at me. “Dude. You did it.” he blinked. “You used milquetoast in a conversation.”

“With a drunk, no less,” I sighed, leaning back into the wall opposite him. “Nah, I’m done being drunk. I’m just hungover, at this point,” he protested half-heartedly, and offered me a piece of gum from his hip pocket. I passed

“Do you even get hungover before you go to sleep? I thought that was like a morning-after thing.” But looking out the window I could see the sunrise peaking at the trees.

“I mean I did sleep. In the car. So.” He was back to lounging on the bench.

“In the cruiser,” I corrected him. “In the police car.”

“And?” he seemed to be holding back laughter, or at least too tired to release it. “Sleep is sleep.”

“Wise words from Sir Misses-First-Period-A-Lot.” he threw the gum wrapper at me, and sighed. “Well, happy twenty first, Dame Forgets-Her-Lunch-A-Lot. First drink-” I laughed, “first drunk-” he raised his eyebrows and I nodded, allowing him that one. “First fist fight,” he was counting on his fingers now. “But not the first punch, right? No,” he answered himself before I could.

“First boy...”

I tried to keep my tone casual, I tried to keep my eyes on the wall over his head, and I tried, I really did, to keep the blush from out of my cheeks. But my breath caught, and my eyes slid down, and after the third shot I no longer had any control over my skin tone.

“Whaaaaaa....t...”

“Close your mouth or someone’s gonna shit on it.” I was pretty sure that was the saying. I started picking at the rubber on my shoe sole.

“Hey. No! Millie, I’ve played truth or dare with you and Sarah and like Jason and people before! Izza and Cal and-! There is no way-”

“Yes way, asshole, truth or dare doesn’t count!” I finally met his eyes. He held us there for a good ten- seventeen seconds.

“That Jeremy guy?” he turned as his tone became edgier.

“Uh huh.” I was watching him now.

“Welllll....” he rubbed the bags under his eyes that had somehow darkened exponentially over the course of the night. “Is he gonna call?”

I shrugged. “Perhaps.” But we both knew that wasn’t the issue here. I wondered if he would-

“Did Caroline see?”

I bit my lip. “I don’t know...” That wasn’t entirely the truth. “Maybe... probably.” I added guiltily.

He was silent for a moment. “Damn, Milla,”  he said, and he got off the bench and came and sat with me on the floor. The gesture of getting up off his ass almost made me tear up, more than the early hour, more than the guilt of making out with someone in front of my ex girlfriend. He put his hand on my back and massaged my shoulders for a moment before saying-

“You know how whenever Sarah bleaches her hair she says the itchiness is made worth it because the smell reminds her of the first time she did it at Caroline’s house?” I nodded and sniffled. “I think ‘milquetoast’ will be the bleach smell of tonight.”

Thank god for friends who keep you laughing.

thirty three words over (three minute story)

I checked my watch for the sixth time to ensure that I really was late. And I really was. Caroline would be furious, but it hardly mattered, for she always was. I looked for the bus again. Again at my watch. I turned to face the breeze and tried to take a minute to calm down. Breathe in. It’s fine. Breathe out. You’re fine. Breathe in. Calm down. Breathe out. For just a minute.

“Ugh!” Something cold had hit me on the back of me neck. I jumped up and whipped around, clutching myself, trying to stop it from dripping down my dress. Before me was a girl, holding an empty pitcher, smoothing out her own dress and trying to pretend she had not just fallen into her own flower boxes, and tried to avoid my eye contact. “Ahh... hi,” she met my eyes guiltily. “Do me a favor and pretend you didn’t see that? Thanks.” She walked away before I could answer. I’m not sure what I would’ve said anyway.

Three minutes? That’s how often the buses come, right? I’ve been here for at least four. I closed my eyes and clicked my heels, as nothing more than a way to pass the time. Theres no place like... Margie’s eight minutes from now, with a dry dress, and a cup of freshly dumped best friend, and a side of hash browns. “That’s a pretty nice dress.” I turned to see the girl had returned to the window with her pitcher refilled. I squinted at her, preparing for the proper girl greeting. “That’s a pretty nice... earrings. I like your earrings.” And I did- gold and blue lightning bolts that zig zagged at an angle to her jawline. She grinned. “Thank you. Also this bus stop is discontinued.” She turned back to her pansies.

