May 9, 2011

As the 8th grade semi-formal continues to grow closer, more and more of our seldom conversations have to do with dresses and masks and makeup and hair. And while I haven't really ever been the person that has girl talk with classmates I do understand what the terms mean.

I've decided to do my hair in barrel curls, half up, half down. And my makeup is a work in progress. Most people are having their hair and makeup done, but that seems stupid and misplaced to me, so I'm using the tutorial button on the old computer and trying my hand at some pretty intricate stuff.
Currently I look like a Tinkerbell relieved herself on my eyelids. Crude, yes, but you know what I look like don't you?

But not even semi-formal (I refuse to call it 'semi,') has me as anxious as the 8th grade awards. The 8th grade awards are a half graduation, it's for the parents,  no doubt. But only for the parents of kids who get awards. There are straight A awards, and citizenship, what a joke, and so on and so on.

Every year at the end they announce the best female and male students of that class. For 2 years now the gay, homophobic dancer, basketball player, goes to the same church as the principle, black boy has one it. And the girls have been Lucy Lui, and London. Both dedicated to either sports or kissing up.

Hilary, the class president, let me know that while she was in Ms. Leprechaun's office she saw the nominees for best student. My name, her name and London's name were on the list. I haven't gotten my hopes up consciously because, I'll be frank, I'm white. London is mixed and the star basketball player and Hilary is class president and Mexican. I can't compete. Not at my school.

And not even the prospect of that has me worrying. Its the Wildcat Awards. They hand 50 of them our every year to the kids that haven't set the school on fire but aren't exactly Rachel Berrys. And not once have I gotten this award. Perhaps your saying to yourself, 'You've won other ones, they won't give you the consolation prize.' But your wrong!

I found out how they choose those awards. The teachers huddle up in some batman cave and make a list with each of their 5 favorite students. Then they go down the list and if they find a kid that anyone has trouble with, no explanation necessary, they cross them off. So I've either been crossed off, or never put on.

As unnecessary as this rant was, it did have a slight point.

White chicks be crazy, yes.

But another. While I've been taught that to strive to be ones best you don't need outer motivation, I still like medals. Even cheap ones with a confusing Genie lamp on them.

And its not even that I want them, its almost that I need them.
I have such a reputation for getting them, that without them I'm insignificant, ridiculed. Even if I still got more than my tormentor, its funny, because its me.

Which is why, for high school I am setting the expectations low, I'm going to do my best work, as I always have. But I will try to never be seen as the medal girl. And it shouldn't be to hard what with the fact that I'm going to nerd central for high school.

And I want to look like a Nicholas Sparks character still, too.

I guess this was just a plan, high school prep list.
I've even picked out a backpack like Santana's from Glee. The new Blair Waldorf, tell your friends.

I think half the fun is in the planning. And I've been crazy organizing and bookmarking and saving. And half of me doesn't want to stop planning. As sad as that is.

I wish I could plan for high school everyday.
And for awards.
And for the semi. Curse me.

I wish you all the planning in the world, and that you stay away from Crocs. Because that's just simple Algebra. I'm not stupid.