So. How's your week been? Bien. Excellente.

But moi? Non. The sophomore head-bashing shit is about to break out and it's going to be Hell At School Of Choice if I have to put up with one more ounce of Whitney Breaux's bitchy attitude.

But anyway. That's a long story I'm not ready to tell. (Plus you'd probably get bored really fast.)

I had half of a Diet Coke this morning before I caught the bus at FIVE FUCKING THIRTY.

May I remind you that I catch the bus at FIVE. FUCKING. THIRTY.

I was the only white person on the bus, it turns out. Not that I have anything against those of ethnic persuasion. Non. But they totally excluded me from their ghetto-party or whatever in the back of the bus. Man, and I wanted some crack, too.

(Disclaimer: like I said, I have nothing against those good-standing NAACP members. But these kids were pot-smoking, fire-breathing ghetto people. I mean, seriously. They'd scare the shit out of Eminem any day.)

So I affectionately refer to my bus as the Ghetto-Mobile.

Ghetto-Mobiling around town makes for one hell of a bumpy ride. I tried to sleep, but all I ended up doing was banging my head against the glass whenever we hit a bump. I thought it was going to have a damned concussion by the time I got to school.

Oh, have I mentioned that fact that I catch this so-called "Ghetto-Mobile" at FIVE FUCKING THIRTY??? Just checking.

I get to homeroom, finally, and I'm practically drooling all over my desk. I mean, it feels like I had just gone to sleep and had woken back up five minutes later. So much for that Diet Coke, eh.

Those stupid dipshit teachers at school gave us all our textbooks today. I already had five binders plus a planner in my booksack already, and I managed to cram five books in it as well. We'll get some more books tomorrow, but we only have five classes a day.

Ready for the shit-headed part? They won't give us our lockers yet. Our lockers that we paid for. Yeah, you heard me, PAID. Three bucks a semester. What a rip.

My back is totally bent out of whack from climbing three flights of stairs. Really now, could you handle carrying a booksack that weighs more than you do up and down three flights of stairs while being pushed by raucous ghetto kids from behind? I didn't think so.

Tomorrow I have a feeling that our drama teacher is totally going to ebb our creative juices for the time being. We're probably going to work on our Basement Classroom. How's that for isolation, eh? But someone wrote "Buck Futter" on the wall with spray paint so that's okay. It'll cheer me up after being verbally bashed by El Presidente Bitchito in the wee morning hours.

Ballet is okay. I have it second hour, so I'm pretty much all sweaty and gross for the rest of the day since it's in the main builing, so we can't shower after class. That's fine eith me. Showering naked with a bunch of girls I don't know is kind of awkward anyway. I wasn't looking forward to it.

Three more years.

Shit.

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