But not before I had to get a shot this morning before I was even fully conscious. Quite the painful thing, dearies. They practically had to shoot me with a tranquilizer dart before they could even prick me with the needle. I now cannot lift one arm.

Great. I think the antibodies backfired, or something. I'll probably be dead within 24 hours.

So anyway, my grandmother spent (would you believe it?) forty-five minutes browsing the women's section in Dillard's. I shit you not. I was so f'n bored. Then, of course, we had to go to School of Choice, since she had never been there and "wanted to see the school her granddaughter would be goin' to." Now, imagine that quote being said in a thick mid-Mississippi accent.

So we arrived at School of Choice where I conveniently dropped off my immunization records, remembering the painful shot earlier that morning. Summer school was commencing, so I had to walk among the slackers, druggies, crack-whores, etc. with my grandmother. So then I had to explain why there were so many fucked-up kids going to summer school there if it was such a high academic school. I explained that even though it was a very hard school to get into, it being public and all, they had to admit a certain number of "neighborhood" kids. Read: Ghetto. So all the "neighborhood" homies be's chillin at summer school at my, my School of Choice. They're probably throwing cigarette butts and joints all over the grounds and generally polluting it with their slacker stench, while bust-asses like me work their fingers to the bone every day for that school in hopes of someday being valedictorian (a very unlikely honor)!

Can you tell I'm just a little embittered?

We arrived at my uncle's house at five to barbeque for her birthday. My uncle gets great pleasure out of torturing and slowly killing small, defenseless animals. That's why I refuse to eat anything he cooks. But my grandmother thoroughly enjoys it, so what the hell. My mother and my uncle (brother and sister) got into an argument over baked beans.

I shit you not.

Beans.

She said that he told her to bring the beans, but he insists that he, in fact, did not. That's why my aunt made some instead. But my aunt also insists that she thought my mom was bringing the beans, but since my uncle vehemently refuted that fact, she also made beans. So we had two huge pots of beans.

"You told me to bring the beans, Bill!" my mother practically screamed.

"You must have dreamed that, because I did not! I told Marla to make the beans!" my uncle screamed back.

"Dumbass..." my mother muttered under her breath.

I ate a little from both pots, to show my sympathy for both bean-making parties involved. My uncle just walked off in an aggravated huff, grabbed his gun, and went off to shoot something, I think.

I carefully placed the candles on my grandmother's cake. We sang and all that happy shit, and she almost forgot to blow them out. So, all flustered, she practically spit all over the cake, but luckily she got all three candles out.

"Damn!" my uncle exclaimed at the sight of the spit.

"She spit all over me!" my grandfather said, wiping off his shirt.

"You?! said my mom. "She spit all over the cake!"

"That's all right," I said. "It's her cake. Just let her have the whole thing." So my mother threw up her hands in disgust and walked into another room. My grandmother just smiled and cut herself a piece of cake. All was well.

My uncle got her five scratch-off lotto games for her birthday. Not a nice shirt, like I got her. Lotto games. *sigh* Am I the only completely normal person in my family? So my grandmother, being the gambler she is, laughed with delight and spent fifteen minutes scratching off one of the cards before we had to carefully pry it from her kung-fu grip.

So ends the saga of my grandmother's birthday.

Christ. Who knew it would be such an ordeal.

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I have made plans with Jessica and Brooke to see Scooby Doo tomorrow around noon. I am easily amused, I think it will make for a fun afternoon. I might as well get some fun in now, because Thursday will be entirely spent modeling for some photography studios and college students, except for the show on Thursday night. I only did this as a favor to Jessica because she is a photography major and she work at a quite pricey professional photography place.

So I'm going to leave with her around nine o'clock that morning and we're going to go downtown to take some "urban shots" (her phrase, not mine), then we're going to some plantation or something and I have to put on a big frilly dress to take some "period shots." From there, I don't know what else, but I draw the line at nude photos. I can just see them ending up getting plastered all over the internet and me being banned from amazon.com foreverafter. Hey, it could happen. (Actually, I made that up. We're not taking nude photos. I plan to be fully clothed in all photos.) Some makeup guy is coming with us to make sure my hair is properly coiled or stylishly wind-blown at all times.

Hair styling. Now there's some freaky shit, when you're dealing with my hair. Good luck, dude. You'll need it.

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Ooh! I almost forgot!

SOUTH PARK-ISM O' THE DAY!: Shit! *electric shock* Oh, shit, stop that! *electric shock* Fuck! Stop that! *electric shock* Damn, that hurts! *electric shock* Fuck off, okay?! Jesus! *electric shock*

There is an episode where Cartman gets an electric shock every time he curses. but every time he gets shocked, he curses, so it is a vicious cycle.

Heh heh. I would love to give a few people I know an unplanned electric shock and fry their asses. *evil laugh*

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Now, if you're a good little militant feminist who kicks men in the groin, pours kerosene over them, and then sets them on fire, you're probably watching a taped version of the play "The Women." I planned to, but I was too f'n busy writing this entry.

Well, I've got a fun few days ahead. Oh, and lest we forget the shows on Thursday, Friday, and two on Saturday. Fun, eh?

© alexa

The counter keeps breaking and pissing me off, so NO MORE COUNTER! Mwahaha!