The Ramblings of a High School Senior

HELL YEA!

Senior Presentations are finally over!

Now all I have to worry about is:

    -What I'm going to wear for senior portraits

    -Senior portraits turning out horribly disfigured

    -Tripping over my graduation gown whilst
      receiving my diploma

    -Saying goodbyes to friends

    -Getting A Job

    -Moving out

    -Finding an apartment to move in to

    -Going to College

    - Being rejected from my chosen University

    -Staying in touch with friends

    -Getting an Associates Degree

    -Being accepted into a funerary Intern/Apprenticeship

    -Passing the State Funerary Licensing Exam

    -Living my life in general

...yea...that's all...no big deal.

I'm not freaking out.

No, really.

...I'm not.

It's just...

What if the portraits turn out dreadfully flawed or I fall flat on my face, or my friends don't stay in touch, or I don't get a job, or the University rejects me, or I never get that internship, or I can't pass the state licensing exam, or I never find a place to live and I end up mooching off my parents until they die...or I do...whichever comes first.

Maybe I'll just join my friend who plans to live under a bridge.

...And Bruiser, her pug.

Seems easier than this crap.

...I wonder if Bruiser would mind if I bring along my cat.

This is Why We Shouldn't Foster

I don't know why we even try.

They come into our home, and we expect them to stay for maybe a month tops, but they're so soft and cuddly, and their eyes get so big and watery when you try to give 'em up. And how can anyone resist such a charming little face?

So a month turns into three months, and three months turn into a year. And, once a year is past, what's the point in returning them?

BAM! Now your stuck with another cat/dog/ferret/rabbit/tarantula. Haha! Fooled you, stupid humans!

First came Sachi, a lovely little calico with a bad past and a broken leg. The little boy who brought her in said, "Sorry for not bringing her sooner, but everyone else in my house was drunk." Now, with a story like that, and huge, adorable, eyes like hers, who wouldn't adopt her?

So she stayed.

Then it was J.J, a long haired black cat with orange-yellow eyes. His kneecap was broken, and there's  no way to heal a wound like that on a cat. And gosh-darnit, aren't those the prettiest colored eyes you've ever seen?

So he stayed.

Our newest addition, two gerbils named Yin and Yang, ate each other's children. For territorial purposes, of course. But aren't they so small and cute and fluffy, and oh! Aren't those the cutest little paws?

So they stayed.

Now dad is fostering three, count 'em, three rats. The ladies don't have names...yet. And I'm sure it's only a matter of time before they weasel their way into our home.

I did meet them the other day, though.

...They're cute.

Awwww.

Can we keep him?

A Bad Hair Day

It's inevitable; I'll go to a nice, quiet, family event (well, as nice and quiet as my family can be) and everything will be going just fan-freaking-tastic. In fact, I may even start to enjoy being there. But does that feeling last? NO, oh no.

For as that nice, quiet, moment starts someone asks the question:

"Why don't you donate your hair?"

...

......

.........

AAAAARRRGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It's always the same. I'll prepare myself for it, I anticipate it, I envision it happening. But I always seem to drop my guard a little bit, nay, a smidgen.

And that's when they pounce.

"Ooo, that’s a good idea!"

"Think of all the children you'd help!"

"I think I'll do it, too!"

"I knew someone who did it once..."

"I know! We should have it done together!"

"...it was the happiest moment of her life..."

"Is this Friday good for you?"

"...she died last week."

Before I have time to answer the original question, thirteen more are thrust upon me, making sure I have absolutely no time to answer any questions at all.

Then, because I'm awfully quiet for someone they've just asked a question of, the room goes silent. A swarm of faces turns similatiously towards me, anxiously awaiting my answers.

They actually assume I've heard all their questions.

Like anyone could hear themself think in this deafening horde of chaos.

Frantic to get them looking anywhere but at me, I stumble over the first sentence that comes to my mind:

"I...uh...hadn't given it much thought, really."

The room explodes again.

"B-but The Children!"

"There are plenty of people who'd love to have hair like yours..."

"It's only ten inches..."

"...Most of them cancer patients."

"All the little bald children!"

"...you'll have plenty of hair left over!"

…

……

………

I've said it once, and I'll say it again.

AAAAARRRGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

If you think it's such a good idea, go right ahead! Who's stopping you!?!? Don't wait on my account, do it! 'Cause I can tell ya right now, I'm not cutting my hair just because you say I should.

If your friend had a great time doing it, good for her! She can hack her hair off as many times as she wants! But her happiness does NOT equal my happiness.

If you want to help the poor little cancer-ridden children, do it. Leave me to my own devices. I'll help the "poor little bald children" if I want to help them, and it'll be in my own way.

If there are soooo many people who'd love to have my hair, they can keep on wishing. If I can grow my hair on my own, they can too!

If you want to hack off ten inches of your own #&%*!? hair, then so be it! But my curls aren't yours to give away. Ten inches is still ten inches. I may be vain for saying this, but I like the length of my hair, and it's taken me years to grow it out this way. I will not hack it off for your sick, twisted, self-righteous fulfillment.

Bottom line: It's not your hair. Leave it alone.

Just back off, okay?

"I grow it on my own, so leave my hair alone!"