And How Does That Make You Feel?

Why don't you tell me, Hallmark?

As of the moment, I feel like a poorly mixed smoothie... very heterogeneous...

Today, my friends, I sighed. I sighed a sigh of relief, because, as of today, my friends, AP TESTS ARE BEHIND ME! -- ahem, us. But nevertheless, I had to return to school for the last two classes of the day. So, at the end of the day, I proceeded to waste two and a half hours at the local boba shop * go figure * and then decided I should go home. Now, as I approached my door house, I felt somehow strange, like something was happening on the other side... something... curious.

Remember when schools bothered to teach you fire safety?-- before they decided "Ahh, screw it. If there really is a fire, no one is going to remember to feel a door before they open it, or crawl instead of walk... They're just going to bang the damn thing down, scream for their mothers and run like someone is chasing them with a Barrons SAT book." Well, I had not forgotten the teachings of the-equivalent-of-Smokey-the-Bear-for-household-fires, and so I felt the door before i entered.

LO AND BEHOLD! A warm door! Now, this is the part where I tell you my house was on fire. Use your common sense before you leap out of your chair, people. It wasn't.

It was a strange sort of warmth, not one of a fire, but one of pretentious, artsy, fishnet-y glitter explosions. So I apprehensively opened the door to find that LADY GAGA HAD INFILTRATED MY HOUSE. THIS IS NOT A DRILL. I REPEAT. THIS IS NOT A DRILL. DO NOT STAY CALM. IN FACT, SCREAM A LITTLE- I know you want to.

Now, I don't mean to say that there she was: climbing my lit fireplace in only fishnets and caution tape and making strange noises that could very well be satanic versus backwards. No, it's worse. My mother. My own mother was in the kitchen, making yakisoba, humming "Don't call my name Alejandro! I'm not a *sound to replace unknown lyric*, Fernando!". I very well could have collapsed, but this was no time for such drama, there were more urgent things at hand: such as, saving my mother from the cultural and artistic suicide that is Lady Gaga's music... sounds.

I sat her down and did some damage control,during which, we found the source of the virus: American Idol. So yes, this whole blog was just a plot against American Idol, using a clever analogy to fire, describing the irrevocable damage it does to teenage minds and the constant circle of destruction and creation that is the basis of Hinduism. No. I'm not that clever, and honestly, I just don't have THAT much purpose in writing. Sorry, Marion Zimmer Bradley.

The ionization energy that is my dinner is now pulling me away from you. We were once at noble gas configuration, and it took much activation energy, but the hunger is just too much to bear. So, I leave you paramagnetic, and unstable, hopefully we will bond again in the near future, as you have much electron affinity!

Your proton electron ratio is large. It blows my mind how small you've become.

SAYO- BAIBAI.