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How many plates do we own?
Call me crazy, but there’s nothing in the world that could be better then standing at the kitchen sink with tons of dirty dishes just sitting there in front of you, waiting to be cleaned. Wait, hold up a second. yes, washing dishes is good! Calm down. I’m sure I’m not the only teenager out there that washes the dishes without having to be asked. It’s not as gruesome as they say it is, except when it comes time to clean the drain trap. I take pride in myself, for I’m different. While my thirteen-year-old brother was out having a social life in his first year of high school, I was sitting at home, re-writing notes, and typing up what I could on the computer. Yes my friends, I am a nerd.
I don’t have the stereotypical features of a nerd, except glasses, which was only supposed to be for reading, but now I use them for everything. To be honest, it doesn’t bother me too much when I’m sitting at home on a Saturday night while my friends are doing God knows what. Okay, that’s a lie. It bothers me a lot, because I used to have a social life. I used to have a life, before I made my academics such an important part of my life. Before my Canadian History exam, for example, I slept for maybe two hours if I was lucky, and studied all day and night, and morning before the exam, and did better then my friend who had been studying like mad for two weeks. I must have had a horseshoe stuck up my butt or something, because I was nervous as hell, feeling about ready to throw up as I sat at the desk in the gym, staring at the exam that could alter my whole future.
Up here in Canada, eh, when we’re not playin’ hockey, or chasin’ them blasted moose around, or guzzlin’ back a few cold ones, we’re forced to take and pass Canadian history, or else it’s summer school, or worse, re-doing all of Grade 10 because you didn’t know all the different types of government Canada had, or about the fur, fish, and timber trade in such detail you can almost see it in your sleep. Sadly, that happened to me, the extent I was studying my sore butt off I dreamt about the past, and about molecules jumping around (thanks to my lovely science teacher. But I have his turtle for the summer, so go me!) How does this all tie into washing the dishes, you may ask? Or even if you didn’t, I’ll tell you anyway, because when you’re standing in front of that sink full of dirty dishes, soapy sponge in one hand and turning on your MP3 player with the other, you’re mind does stuff. By stuff, I mean think.
I don’t mean think as in thinking about the new shirt you got, or how your dog vomited on your parents bed earlier that week, but really deeply soul search, and expand on your life. Like before, I was speaking of exams, and the importance I myself placed upon my academics, and what I’ll be doing after high school when I receive my diploma and realize, I’m not ready to leave. But that’s a whole other story! I must try not to trail off, and keep organized. That’s been the main reason why I never did well on English essays throughout all of high school. Because it has to be a structured paper, rules, ideas, examples, quotes, BLAH! It’s all so frustrating to write because God help you if you trail off and leave an idea just floating around. You’ll have the red pen on your heels, circling words and sentences, and small teacher lingo printed all over the bloody page, a big fat 68% or 75% in a triple circle at the top of the page, and a note on organizing.
A pet peeve of mine is the usage of a red pen when a teacher is correcting. It’s almost like with every circle made, it’s like it’s blood being drawn from your vein, because that’s another mark off. Oh look! I forgot to defend my point over here, I forgot to put a comma here, and there’s a run on sentence long enough to make a noose out of and hang myself, because I failed! Oh joy. That’s actually the first time I’ve expressed this, and am shocked at myself at the things that’s flowing tonight! I’ve never worried about English until this year when I got, drum roll please, my Grade 7 English teacher, the one who taught me about the structure of essays! When she wasn’t squawking about how terrible our writing is, she was trying to get the idea of sentence structure, and to stop using overused cliché’s like “Fallen from Grace” and “The greatest thing since sliced bread!” she was having us go over every single word in the book Lord of the Flies (not such a bad book, actually) until it was slightly ruined for me. Oh look, another long, noose-like sentence. Wouldn’t my teacher be proud?
The worst, has to be when she actually acknowledged my randomness, and knew I was actually a crazy, hyper, loud girl who procrastinated on writing all her assignments for English at parent-teacher interviews with my mom! It was absolutely thrilling to see my mom and my English teacher hitting it off, and they began talking about driving up and down hills in the middle of winter, when the streets are sheer ice. C’mon ladies, we’re supposed to be talking about my randomness and procrasti- oh forget about it. It was a lost cause. Half an hour to forty-five minutes spent sitting in an uncomfortable, cheap plastic chair while they changed the topic to their husbands, and what my father did the year previous during parent-teacher interviews.
This is actually quite amusing, and made my mother and I laugh hysterically once it was finished and we were out of earshot. My Grade 9 Math teacher- what a piece of work she was. Organized like there is no tomorrow. But then again, if there was no tomorrow, she’d go out with everything completely filed according to grade, and then subdivided by subject, and then subdivided again by student, and so on and so forth until it was in a system not comprehendible to anyone but herself. I’m no genius in math. I once was, but then my confidence was shot. And that’s yet another story. If you forgot your highlighter, she’d send you out of the class. So while you could have bummed one off of a friend and the lesson could have continued, you now missed a new topic, which was on the next test, in three days. Again, Lord help you if you were late, or came without the homework book the school supplies. Down to the office to miss another lesson.
She’s serious, uptight, and strict as all hell. My mother and I weren’t looking forward to sitting in front of her. And she’s a short woman, with the most intense soft blue eyes I have ever seen, and don’t want to see on such a person again but she seemed to sit straighter and taller then anyone. I could have sworn she had a broom shoved up her- … let’s continue. The way she glared at my mother when her cell phone rang, and sat patiently as my mother explained to my dad we were in the middle of something. Oh my, it was so funny! My mother got off the phone, laughing, and said it was my dad, and he wanted to know what my mother was wearing. Oh, you expect me to say something along the lines of, “EW! I do not need to know that my father wants to mentally picture my mother stripping out of what she was wearing right then and there.” To tell you the truth, it crossed my mind, but then she continued. He then wanted to know what my math teacher was wearing! Cue high-pitched, ultra girly I’ve-just-seen-Justin-Timberlake-before-he-went-solo-
and-became-a-spokesperson-for-McDonalds laugh. Needless to say, my teacher wasn’t impressed. But I was! Where did my dad come up with the guts to say THAT? And my mom, oh boy, my mom! I’d never have said that to my child’s teacher unless they have a good sense of humor, which she didn’t. We were sitting in front of the greatest lover of puns and the woman who read us The Little Engine That Could for “Story time.” I was quite depressed when “Nappy Time” or “Snack Time” didn’t follow it. I was really looking forward to a snooze and a cookie to go along with the childish book, and the way she treated us like we were pre-schoolers, learning about… what were we learning again? … Anyway, I’ve had more fun watching paint dry. No, really, I have.
I think that will be the end of this first entry. Until the next load of dirty dishes, I bid thee farewell. Oh, and we have about 20 plates, not including the plastic ones, or the smaller ones for cake.
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