I don’t think my face changed. I’d spent too much energy already. “Ug, god.” And I just sat down and rested my head on the wall. “Then why is the sign still here? Why is there no notice? Did they tell anyone? Who even makes these dumb decisions?!”

There was a pause. When I twisted around, there was no one at the window.

“Cool, cool,” I muttered to myself, and began rummaging in my purse for an idea of what to do next.

“Um- where were you going?” She appeared on the sidewalk beside me, slightly flushed. She was still adjusting her shoes, and she hopped on one foot as she said, “because I was just about to go that way to the park, and we could uh- you could walk with me if its- if its not too far. To where you’re going” She was still breathing somewhat irregularly. From hurrying out of her house, I assumed. I sat up.

“Nnnno offense...” I began, and stood up to face her. “But I don’t... know you...?” I looked into her eyes. “Uh.” The eyes became hidden by a pair of golden eyelashes. “Yeah, yeah yeah, okay. Yeah ok, see you.” She started to head back to her house.

I looked at my watch, and then to her retreating back. “Wait!” She turned back to me, seeming to stand straighter- more hopeful. “Aren’t you going to the park anyway?” “Oh!” she seemed surprised. “Yes...” she said hesitantly. “Yes I was. Yeah, sure. Yes.” She started down the block without me, her own dress swishing around her knees and she walked quickly, with purpose, and her earrings swinging in rhythm with the arms at her side. My own heels clicked the sidewalk as I caught up to her. “Well then we might as well go together anyway. You know. Two pretty nice girls on a pretty nice afternoon.” She met my smile, and I breathed again.

Caroline would have to wait.

unassigned blog

we had a discussion similar to this in class today and I couldn't quite articulate myself the way I would've liked to. this is good, you should read it. 

http://redgiftbox.tumblr.com/post/68919117472/one-of-the-problems-i-have-with-discussions-of

I'm the worst (delayed thankful post)

This is very late and I should not get ANY credit for it (actually I just looked at my grade. I should probably get some credit for it :/) but this is a really fun class and I'm thankful for all of it!

I'm thankful for Shay's wit and banter with Ms. Uhl Alba that wakes me up in the morning.

I'm thankful for Charlie's full time thoughtful contributions and part time silliness

I'm thankful for Alana bugging Cassidy and entertaining me during driver's ed, and also for bringing up things I think but can't put into words.

I'm thankful for John's rewrites of what Mr. McCarthy puts on the board so we can all read it more easily.

I'm thankful to Ioana for having the best name ever (sorry you're kinda quiet)

I'm thankful to have english class with Perriyana for the second year in a row!

I'm thankful to Harish for making fun of Alina's shirt that one time and I don't think he knew we saw but me and Genny were dying. Thank you.

I'm thankful to Lejla for being the best choir partner! Rock on, girlfriend.

I'm thankful to Jennifer, even though we've drifted apart over the years, those bus rides in seventh grade have a special place in my heart!

I'm not thankful for Genny at all. God, what a nerd <3

I'm thankful to Aidan for distracting my lab partners from the dull pain of physics class.

I'm thankful for Cali's way of putting some things into words.

I'm thankful for Stephanie's dress sense... you're really cool!

I'm thankful for Kamari who I have a couple classes with and I think is a pretty cool chick.

I'm thankful to Annesha for getting the exact nose piercing I wanted and rocking it harder than I ever could.

I'm thankful to Nathan for his Halloween costume, that was amazing.

I'm thankful for Alan for always having that coffee I'm jealous of. Wait I'm not thankful for that.

I'm thankful to Vivian for coming close to how much I like Harry Potter.

I'm thankful to Katherine for being better than me and inspiring to be better than her.

I'm thankful for Courtney and that one project we worked on together, I was like "who'd this chick? Oh, super cool? Awesome."

I'm thankful to Jack for

I'm thankful to Edwin for sharing his writing because I think it's really good!

I'm thankful to Sydney for not backing down when Mr. McCarthy insults her taste in baseball teams.

