Actually, this time, it's not something that I did, such as fall off a wall or fall up the stairs.

It's more along the lines of....all of my friends have multi-colored hair. Every last Manic-Panic-loving one of them.

Well, I say that, and really it's just two of them. Sarah A dyed her hair blue awhile ago, and then today, Sarah S (Runs With Scissors) appeared out of nowhere with bright purple hair. I must admit, it looked good. Almost edible, at least. I took a picture of it which I am yet to get developed, but when I will, I promise to post it. It's a picture of Sarah A and Sarah S together, doing a do-si-do or something equally idiotic. I told them to go slow so I could get the picture, and they started taking these giant, slow steps and saying in this deep, slow voice: "Dddoooo to the Sssssiiii to the Dddoooo!"

And it gets even better! (On an unrelated, abstract topic, but nonetheless.)

In drama, instead of goofing off and listening to CDs, we actually got up on the mainstage and ran with the show, complete with lights and music. And I must say, it made me like it more because it actually seemed like it was a show and not a hopeless glob and theatrical worthlessness.

The music is all techno and strobe lights abound. Music provided graciously by moi. Some of it anyway.

I actually brought my CD player to school today for the first time (because it's a big no-no) and Andrew promptly took it away and started rocking out to Pink Floyd or something. I dunno...I didn't say anything because I'm a good like conformist (DOORMAT) so I just took turns listening to Sarah S's CDs on her headphones. Somebody, email me and remind me to buy Garbage's (Shirley Manson's) CD, 2.0. I was so incredibly jealous it wasn't even funny, and I decided that instead of trying to hide the CD in my peacoat all day and hope to god she doesn't figure it out, I'll bite the bullet and just buy it. Even if it is close to Christmas, I don't care. I doubt anyone is going to get me a Garbage CD anyway.

A very uneventful day, all in all, except for during seventh hour, Geometry, all the electricity shut off and I had to take a test in the dark. I was hardly fair; I had to squint to read the problems. This is unconstitutional. I demand a retest.

Whitney is petitioning the Student Government Association to change the theme for Winter Formal. They originally picked "Snowed In," but half of the members of SGA weren't there anyway to vote on it. So we're petitioning to change the theme to "Winter Masquerade."

I know, I know...you're thinking: "They're just changing it from one thing to another, and nobody agreed on it, so it accomplishes nothing.

Actually, it does. The guy designing the T-shirt said it was nearly impossible to draw "Snowed In." It's pretty hard to think of what to draw. But everybody wants to have a Winter Masquerade (we've been hoping for it all year) and it will be a ton easier to design the shirts for it.

And I say "we are petitioning" because Whitney needs 720 signatures (half the student body) for it to do any good. So Sarah S and I made copies of the form to get more signatures. So far, just today, I think we got around 300, so by the end of midterms next week we should have all we need. Thank God.

I didn't want my first Winter Formal to have some stupid theme. God forbid; I would resent it well into my senior year.

No, of course I'm not being sarcastic!

Eh.

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Last night at rehearsal, I was stretching for dance class. You know, doing splits and good stuff like that. Kevin comes back and we talk for awhile, and he says, "I used to be able to do a split."

"Really?" I say, astounded, because he's a pudgy 32-year-old man.

"Sure. Let me see if I can still do it," he says, then promptly sinks down to the floor.

Dayy-umm.

My jaw hangs on a freaking hinge. He can do a full split just as good as a 14 year old dancer. (That would be me.)

I'm feeling some serious pain today because I kept trying to get my straddle split and I think I pulled a muscle in the process. I didn't really need to strecth it, I only stretched it to reassure myself that I am more flexible than a man old enough to be my father.

That'll show me to be conceited, I think as I writhe in pain, crouched over my right leg.

*sigh*

There's just no winning, is there?

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