Matric: senior year, grade twelve, hell.

The third day of matric and I’m already exhausted.

For those of you reading from a place that isn’t South Africa, matric is the last year of high school in South Africa – grade 12.It’s the year before everyone goes off to university/home/travelling / who the frick knows. It’s the seemingly shiny senior year and it’s full of expectaitons. I don’t think I like it.

Scratch that, I most definitely don’t like it. I’ve only been back at school for three days and I want to swear at everything. EVERYTHING. It’s as if a curse word generator has been planted in my brain was set to begin work on January 14th, 2015.  I’m overwhelmed, and have more crap to do that HAS TO GET DONE than I ever have before. I’m also running  out of sticky notes.

I’m too tired to write. I’m working really hard and doing my homework (!!!) and revising (read: learning for the first time because I wasn’t paying attention when it was taught) because I have a maths test on TUESDAY. I hate maths, remember?

I got moved up in my math and Afrikaans classes because I SOMEHOW managed to do acceptably well enough to be in the same class with people who get As for these subjects. Afrikaans? Understandable. Maths? *curse word generator fires up again*

The girls in my group of friends are ALL DIETING for the Matric Dance in May (Prom?) and it’s driving me nuts – I almost force-fed Mouse some chocolate –her birthday present– during a strange break.

Inappropriate puns have taken over my brain. My list of books to read has grown SO much and I’m extremely disappointed in myself because I’m already so busy, and there is no way I’m going to get to read them all when I want to.

I got yelled at for having an afro at school, because my natural hair –I REPEAT, NATURAL HAIR– doesn’t comply with school regulations because it isn’t flat. The biggest amount of — *CURSE WORDS EXTRAVAGANZA*

There is not enough time. Barely a week in, and bam- burnout.

On the plus side, we are studying my favourite  novel in English (The Great Gatsby) and we did the Charleston at the end of the day to get usinto the spirit of the 20s. It was fricken’ rad.


This year may well kill me.

2015, you ridiculous, rude, burdensome, distracting, lying, hopeful, promising bastard of a year.

love and sheer, sheer exhaustion,
shalom

NEW FRIENDS NEEDED – APPLICATIONS OPEN

I owe you all a proper post. After this semi rant-rant.

So I’ve been on grade eleven camp for the past  four days, and the point of this camp is for the grade to bond, because we’ll be leading the school next year and stuff. We’re supposed to get to know people who we didn’t through the randomised groups we were put into, and then we’d learn to work with each other and a thoroughly fruitful experience would be had, yeah?

Nah.

So what actually happened on camp? For me, mostly everything that should have happened. I talked to people that I had only had my own formulated opinions about, and I got proven wrong almost every time. I had a 16 1/2 year old boy run down a hill with me on his back after I had hurt my ankle, and he just kep running and asking if I was okay.This boy that I thought hated my guts. Wow, surprise right? I got a couple of those – pleasant surprises.

But I also go some other surprises.

I guess they don’t count as surprises if I really knew that it was coming in the back of my mind, but the surprise came from the extent to which it happened. Confused? Let me fill you in.

So at school I used to sit with these people.  Three girls,  three boys- one of which who used to be my boyfriend for all of 2.5 months(wow [sarcasm]) , let’s call him Remy, and one who was my best friend that we’ll call Autumn (? questionable definition). Now one of the other girls that we’ll call Hazel is dating Travis, and Autumn is dating Seth (who in turn hates my guts, and only Jesus knows why because he doesn’t even know). Also in that group, Alaska, a lovely sweet girl who never gets involved in much and lives really close to me (so I’d rather stay on her side seeing that if a bear was chasing me, her house would be nearest to mine), and Audrey, who is overly brash and loud, but is basically a part of my family. Now that you’ve been introduced, let me tell you what happened:

Basically, as heard by 9 different eye witnesses,  Seth (hates me) and Travis (apparently hates me too?) along with Hazel, bitched about me for a whole 40 minutes, and called me several things, including 1)  backstabbing bitch who was never good enough for Remy – did I mention Seth and Remy are twins? 2) crazily inferior to Imogen (who calls herself my friend) , Seth’s new girl-girl, and 3) apparently smack-talking Autumn, all the time yeah?

