Hey. It's me. Random Awesome.
It's kinda hard to tell emotions when it's in type, but I'm pretty sure by now you guys MUST have picked up the fact that I'm not too happy. Except for guys, of course, who are so thick-skinned they can't tell if two girls are being nice to each other or actually two seconds away from clawing at each other's faces with unnatural pointy nails and throwing expensive Louis Vuitton handbags.
The reason is actually pretty stupid, and I'm pretty sure you'll all hate me for making you wait in suspense as to why I could possibly be mad, me who is so randomly awesome.
Like I said, it's stupid, but it's usually the stupid reasons that make me the most mad, like who ate the last of the chocolate, or who messed up my duvet (I have OCD. Thanks for the genes, Mum and Dad) or who flipped the channel from Merlin to Maths is Fun! And No, We're Not Just Paid To Say That!
So I have a mental block when it comes to Maths. I'm serious. If they did some brain X-Ray, I'm pretty sure they'll find a huge chunk of it missing.
Must be the chocolate I'm eating *grimace*.
So yesterday I stayed up till late doing ALL my Maths homework. It's negative fractions / negative integers / negative what have you, anyway. WITHOUT a calculator.
Kudos to me, people!
So I go to school, feeling pretty pleased with myself . No more scrambling desperately around the class, searching for a book to copy. No more pleading and begging. No more grinning cheesily at the teacher and trying to find another excuse.
People who do that, I laugh at you.
And then the teacher comes in.
I wait, breath bated, legs poised, so I can run to her desk and plonk it there, pride of place, and forever earn the title of the Nerd. (Why else would I be so keen to hand up my work?)
But she forgets.
When I ever so gently remind her (rather than yelling in her face, "HEY, LADY! I FINISHED MY WORK, THE LEAST YOU CAN DO IS REMEMBER IT!!!!!")
And then she says, "Oh, that. Yes. Class, hand it up tomorrow."
PHOOOOT.
That's not a fart, in case you were wondering. It's the sound of all my hopes and dreams being crushed slowly to death. It's the sound of the wind being taken out of my sails.
Yes, all right, it COULD also be a fart.
Next time, I won't bother. Let me just go back to being one of THOSE people. Those hey-I'm-your-best-friend-right-could-I-just-possibly-copy-your-homework? people.
"Hey, teacher, my cat ate my homework!"
Yeah. One of those people.
Later guys,
Random Awesome
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Things About Me Because I'm Just That Egotistical
Hey people, it's Random Awesome here!
(No!!!! cries a horrified world. GO AWAY!!)
Tough luck, world, I'm here to stay. Unless, of course, I get hit by a bus tomorrow morning.
(World: Hmmmm...)
Anyways, today I'm going to take a break from story - telling (after only one tale too. Damn, I'm lazy) and tell you a few random things about myself, because I'm just that big-headed and egotistical.
I just figured that after telling you how my parents met, it's only logical that I tell you about myself, their product of... eh. Never mind.
So, Things You Don't Really Need To Know About Me, Random Awesome, But What I Will Tell You Anyway.
You can't get rid of me that easily.
I'm not quite sure what my next post will be about. Just have to wait and see, I guess....
Until whenever I update this blog thingy,
Random Awesome
(No!!!! cries a horrified world. GO AWAY!!)
Tough luck, world, I'm here to stay. Unless, of course, I get hit by a bus tomorrow morning.
(World: Hmmmm...)
Anyways, today I'm going to take a break from story - telling (after only one tale too. Damn, I'm lazy) and tell you a few random things about myself, because I'm just that big-headed and egotistical.
I just figured that after telling you how my parents met, it's only logical that I tell you about myself, their product of... eh. Never mind.
So, Things You Don't Really Need To Know About Me, Random Awesome, But What I Will Tell You Anyway.
- I love chocolate. I mean, LOVE chocolate. I don't really believe that chocolate is a woman thing, because my mum isn't too fond of it. I don't really mind. All the more for me!
