flashback

recuerdo en m2 cuando yo habia llegado de siria. eramos todos nuevos en la clase, pero yo creo que era el que menos se podia relacionar con los demas.
recuerdo que me cargaban porque siempre hablaba de siria. yo no me daba cuenta de que hablaba tanto de siria. pero vosotros siempre me decias que me callara, basta de hablar de siria. pero de que mierda tenia que hablar eh? osea todos vosotros venias de buenos aires, yo venia de un mundo y medio de distancia. mis anecdotas no les eran familiares a ninguno de vosotros, y lo peor es que me lo haciais ver, y feo. recuerdo los chistes sobre siria, la verdad que no me eran muy simpaticos.

hoy mirando una pagina de internet hablando de los que vienen de colegios internacionales, me acorde de eso.

y la verdad que m2 fue el año mas horrible de mi vida.

MOCKS

okay, esta semana fue una mierda. lo bueno es que estuvieron los mocks que en mi opinion la acortaron. lo mejor, es que ahora los mocks terminaron MUAJAJAJJA

y viendo q no doy los IG, es un FRICKING PARTY ALL YEAR FOR ME

a re.

nunca en mi vida dije a re.


a re.

uhmmm


i have lawn chairs in my living room.... my familys so white trash xDD

and today for the penultimate mock (language paper something)
one exercise was to write a suspense story about a situation where time runs out... i had to do that one so badddd and i knew that if i did it i would write about some dude thats nearing his death, so i decided to spare gallipolli my psychological problems... y escribi sobre un chabon q roba dinero y tiene q escapar a europa. prague, que ni se donde queda... check republic? doesnt matter... la cosa es q se pone paranoico porque escucha police sirens, y piensa q estan guarding el entrance del motel... he sneaks out the back and thinks its weird that the coppers arent guarding that door, but he has to hurry to the airport so it doesnt matter. when he makes it to the airport it turns out that the cops were waiting for him there, and that the sirens he nad heard before were the police on their way to wait for him at the airport. ironic.

pero iba a escribir de un chabon que se corta las venas y sus ultimos thoughts antes de morir, que me parece mas lindo.... whatever

soooo fricking happy mocks are over!!!!!

PS ahh, escribimos porn is cool en un bulletin board.

PPS caro feliz cumple y feliz retirement ventafridda, que ahora la quiero xq me regalo un boli

stupid story.

he was sick of everything. sick of waiting. sick of getting everything wrong. he knew what he had to do, hed gone over it in his head many times before, in the dead of night, when the illusion that day provides is over and when he would realize how meaningless his life really was.
he had failed one too many times. today had been the last straw. so he walked to his closet, opened a shoe box deep inside the sock drawer. in it was a pistol, a nice model, .38 calibre. a colt. "A beaute," the storeowner had said when he had bought it, "easy to fire and easy on the eyes too." It had a wooden handle, looked like one taken from an old black and white movie. He had no idea how he had been able to purchase it without an ID, but then again, in the dark neighborhoods nobodys ever too keen on laws. He never really thought he was going to use it, but had it there 'just in case'.
but today was the day he was finally going to do it. he would welcome the feeling of the sweet cold metal searing through the roof of his mouth, well into his skull. it would be quick, and painless. but if it wasnt, he would savor every motherfucking moment.
he was ready, had nothing to lose.
so he positioned the gun like he saw them do in the old black and white movies. beads of sweat caressed his forehead. why? he was ready to do this. the colt looked splendid in his hands and in his mouth. he was ready. but now his neck was moist. he pulled the trigger.


im tired of writing, i guess the guy died i dunno and i dont really care, stupid story, badly written, imagine whatever you want. bye.

im on the happy pill....