WELL GUESS WHO JUST GOT RE-INTRODUCED TO HERSELF? ME!

I spoke to both Imogen and Hazel, and both seemed oblivious to any of the things said. Imogen apologised for not speaking to me, and told me she’d never want to ruin our friendship-cute hey? FACT TIME: NOT JEALOUS. Hurt that Imogen didn’t even make an attempt to speak to me about something involving the two of us after a month of brewing? Yes. Well, I was.

I don’t really care much now, but if they’re reading, these people know who they are.  Also I changed all of their names because I think mine are cooler except Travis. Travis is kinda ‘eh’.

Well, I’m in the business of looking again. New friends needed. Applications open.  Application closed to deadbeats, put downers, plastics and bitches.

-Scoot xx 

YES I’M DOING THIS POST ANYWAY

I know you’ve already seen all the damn posts that you’re going to see, but you haven’t. I’m screaming at my computer as I type this because I have a whole lot of emotions right now and most of them will result in punching things and people, and I’d rather not.

So today is Friday, and many things happen on Fridays. On Fridays I go to school, usually super early to get to the dance practice at school for the Matric Dance Committee (people who org anise the prom) and then I go to class, and eat tonnes in class, and stay confused 998% of the time in math, and then I go to English Olympiad Tutorials and then walk to the taxi rank or bus stop and take public transport home.

And today DID NOT HAVE TO BE DIFFERENT.

But it was. And I’m sure that by now, wherever you are, you’ve already seen plenty of the beautifully written Valentines Day posts featured on Freshly Pressed or some or other spot for terrific writing. Let me assure you now that this is NOT one of those places, and also that I’m writing currently without thinking to all of the one person who viewed my ramblings over the past 72 hours. No matter, there are things that need to be said, or more accurately, typed, and if I do it any faster I’m probably going to have crippled fingers through tonight’s school dance, to which I’m going because I am a member of the organizing committee, *cringe* or have a few spelling errors *DOUBLEMEGATRIPLEFIVETIMES CRINGE*. On with the nonsense:

  1. I DON’T HATE ROMANCE. I think it’s important to get this out there, because today, anyone who doesn’t really appreciate the over-commercialization of a day created by the Italian Pope Gelasius the first. He proposed to make Saint Valentine the patron of the new celebration he created to replace the Festival of Lupercalia which was held annually, and if people out there still think I’m an “Arrogant love hating little b**ch who can’t find a boyfriend in time and just hates everyone who is happy”,  they could learn to research, and that’d be great.
  2. I’m actually quite a sucker for this love thing. I’m a softie, extremely warm-hearted, and I genuinely love people. It’s my nature, and it won’t change – it cannot. I handed out people anonymous/ secret admirer roses, and some of the messages were  ” I wish you knew how much I loved you” and it was lovely. It’s all fine and dandy to be in love, and to be happy, but to be dead honest, I DON’T KNOW WHAT THE HELL THIS ROMANCE THING IS ABOUT. And maybe I’ll find out one day, but it’s not today or tomorrow, so if people would get the hell off of my case about that, that’d be great.
  3. You know what else would be great? IF PEOPLE STOPPED TELLING ME THIS “you could have had a valentine…” STORY. I BLOODY HATE IT. I’m not defined by whoever gets me a rose on a Friday morning, okay? I used to have a boyfriend. Now I don’t. Problem? I THINK NOT.

So to everyone who’s calling me and everyone who feels like this “haters”, do me a solid and don’t be around me for the next couple of hours or I’ll probably bash your face in 🙂

Happy Friday, internet users. And may the odds of finding the ring be ever in the big bang of games that is your favour.

Scoot xx

Scoot on ~ chronic douchebaggery

Yeah, so I’m still in Ethiopia and I have a pretty strong feuling for this post: beware – yet another rant (though calmer than most) awaits.

