Monday, and Stupid Boys

"Wonderful, Pixie?" you ask. "But as your faithful stalker, Pixie, I know that on Monday nights you have ballet class with that PsychoBitch teacher whom you hate! How can this be?"

Well, faithful stalker, thanks to a suggestion from our hip hop teacher, we had a fantastic time. We beeped. And growled and hissed, but mostly beeped. Every time she walked past one of us, we would go, "Beep!" The first time it was Amanda, and when she turned around to give us another combination, we were all doubled over. "Why are you laughing?!? What's so funny?!?! What's so funny?!?!" We got better, though, and soon we were beeping without a flinch. She never said anything about it.

That's not all we did, though. While she was giving us a combination, she said something inane about an ottoman, and Amanda said, "Isn't it weird how there are people called Ottomans?" Claire said, "Yes, and Kurds! Turkish Kurds." "Ottomans and Kurds." "That's so weird." "Kurds!" PsychoBitch was irritated. The next time she turned the music off, I said, "You know what I ate today? A Poptart and candy." (PsychoBitch is a known food Nazi; she has said that her four-year-old son doesn't know what candy is.) "Ohhh, [Pixie], that's not good for you," she said. I smirked.

Next, we were sitting on the floor stretching, and we wouldn't stop talking. She finally said, "Girls! Company one got in BIG TROUBLE last week for talking!"

Claire: "Why don't you tell us about it, Ms. [PsychoBitch]?"

PB: "Well, I left."

Angela: "Was there anyone there watching them?"

PB: "Well, the teachers in the other room."

Amanda: "Hmm. I thought they were gone by that time."

Angela: "Did their parents come pick them up?"

PB: "Oh, they can all drive."

Amanda: "Greer and Cait can't drive. I don't think Lauren can."

PB: "Oh. Well. Their parents came to pick them up."

Sadly, I couldn't contribute to that conversation. I was laughing way too hard. I couldn't turn my head toward them because I knew I couldn't keep a straight face.

But come to find out, PsychoBitch's psycho bitchy friend, also a teacher, has an 8-year-old tattling brat of a daughter who was in the dressing room while we were discussing strategy. PB now knows that hip hop teacher is "encouraging" us to be bad in class. So much for that. We'll find new, more subtle ways to torture her until she's gone, I'm sure.

So I realized that the only things I really like about senior quarterback boy are his worship-able ass (don't call me crazy, it's not just me; "Elena" is the one who pronounced it praise-worthy), and the fact that he seems pretty smart for a big jock. Anything else isn't attraction, but jealousy. I just don't understand it. He fawns over this girl, and she's the dullest thing I've ever met. If there's a brain in her skull, she has yet to show it. She's pretty, but you'd have to prod her with a sharp stick to get a facial expression out of her. And even then, I'm not sure.

Boys are stupid. Whoa, déjà vu ...I'm sure I've ended another entry with that sentiment.

2004-02-18 @ 11:35 p.m.

prev | next