- I love cats. As you already know, I have a multitude - practically a flippin' zoo - of animals, but cats are by far my favourite. I love how they're always so haughty but can still be very affectionate. I love how you need to work to earn their loyalty, unlike a dog, who'll take you, zits and all.
- It sure sounds like I have a lot of love, but don't be fooled. I can actually be very nasty and sarcastic when it comes to it. Don't believe me? Ask my friends.
- I love reading too. I mean, I'm cool with hanging out with my friends and all, but give me a book and you'll see me curled up on my bed, engrossed in it.
- I also enjoy writing. Articles, diaries, blogs, you name it. I'm actually writing a story now, and if it ever gets published, you'll be able to find out my real name. If....
- Another thing I enjoy doing is acting. I have done so in several school plays. You may applaud now, if you wish. *grin*
- My best friends left school ages ago. This will become a focus in one of the stories I will tell you. Please don't cry your hearts out for me, though - I've made some new ones. If not best friends, then at least really good ones. *wink* (I'm obliged to say that in case they read this).
- I NEVER want to have kids when I grow up. Sure, if I meet the right guy, I don't mind getting married (yes, Mum, I know I'm too young for all this) but kids? Nuh-uh. This world is already so crowded. Plus, it's polluted. Bringing another soul onto a dying Earth would just be bad. I'm also not into self-inflicted pain. Isn't childbirth supposed to hurt like hell? And I can barely take care of myself. For all of you out there saying, "What about when you grow old? Who's going to take care of you when you're senile?" Well, I'll just be EXTRA nice to my nieces and nephews. Give them money and pressies. I always loved those kinds of aunts.
- I have an unhealthy obsession with the British TV show "Merlin." Anyone know it? Well, it's not really that unhealthy, because Arthur Pendragon (Bradley James, if you wanna get pernickety) is in it. And I mean Arthur when he was young, not when he was old like in all the movies you get, with a beard. Sigh...
You can't get rid of me that easily.
I'm not quite sure what my next post will be about. Just have to wait and see, I guess....
Until whenever I update this blog thingy,
Random Awesome
Saturday, January 23, 2010
How My Parents Met (Yes, I know it sounds boring)
Random Awesome, signing right back in!
My first story will be about how my parents met, seeing as if they hadn't, I would never have been born.
Or maybe I would have, only as a butterfly, or a kitten or something.
Come to think of it, being a butterfly or a kitten or something seems infinitely more preferable than being a gangly (nearly) 14 year old kid.
But then I wouldn't be able to use the computer, or read, or eat chocolate. Life's greatest joys.
Decisions, decisions.
Anyway, it's not like I can go back in time or anything to prevent my parents meeting (like in the Wizards of Waverly Place movie), so I may as well tell you guys about it.
Italic time!
Rewind fifteen years ago, and see a young twenty-five year old woman directing a play. It's called Si Tanggang.
For those of you who don't know, Si Tanggang was this guy who was mean to his mum so she turned him into a statue with God's will. Pretty heavy stuff, I know. Maybe he got too many F's on his report card or something.
That young director, is of course, my mum.
Then turn your gaze to the corner and see a man with a bucket and mop, dressed in unflattering blue dungarees.
Don't hyperventilate. That guy is NOT my dad. He's just the janitor.
Now turn to the rugged guy dressed as a sailor on stage. THAT'S my dad. No, he's not playing Si Tanggang - at one point the soon-to-be statue ends up on a ship, and that's where my sailor dad comes in.
My parents and a bunch of their university friends wanted to bring some Asian culture into England, where they were studying at the time, and so decided to perform a play. That's kind of where they met.
If it were me, I wouldn't fall for a woman who yelled orders at me, telling me to be a more convincing sailor, but to each his own, right?
My mum told me that during the play, my dad kept calling her, wanting to know if the budget allocated for the costumes was enough, whether she was satisfied with the performance that day, whether she thought if they had enough time to pull everything together.
She said she knew he just wanted to talk to her.
Nice going, dad.