I’ve met my fair share of awful people. And I know more of them await (due to the fact that I’m 15 and basically know nothing in the grand scheme of things), and I plan to face them all with the same attitude…except if they happen to be a re-incarnarion of Mandela of some sort – may his soul forever be at never ending peace.

Anyway, on to today’s subject matter: the douchebag.

Who, and or what, is the douchebag, and where does it/ this person come from?

Prime example of the day: I have a friend. Her name is Jenna, and she’s in my ballet class. We don’t go to the same school, and only see each other about 3 times a week when I can make class.

Jenna went to a party. (Yay parties!) Jenna saw the DJ who just so happened to go to my school. (Yay DJ!) Jenna took a fondness towards said DJ. (Yay fondness?) DJ happened to go to my school. (Yay Northcliff!)

So me being the friend that I am, I tell Jenna I’d find out about this DJ guy. Armed with nothing but the name ‘Andrew’, I set out to find more about this kid.

And then I realised that I knew Andrew. (Yay Andrew?)

NO.
(insert rage here)

Andrew once teased one of the less popular girls in his grade, something about her hair being frizzy or something. If you know anything about me, you know that if there’s one thing I can stand in this world, it’s injustice. That includes all type of bullying or mistreating of anyone EVER.

So I, being me, proceeded to publicly push Andrew -note: he stumbled back and shall not quickly forget that he was assaulted in the name of justice and threatened with castration should he try to defeat the ends of justice again- and get this girl away from him.

Jenna’s smart. You can guess that her intrest levels in Mr. Andrew changed rather drastically.

(Negatively, that is.)

Andrew is a prime example of what I’d call a douchebag. Or a douchenozzle, or total idiot, or misguided fool, or…well you get the point.

The douchebag has a stange way of somehow attracting, in this case, many of the fine female species to his douchebaggery ways. This, however, is not adviseable.

DO NOT FALL FOR A DOUCHEBAG
DO NOT LET HIM IN
DO NOT DO NOT DO NOT

(crazy warning moment over)

Look, I don’t have a problem with many people, but if you’re really just an intolerant butt-face who thinks he’s God’s gift to humanity…there’s a problem. How to find out if you’re a douchebag 101, done.

So in conclusion, don’t be awful. I’ll will pull a complete Liam Neeson on you – okay, maybe a half Liam Neeson on you- because I will find you and injure you.

Badly.

Regardless, if you’re a douchebag, stop and be nice. Chronic Douchebagerry can be treated. If you’re not? Ah, just keep being you, you’re awesome. And I send you tonnes of positive energy because you deserve it. Bwam!

Stay you people, and keep your eyes peeled and brains attentive for the nearest d-bag. Objects in the rear view mirror are closer than they appear, look out.

Can’t wait to be back home in SA!

All my love, all the time,
-Scoot xx

Scoot on ~ what NOT to do in an Ethiopian Airport

Hi guys! So I’m in Ethiopia, as this title may have informed you XD This is a beautiful country so far, and I’m really staying in such a great place – I think – and it should be good!

So the flight here from Joburg was good, and the plane was actually really cool! And then we touched down. At the airport.

Now, who knows how to spell trouble?

Me. T-R-O-U-B-L-E.

Also spelled as ‘my dad is a diplomat and has a tendency of causing trouble because he thinks he’s really REALLY important and everyone gets annoyed by that very quickly’.

In brief, what happened was that we got to passport control, and some protocol officer called my dad to the front. And then lots of arguing. And then pushing and shoving. And then ‘we were here first!’. And this continued for about…50 minutes?

So what’s the moral of the story? STAY IN THE DARN QUEUE! I honestly would rather have just stood peacefully for half an hour than stand and get shoved around for the most part of an hour.

So look. When in Ethiopia? Stay as normal as possible. Think you’re special? YOU’RE NOT. Hate to be the one who dampens your spirits, but I guess things are different in an airport?

You know you’re still amazing and all that, I mean, look at you! 😉

So I’ll be sure to update later, day 2 of Ethiopia awaits!

All my love, all the time
-Scoot xx