I've been social of late. A little too social, if you know what I mean. I'm not sure if it's my hipster personality coming through, or if I just really don't like being in large groups of people, but I need a huge break after I participate in any social events. This last week of school has been more chaotic than the rest of the school year (which is saying a lot if you know my study habits). Surprisingly enough, it all began on Tuesday night, after finals.
The last school dance of the year was on Tuesday and, because I've gone to maybe one other dance this year, I decided I'd go - for sentimental reasons, of course. After Cassy was 20 minutes late picking me up, we picked up Colton and went to Starbucks. We went through the numbers, making fun of each other, me telling Cassy she's going to be lynched by the gay community due to how frequently and how loosely she uses the term "faggot", etc. Y'know, the usual conversations. We then headed to the dance, showing up a solid 30 minutes late (because every fashionable person shows up this late). Upon walking in and arguing with Mrs. MacDuff that $2 was ridiculous for such a lax occasion, we paid and the dance failed to immediately captivate my attention. I always forget how much I hate going to dances until I get there. It's not even the people, or the music that rubs me the wrong way, it's the dancing. Can I just say, I am so sick of seeing the fist pump?! Honestly, can you just move a little bit? It's not that hard. Also, the circles. Stop! It's not a place to section off into your own little cliches, it's a dance. I dunno, maybe this is also my hipster side talking. Anyway...other than my complaints, I had a swell time. I danced a bit. Perhaps too much for my own good. I, unlike Willow Smith, cannot afford all of my chiropractic treatments. When Whip My Hair came on, I obviously whipped my hair! And, while I felt like a black woman, the violent whipping has torn every muscle in my neck. That is not an exaggeration. I'm still debating if being able to hold up my own head is really that important because, hey, I felt awesome when I whipped my hair. Oh, and no one else could crump so I'm afraid I had to show 'em how it's done. Overall, I'd say we had a splendid, neck snapping, back breaking, jolly, good time.
Lupe Fiasco escorted us out of the Maeser parking lot after the dance (via speaker system) and we thought it'd be fun to stop at the mouth of Dry Canyon just to look at the lights of the valley. Y'know, asinine teenage stuff. Not so...according to Orem police. Evidently, we were out past curfew. Who knew it was 11?? Not me. Some rude guy with a badge was shining his flashlight in our faces while we sat in the car shaking. We should've been arrested. Really, we should have. I'm not sure why he let us go, but he did. He just told us to go home. He didn't even ask for Cassy's license and registration. Nothing. We sped out of that location crazy fast (without actually speeding) and screamed and laughed the whole way home. Mellow jams eased our troubled souls that night as we argued who we would call had we actually been arrested. That was a good night, if I do say so myself.
The next morning, I threw on some clothes, borrowed my mum's belt and went to school to endure my last day. After loudly vocalizing my complaints and irritations over all the criteria required to receive my yearbook, I hid from all the kids. I hate yearbook day. It's possibly the worst day of the entire year. I hate when kids I possibly had ONE class with and barely ONE conversation with ask to me to sign their yearbook. I'm too nice to tell them I don't know how to spell their name, and I don't care if I ever learn. What can I say? I usually scribble something that gives the illusion that I put thought into it. I hope none of them ever find my blog. I also hate that for those people I actually DO like, I want to write a novel in their yearbook, going down the list of inside jokes, the trouble we've been in, the hilarity that's ensued from our idiocy, and all the cracks in between. The level of my social awkwardness is incontrovertible when one sees how few signatures are in my yearbook. I think I came up with a total of twelve, four of which were from teachers. On the plus side, not a single person wrote H.A.G.S. which is a huge accomplishment for me. Sometimes I wonder how often I end up as the annoying kid who asks for signatures from kids who don't know me. I decided that I absolutely would not be that kid this year, and I wasn't, so I'm satisfied.
Almost everything after yearbook signing is a blur. Cassy, Colton, and myself grabbed guitars and went back up the canyon and sat around, talked, and jammed. We may have fallen asleep too...or maybe that was later. I don't remember. We sat in the trunk and laughed while watching the crazy valley below. It's peaceful up there. I'd be more than happy if I wasted away my entire summer sitting up there, being perfectly content, writing in my annoying little notebook, and throwing things at Colton. Eventually, we had to come down and change into our uniforms to go to graduation. We were an hour late to graduation (because, again, every fashionable person is late). It was very hustle bustle. We drove to Cassy's to print out directions to get to graduation, then to Colton's house so he could change, I changed in the car, and then, feeling a lot less pimpin' in my polo, we drove to graduation. No one cried, as far as we could tell, so we promptly left with Lupe leading the way once again. We drove all around for the rest of the day. We went back to Colton's house, changed clothes, then up the canyon, then Harmons, then Cassy's, then back up the canyon, then back to Cassy's, then to Harmons again, and then Cassy's, and finally 7:30 came around and we went to a graduate party.
People around here use the term "party" very loosely. This was more of a social gathering in someone's backyard. It started at 7, we showed up at 7:30 (this time because I almost died by eating Wasabe sauce plain). Greene Rollins was the DJ and we were subjected to a poor speaker system. So, we drove back to Colton's house to get big ones. (You see what I mean when I say we drove everywhere??) We sat around at this party for a while, basking in our social awkwardness, then went to Ripley's with Jack Anderson where he bought a toy and asked for a job application to be a cashier. This goes to show how awkward we all are. We would've rather been at a nearby grocery store, wandering aimlessly, buying toys, and getting job applications than be at a party. I really don't know why I even try anymore. After 30 minutes of trying to enjoy ourselves, we headed back to the canyon. Conversations up there are probably the best ones I have. Have you ever had one of those content silences? Not awkward, but one where everyone is just happy to be there? I'm known to interrupt these, and it's not by talking. My pocket screams to notify me of a text and these uncanny vibrations just seem to mess up everything. Or, in my case, I don't think it ruined the silence, I think it gave it more character.
At around 11:30, I made it home. I had been gone for easily 15 hours, if not more and I collapsed from exhaustion. Thursday morning my mum made me get up at 11. I think I stayed awake for maybe an hour or two and fell back asleep on my couch. I finally woke up at 5 in the afternoon. This is one of the prime examples of why I am not a social person. My body can't handle it! Wilson, Tim, and Kenzie came over and said I looked like I was on a hangover. Leave it to your friends to be perfectly honest. Because I felt so trashy (and didn't look very good either), we put on a trashy photoshoot which you can view here.
Now I'm feeling a little more classy, a little less social, and everything else that is entirely normal for me. I think I'm going to go play in a lake, climb a mountain, record some music, and take more pictures. Life is good, but I guarantee more Whit is soon to Happen.
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