A weekend in the life...

I'm supposed to be doing homework, but I won't tell if you won't.

:D

Okay, to start off, I hate freshmen. I hate them, detest them. Little immature bastards.

I have a service period (which doesn't mean what you think it means, Sarah! :D) which is when the school decides they need free labor, and they choose students who are actually passing, instead of the little ghetto gangsta/paisa failures who are going to remain lower working class forever, and are never going to leave the surroundings of my current high school. So i have to provide free labor for my art teacher, which is all cool, I have people there and the teacher is really cool. I also have to supervise all of the students and make sure they don't completely fuck up what ever they're doing.

So, on Friday, when I was doing this and I was busy, the teacher puts one of my friends, a very nice girl, who finished her sketch book already, and have her help a freshman who came in late this semester. When the teacher tells her this he basically means "make sure he doesn't fuck up" as I mentioned before hand. So I'm busy, helping kids stitch the papers together for their sketchbooks, helping kids get caught up, while my friend is helping a kid who completely fucked up his first try.

So I go to my other friend, who is sitting in the back, watching me work and catching up, and the kid and my previously mentioned friend are there, in which she's practically doing the work for him. So I ask her:

"Um...what are you doing," seeing as she was folding the papers for him.

She looks at me and keeps folding. "I'm helping him make his signatures." So I look at the kid, who's slouching in his chair and just watching her work.

"Well stop doing it for him," I tell her, and walk over, grabbed a stack of paper and plopped it in front of the kid. "Here, count ten pieces, fold, and repeat. Four times."

I walk away to go help some more people. About a few minutes later the kid is done (and he still had help from my friend, grrr...) I walk over to my other friend at the other side of the table, and start talking to her.

"Hay, can you get me a ruler?" The kid asks me.

"Get it yourself." I tell him.

"I don't know where they are." He replies.

I look at him like he's a fucking retard. The drawing class is the easiest class ever, you don't have to look for anything you need to make a sketch book. Just look around and you're bound to find one. So yes, he is a retard.

"They're right there." I point to the table.

"Oh." He tells me. "But can you get it for me?"

"No." I said, my 'mean' smile forming on my face. "Besides that was such a stupid question that if I could, I would smack you across the head for it. However," I continued, "what you can do is slide the chair back from the table, get up, walk your lazy ass to where the rulers are, get one, then sit your ass back down."

"Don't you just love how he is?" My friend, who is helping the brat asks my other friend, and the both laugh. I conceal my smile and walk away, looking for more people to help, because I'm just that nice.

I come back about five or so minute later, and my friend is being taken advantage of, yet again, seeing as she was poking the holes for the stitches for the kid, and I got mad.

"Why are you doing his work for him?" I asked her.

"Ugh! I just want him to finish and go away!" She told me, exasperated.

I growled a little, and walked over there, yanking the awl from her hands. I handed it to the kid. "Here. Poke holes in your damned sketchbook." And I walked off to help my other friend who was at the neighboring table.

While I'm helping my friend, the kid pokes me.

"You need to not touch me." I told him, concentrating on my friend.

"So?" The kid replied. He so wanted to get cracked across the face.

I ignored him, and continued talking to my friend, who had been asking about her sketchbook, but was now looking at the freshman weirdly.

He decided to poke me again.

"Don't fucking touch me!" I growled. I batted his hand away, and moved from his reach.

That was the end of that. I ignored him for the remainder of the period (which was 5 minutes) and just did other stuff.

When the period is over, and the art teacher tells us to tell my friend to not help the ungrateful brat, my friend tells me:

"You know what he told me?" She asks.

"What?" I seethed.

"The kid asked me: The service worker is acting all weird around me, I think he's trying to hit on me." She said. "So I told him, how is he going to be hitting on you if he's with me!?" She laughed. "It was funny."

This made me "lol" internally. "Yeah, funny." But I still could not get rid of my murderous rage. The kid just made me get mad, beyond pissed. He was just lucky I was holding it in.

Fucking freshmen.

Anymoo, yesterday I went to downtown LA, a part of my home city that I did not know. I went to Macy's plaza with my mom, to Borders so I could buy some books. It was cool, even if I did end up spending money. I bought "Dead Witch Walking" by Kim Harrison, "Night Shift" by Lilith Saintcrow, and "Something from the Nightside" by Simon R. Green.

After that we walked along 7th street, to an old cafeteria she used to eat at, back when she was in her late teens/early twenties. It was cool...The restaurant, called Clifton's was decorated with an "Alaskan" decor, very woodsy, bordering on tacky, but it definitely worked. It's been there, part of downtown Los Angeles since 1931. Can you say, WOW.

I liked it, though. Spending time with my mom, her showing me around parts of Los Angeles county I didn't know. So she's resolved that we're gonna bus it to different places, so I can learn to navigate, and be able to get out of the hell hole where I live.

It's fun.

BTW: Sorry for the long post. LOL. I didn't mean for my story to be that long. Hahahaha! No quote today. :D