el otro dia falte xq tenia anginas. me da verguenza decir anginas, porque creo que es el nombre de enfermedad mas femenino de todos... y ni siquiera se que es exactamente. un nombre mas de macho hubiese sido something. no se me ocurre nada. screw humour.
el sabado sali con sophie y joana y les conte que tenia un dolor en la garganta, pero que las palomitas estaban demasiado ricas para dejar de comerlas, que las bajaba con agua. gaste bastante agua. despues a la noche no pude dormir del dolor, tenia un bulto en la garganta enorme que me impidia respirar incluso. entonces mi mami me llevo al doctor.
el doctor era un chabon joven que me queria violar. cuando me vio, se puso nervioso y dijo... "mejor... trae a tu madre... que me podrias acusar de abuso." gotas de sudor en su frente, intentando soltarse la corbata, que no tenia, pero que lo hace mucho mas dramatico. me metio un palo en la garganta. y despues me empezo a abrazar el cuello y a masajearlo. si mi madre no hubiese estado, lo hubiese denunciado por abuso. pero no queria asustar a mi pobre mami.
jaja el otro dia vi confessions of a teenage drama queen, perdon si soy melodramatico.
en fin, me mando al laboratorio, ahi me diagnosticaron con anginas, esa temida palabra que suena tan femenina. me recetaron unas pastillas del tamaño de M 'n' Ms, de los grandes que tienen mani adentro.
esas pildoras son lo mas divertido del mundo. tomo una y de repente el mundo es de color. me agarra la hyperactividad. me pongo a correr en mi casa, lo agarro a mi hermanito y lo tiro en el aire y lo vuelvo a tirar, el cagado de miedo pero yo divirtiendome a lo loco. vuelvo a correr. salgo afuera, pruebo la lluvia, canto, canto en fast forward, es lo mas. me acorta el attention span, eso si.
una cada 10 horas, dijo el doctor. hasta que se acabe el paquete, que hay que aniquilar toda la bacteria.
no puede ser hasta que se acaben tres paquetes? me re divierten las pildoras, doctor. y mira que no te demande, eh, ojo!

la primavera, redaccion de cuarto grado. archivada junto a "la vaca."

spring is on its way.
ya se vino una tormenta de lluvia grande y fea, en general las tormentas son lo mas. pero no las que anuncian la primavera. el otro dia hacia bastante calor. los arboles comienzan a florecer y abrieron una floristeria cerca de mi casa.
la primavera es... linda. dont get me wrong. osea, el invierno siempre va a ser mi favorito, es oscuro y triste y nieva. pero la primavera es bonita a su manera.
el olor a primavera es lo que verdaderamente me inspira. not really. pero pense que sonaria lindo, viendo que no tenia nada de lo que hablar.
porque no sabia que escribir y pense "hoy se siente la primavera." again, not really. under pressure, we tend to think stuff we dont mean/ dont care about.

ok, acabo de pensar algo interesante... el chabon que invento la cocaina... como se le ocurrio la idea? osea... creo que sniffing stuff up your nose es la cosa mas original que escuche ever. el unico orificio no explorado por mankind. (si, gente, considere el que esta unos kilometros south of the head and on the other side of the body... imaduros)
para mi que el que invento la cocaina era uno de esos nenes que en kinder se meten cereales y crayones por la nariz.

no me gusta este post para nada, es hueco y perky y happy.

as i sit here...

As i sit here in my sister's room, my computer's new location, not the best location because we're screwed over when the baby has to sleep and we have to leave the fricking room, i think.
I meditate profoundly about what to write in my blog.
I've already talked about nazis and alcohol, and i havent had sex or taken drugs yet... i could talk about communists or cigarettes, but talking about commies is boring, and cigarettes taste bad.
My blog isn't ready for the good things in life yet... I can't talk about love or family, because love sucks and family... well i think im too young to have created one by now. but if you know of any son of mine somewhere on this earth (possible locations include syria, cairo, argentina or spain... double check spain, summers there are crazy...) please contact me.
Well the truth is i realize how empty my life is. As I listen to Lullaby by the cure for the umpteenth time, trying to learn the lyrics, the music is blocked out by thoughts of how little i've done since I left the horrid place where there are yellow bodies and things the size of berries, which I'll never eat again. Ever.
When you're a teenager you think that you've experienced everything. But if you think about it, you haven't done anything at all. And you're not doing anything either. You just watch how your grades go down the drain, going from party to party, drink to drink, hangover to hangover.
what have i accomplished in my 3 years as a teenager? Lets see... I spent two of those years suicidal and depressed when I didnt adapt in Argentina. And when im finally happy, I try to act depressed and suicidal. Why do I do that? hormones? bi-polarity? boredom.
The only reason i get depressed every 20 seconds is because of the fact that i dont do anything at all. I just sit and wait for things to happen.
I didnt expect this blog entry to become so profound, because i really didnt plan it to be anything at all... just filler space in this, according to sophie, ironic and depressing blog.
But it made me think things through. yay.

party tonight. yay.