I'm thankful to Alina for being really fashionable and cool!!

I'm thankful to Sylvie for asking questions that I'm too shy to ask.

I'm thankful to Jennie for her interpretations in class which are always something interesting that didn't occur to me.

I'm thankful to Milton for being the other weird sister.

I'm thankful to Natalie for being opinionated.

Was it worth it Macbeth??? Was it??

In Shakespeare's tale of Macbeth, the title character does a lot of sketchy stuff to become the king of Scotland and try to stay that way. Sketchy stuff being murdering the former king, his best friend, and the wife and child of a potential threat. The whole time he knows that he'll become king on the word of a witch's prophecy, so there wasn't a lot of risk in that part. But in the end, his wife goes insane and dies, and then he himself is dead. The questions that the readers/ audience is left with tends to be "was it worth it?"

In my opinion, no. I think he ended up worse off than when he started. While the Macbeth we meet at the beginning of the play was not the wealthiest man, he did alright. He and his wife were living comfortably, if modestly. They didn't have a family, but that was alright- he had a nice job (protecting the kingdom) and a good boss (the king) who seemed to like him- he wasn't at the top of the food chain but he wasn't at the bottom either.

By the time he meets his end, he's more paranoid than a conspiracy-fearing neckbeard reddit user, his wife is just plain going off the deep end before she dies somewhat mysteriously, and then he is murdered and remembered by no one but the people who despised him.

And that, I think is what matters- that his short and strange life was ended abruptly without him making any positive contributions to the world.

GENDER ROLLS!!!

"Unsex me here, from the crown to the toe, top-full Of direst cruelty..."

“Is it a blog about feminism??” -Mr. McCarthy, when he read the blog assignment aloud to us on Friday.

“Isn’t it always a blog about feminism?” -Me

I am not 100% clear on what Lady Macbeth is asking, but from our in class discussion I’ve gathered that she is saying that she wants to be made unlike woman, more like man, and full of cruelty. I responded to this in two ways- the first being the response of my inner misandrist. Misandry is the opposite of a misogyny, which means man-hating. I don’t actually hate men, but I like to play the part for sarcastic, dramatic, satirical effect when trying to get a point across. Anyway, this is what that side of me had to say about it-

“Yup.”

The other side of me, the less sarcastic, third wave feminist* side, gently chastised my inner misandrist, reminded myself that I don’t hate men, I actually rather like them, I just hold them to a higher standard than they are held in the patriarchy, and that I don’t hate the player** I hate the game***.

In short, the intersectionality of my feminism would like to issue a reminder that Lady Macbeth doesn’t want to be a man, she just wants to have some traditionally masculine qualities, such as strength and cruelty.

Who wrote this frying her brain with physics homework and eating a dark chocolate cupcake and then didn’t edit it to see if she was rambling too much?

This girl.

*so first wave was when white ladies wanted to vote, second wave was when women realized they needed to fight for the rights of all women, women of color included, and third wave is about the inclusion of ALL sisters, not just the cis-ters. Which means transgender women and men and non-binary joined the club. I could’ve written that more plainly, but then I wouldn’t be able to use my awesome cis-ters pun I stole from someone on the internet.

**dudes

***the patriarchy

~side note~ maybe someday I will be able to articulate my feministy thoughts more eloquently rather than just getting really angry and letting all my blood flow right from my head to my fingertips on my keyboard, where all I can do is say “nooo, come on, feminism, when you were the size of a watermelon a woman squeezed you out of a whole in her body the size of a lemon, nooo, how can you hate women, nooo” Until then, fellow classmates, goodnight.

No New Tale To Tell

I do not understand why some people think all tales come from these in Canterbury. I think a lot of them are very strange, about weird people who go around seducing each other's wives and daughters and beating each other. It seemed to me to be lots of gossiping and rumor spreading, with bits of life lessons sprinkled in. I quite liked the Wife of Bath's tale, because with an element of magic to it it seemed more story like, more of a legend, and less gossip. She told it with intent to teach a lesson, and to tell someone something she's learned over her years. As opposed to a lot of the characters who seemed to want to get back at each other, like the Friar and the Summoner, or the Reeve.