Then it turned from play talk to hey-do-you-like-McDonald's-you-do-cool-what-do-you-say-we-head-there-for-a-bite?
Fast forward one year, and et voila! They're married, and soon enough they have one EXTREMELY CUTE baby, i.e. me. Followed by 3 other LESS CUTE babies, i.e. my sisters.
It's not a wonderful love story, where they've known each other since children, teenagers, young adults, and now.
It's not a stereotype, where they start out being bitter rivals, only to fall for each other.
And it's certainly not a fairy tale. My mum is not a damsel in distress, and neither is my dad a knight in shining armour.
But to me, it's enough. And since their union brought a randomly awesome person into this world *grin cockily*, how could it be wrong?
And that's the story of how my parents met. Comment. I'd love to hear you parents' story.
Until the next time,
Signing out,
Random Awesome
My first story will be about how my parents met, seeing as if they hadn't, I would never have been born.
Or maybe I would have, only as a butterfly, or a kitten or something.
Come to think of it, being a butterfly or a kitten or something seems infinitely more preferable than being a gangly (nearly) 14 year old kid.
But then I wouldn't be able to use the computer, or read, or eat chocolate. Life's greatest joys.
Decisions, decisions.
Anyway, it's not like I can go back in time or anything to prevent my parents meeting (like in the Wizards of Waverly Place movie), so I may as well tell you guys about it.
Italic time!
Rewind fifteen years ago, and see a young twenty-five year old woman directing a play. It's called Si Tanggang.
For those of you who don't know, Si Tanggang was this guy who was mean to his mum so she turned him into a statue with God's will. Pretty heavy stuff, I know. Maybe he got too many F's on his report card or something.
That young director, is of course, my mum.
Then turn your gaze to the corner and see a man with a bucket and mop, dressed in unflattering blue dungarees.
Don't hyperventilate. That guy is NOT my dad. He's just the janitor.
Now turn to the rugged guy dressed as a sailor on stage. THAT'S my dad. No, he's not playing Si Tanggang - at one point the soon-to-be statue ends up on a ship, and that's where my sailor dad comes in.
My parents and a bunch of their university friends wanted to bring some Asian culture into England, where they were studying at the time, and so decided to perform a play. That's kind of where they met.
If it were me, I wouldn't fall for a woman who yelled orders at me, telling me to be a more convincing sailor, but to each his own, right?
My mum told me that during the play, my dad kept calling her, wanting to know if the budget allocated for the costumes was enough, whether she was satisfied with the performance that day, whether she thought if they had enough time to pull everything together.
She said she knew he just wanted to talk to her.
Nice going, dad.
Then it turned from play talk to hey-do-you-like-McDonald's-you-do-cool-what-do-you-say-we-head-there-for-a-bite?
Fast forward one year, and et voila! They're married, and soon enough they have one EXTREMELY CUTE baby, i.e. me. Followed by 3 other LESS CUTE babies, i.e. my sisters.
It's not a wonderful love story, where they've known each other since children, teenagers, young adults, and now.
It's not a stereotype, where they start out being bitter rivals, only to fall for each other.
And it's certainly not a fairy tale. My mum is not a damsel in distress, and neither is my dad a knight in shining armour.
But to me, it's enough. And since their union brought a randomly awesome person into this world *grin cockily*, how could it be wrong?
And that's the story of how my parents met. Comment. I'd love to hear you parents' story.
Until the next time,
Signing out,
Random Awesome
Friday, January 22, 2010
Intro
Yes, I guess it's blatantly obvious that I'm a newbie at this blogging thing. Maybe other bloggers, real bloggers, veterans, don't do introductions, but hey, who cares? Maybe I'll be the first.
The first blogger to be old-fashioned and uptight and stiff, demanding introductions, that is. (hey, thanks, Grandma.)
So I won't tell you guys my name (those of you are actually reading this, that is) cuz I'm pretty paranoid that someone might track me down and demand my recipe to The Weirdest, Most Delicious Toast in the World, so I'll just use the alias Random Awesome.
