And How Was Your Day?

Well, I couldn't think of a title to sum this one up, but it promises to be amusing. I mean, sure, I thought of a title, but it was this:

In which Kat Argues With Nearly Everyone, Demonstrates Just How Hard It Is To Pick Up A Softball, Breaks A Vow, And Is Happy About Something

And that somehow seems cumbersome. Now then. To tell you of my day. I woke up at six o' clock, and promptly fell back to sleep. Upon finally waking about fifteen seconds before I had to go, I took the opportunity to turn my foot long earrings into a strange sort of belt, pull on some arm socks, and force/choke down a plate of extremely watery fried eggs. Morning did not go well, as I then proceeded to go online at and discover no new reviews for my fan fiction. It is a disgrace, it truly is. Then, of course, just to top it off, I discovered some very. . .interesting posters that featured the features of Abe, a student at my school with a terrible afro and John Lennon glasses, and some other members of the band Facial Fax. The reason these posters were so frightening was because all those in them had scanned their faces onto a copy machine, making for quite a disconserting image. Thankfully, no one asked me if I had a case of the Mondays. Probably because it was Wednesday.

Yes, I am quite whiny and self pitying this posting. I'm not sure where that came from. Oh, well, at least in my fits of whiny-ness and self pity I don't kill people. You have a relatively tamed Phantom on your hands, unlike my dear Erik.

The day carried on in basically the same vein. I tried quite hard to fall asleep in Latin, I really tried my best, but I was unsuccessful and ended up having to tolerate the terrible singing of Greg and our lone senior, Robert, serenading us with their rendition of the fourth conjugation in song. I will never, ever, forget that conjugation again. Especially what with Jake's air guitar. The irony about my Latin class is that the lone senior, Robert, communicates perfectly with the rest of the boys. They all speak the same language, with certain reasonable exceptions. All males, with certain reasonable exceptions, ever do is point, grunt, and/or occasionally swear/say dude/say anything ending in -izzle for no discernable reason. Then there's the strange male habit to randomly beatbox, which Ben and Max, thank Leroux, do not possess, as it will annoy me for all of eternity. Though Max's habit of gavel-banging and screaming and Ben's tendency to run away midsentence can be a bit confusing and, on occasion, aggravating.

E Period came. Now, as you know, I detest most sports beyond all measure, though I will make an exception for any sport that has to do with swimming, as I love to swim beyond all measure, and am quite a terror at man to man - man to ghost? Girl to man? Ghost to man? Girl to boy? - defense in water basketball. In fact, I'm just a terror at water basketball. Quite frightening, or so I'm told. But this day, we were, unfortunately, competing in, oh boy, whiffle ball. I had to ask three times if I'd heard that one right. However, we did not play with a whiffle ball, but with a softball. Logic. And just to top it off, I'd forgotten my PE shirt, so I was wearing a navy sweatshirt fully zipped up and becoming very very very uncomfortable over my school shirt, not to mention that I was looking like. . .oh dear Susan Kay, I now realize I must have looked a bit like Ben. Frightening. Unbelievably frightening. Next thing it'll be a Red Sox cap on a bad hair day.

Kat Playing A Sport That Is Not In The Water And Would Rather Prefer To Be Reading Or Writing A Story She's Had In Her Head Lately + Max In The Background Playing Catch So We Need To Duck Every So Often + Ben Who Apparently Has Hidden Depths Of Skill Where Whiffleball Is Concerned + Coach Who Is Ignorant About Tony Awards + Musical Play By Plays By A Boy Inexplicably Nicknamed Battery = A Rather Disturbing Situation

You know, I could have gone on further, but I think you get the gist.

My team was slaughtered. We were annihilated. I was surprised that no dolphins left before the game began, telling us so long and thanks for all the fish. In fact, we were killed so completely, there is only one word for it. We were Punjabbed. My sharing this observation with Ben caused a long argument as to whether or not Punjab is a word. Here's my new arguement - If I can Punjab someone, than it's a word. And who better to test my abilities on then the two boys who keep saying it's not a word? Hand at the level of your eyes, respective Giry and Nadir.

It's a word, and that's that. You should be glad I don't substitute all the Fs for Phs when I write. I know a few phans who'll do that. Yes, quite scary, quite.

I also had a cameo in a fan fiction today. Guess what as? A firework. One that produced black bats of smoke. Odd, but somehow fitting. Erika enjoyed it. Ely liked the pretty colors, but unfortunately we were black and smokey. They started fighting again. There were casualties.

I stayed much too late after school for my own good. Mostly because of detention, which was, in turn, because of uniform violations. I wonder how I got those. In this time I taught some small boys how to sculpt clay, explained to them that no, they do not want their pieces to catch fire in the kiln and then explode, debated the merits of Neil Diamond's "I Dreamed A Dream," and pondered the advantages of a Guide to Buckley Advertising. I swear, it should be illegal for a male to sing "I Dreamed A Dream." When my parents were late, I was utterly bored for the duration of twenty minutes. Hell, I say, 'twas hell.

By now you're probably wondering what the "Happy About Something" bit of the title was. Well, I suppose I ought to tell you.

I got the PotO original novel on CD!

Doesn't sound enthusiastic enough.

I got the PotO original novel on CD!

Still not right.

I got the PotO original novel on CD!

Oh, whatever. But really, I mean, OAYe! That makes me so extremely happy. Because Leroux, as brilliant as ALW, Kay, and all the rest are, Leroux, is the master of us all.

Even better, now he's got a recording. Joy.

I remain, gentlemen, your faithful and obedient servant,

J.G.