YES, I am fully aware that that is the name of my blog, and that I am uncreative, but unless there's someone out there demanding I am creative and happens to have a gun with him, I won't worry.
I see no harm in telling whoever might be bored enough to read this that I am a female, and that I am 14 - well, close enough. For some reason that I cannot fathom, 14 sounds WAY cooler than 13, even though I only have a couple months left to go.
For the same reason as revealing my name might be dangerous, I won't reveal where I live, either. You can choose. Whether you imagine me to be living in New York, in my apartment, typing away at my laptop, or in the country, chewing straw and taking an eternity to type out words, it's all up to you. Although I would prefer it if you imagined me to be somewhere cool.
I have a weekend dad, a stay-at-home mum, 3 sisters, 2 cats and 6 hamsters. I guess that kind of rules out the me living at New York theory, but whatever.In my next posts, I'll explain more of my life through stories, since they're the best way to explain anything, from where I got my cats to how my parents met, to how I copied my Maths homework.
Anyone who thinks that this blog is nuts - I'm about to write a story about homework, for crying out loud - may as well leave now, before you get caught up in my tale(s). Anyone with heart problems, pregnant people and people who hate cats might as well leave too.
But those who are brave, curious, or just plain BORED, read on. But I warn you, you probably won't escape this blog unscathed.
Hey, maybe my life isn't so boring after all.
Buckle up, guys.
Signing out,
Random Awesome
The first blogger to be old-fashioned and uptight and stiff, demanding introductions, that is. (hey, thanks, Grandma.)
So I won't tell you guys my name (those of you are actually reading this, that is) cuz I'm pretty paranoid that someone might track me down and demand my recipe to The Weirdest, Most Delicious Toast in the World, so I'll just use the alias Random Awesome.
YES, I am fully aware that that is the name of my blog, and that I am uncreative, but unless there's someone out there demanding I am creative and happens to have a gun with him, I won't worry.
I see no harm in telling whoever might be bored enough to read this that I am a female, and that I am 14 - well, close enough. For some reason that I cannot fathom, 14 sounds WAY cooler than 13, even though I only have a couple months left to go.
For the same reason as revealing my name might be dangerous, I won't reveal where I live, either. You can choose. Whether you imagine me to be living in New York, in my apartment, typing away at my laptop, or in the country, chewing straw and taking an eternity to type out words, it's all up to you. Although I would prefer it if you imagined me to be somewhere cool.
I have a weekend dad, a stay-at-home mum, 3 sisters, 2 cats and 6 hamsters. I guess that kind of rules out the me living at New York theory, but whatever.In my next posts, I'll explain more of my life through stories, since they're the best way to explain anything, from where I got my cats to how my parents met, to how I copied my Maths homework.
Anyone who thinks that this blog is nuts - I'm about to write a story about homework, for crying out loud - may as well leave now, before you get caught up in my tale(s). Anyone with heart problems, pregnant people and people who hate cats might as well leave too.
But those who are brave, curious, or just plain BORED, read on. But I warn you, you probably won't escape this blog unscathed.
Hey, maybe my life isn't so boring after all.
Buckle up, guys.
Signing out,
Random Awesome
So everyone I know totally has a blog, so I figured, why the heck not? I should have one, too!
And now I know why the heck not.
Don't be fooled by my blog name. My life is actually boring.
So anyone who's interested in reading about boring lives to make themselves feel better, rock on!
And those who have awesome lives, living it high and eating stuff like creamed chicken and turtle soup and creamed chicken-turtle soup, well.....
You can still read this to scoff at.
I don't mind.
And now I know why the heck not.
Don't be fooled by my blog name. My life is actually boring.
So anyone who's interested in reading about boring lives to make themselves feel better, rock on!
And those who have awesome lives, living it high and eating stuff like creamed chicken and turtle soup and creamed chicken-turtle soup, well.....
You can still read this to scoff at.
I don't mind.
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