Drama Queen

Freshman year in high school. I complained a lot. I hated things. That was me, the Drama Queen.

I remember the first day of high school. I was nervous. The first thing of course that I debated was what to wear. A skirt? Flip flops? Sundress? Or I had to consider whether or not I should dress more casually in order to give the impression that I look good naturally and don’t have to try so hard. I wore jeans and a cute top.

I met in the auditorium on the first day of school. The first words I heard were “We are your counselors. We are here to make you’re high school experience as much as a success as it can possibly be. If you have any questions or concerns during your high school experience, we are here to help you.”

I wasn’t sure whether or not to bring a brown bagged lunch or an actual lunch box. Upperclassmen told me it was childish to bring a lunch box. So I brown bagged my first day. My sandwich was warm when I ate it. The cheese had spoiled. I was sick my second day of freshmen year.

The first thing he noticed was that I was blond and had blue eyes. Wow, I could tell he was smart already. He asked me if I was German.

“Yes, I am German, but only half German.”

For the rest of the school year he walked in every morning and addressed me as Aryan, Nazi, or something like that.


I do not know if blondes really have more fun.

I am very picky and judgmental when it comes to people. I think I was born with this trait.

Each subject in school is pointless to me. The purpose of school is to learn and prepare for the future. However, I have never seen either of my parents or other adults for that matter use half the stuff I learn in school.

My first class of my freshmen year was health in the basement of the school where a staph infection was beginning to run wild. My teacher spoke with loud, harsh tones as he taught about how being socially healthy is important to the health triangle and a person’s overall wellness. We spent four weeks on Alcohol Prevention. We spent one day of the topic of Drug and Tobacco products. My teacher never even taught that topic in the book. All students had suspicion.

I hate it when teachers do not know the subject they are teaching.

Math freshmen year was all about solving for the unknown. It still is, I suppose. I don’t understand this. If it was unknown, then how can my answer be wrong or right? You never know what X is; you just guess a formula out of a million and hope it’s right. Then you ask your teacher to check it. She doesn’t know herself, so she looks the answer up in the back of the teacher book. The teacher book never seems to agree with her.


There were these mathematical things called functions. They were basically lines that stretched across the graph. Some were curvy; others were straight. Every time an equation didn’t work that I would try, there was always an exception. I think math geniuses like Einstein just made Algebra II and Trigonometry an entirely extra subject to waste my time and try to create equations that would explain why things in life work.


“If you have 10 cups of water and 10 kids wanting water, how would you divide the cups of water equally if you have a 1/8 difference between the cups?” Stupid question. It doesn’t relate to life whatsoever. If I had 10 cups of damn water, I’d give a damn cup of water to each kid. Duh. That didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out. I got that question wrong though. My teacher put a question mark beside my answer.

The last page of my math tests were always made of stupid questions.

This one question required me to use the compound interest formula because, you know, the other twelve formulas I had to memorize didn’t apply. The question asked how many fish would be in a 16 by 18 foot pond after twenty years if there was a rate of increase in fish 30% each year. The number came up to be in the trillions which was stupid because in reality a lot of fish would die after twenty years because of the competition for food and life expectancy. That was the one thing I actually learned in biology which I thought I could actually apply to something else. Apparently not.


I got that question wrong.

My math teacher asked why we had to learn what we were learning. I didn’t have any idea. I wrote: because Jesus told me to. My teacher was Jewish.

I wondered during freshman year whether or not I would ever use the material I was learning in school out in the real world. I asked my teacher. She gave me a strange answer: “If you are a Bowling Industry manager then you will need to know the acceleration of a bowling ball.” A Bowling Industry Management major actually exists. That’s weird.

By the end of Freshmen year, I had sat through math for 10,800 dreadful minutes.

My biology classroom had a fish tank. I always sat in the back of the classroom about five yards away from the tank. Sometimes, I tried to see if I could land something into the tank. My teacher sent me out of the room a couple of times for disturbing the rest of the class – and the fish. I think she liked me though. I had pretty good grades in her class.


I hate it when people in America do not speak English. My grandmother agrees with this saying that minorities are soon going to take over the country.


My Spanish teacher was from some South American country. She speaks Spanish perfectly fine. Her English is funny though. She always made this face when I didn’t pronounce a word right in Spanish. We all just laughed right back at her. Then she’d cry.

One day in class, she started crying because she said we were being mean to the Mexican students in the school.

My school is a melting pot.

There is this policy in the United States that says “No Child Left Behind.”


I hate it when people stand in the middle of the hallway to talk in groups and you can’t pass through. It’s even more annoying when couples make out beside lockers and I have to practically tear them apart to get to my class.

My dad gets mad when he hears about stories from my school. He says the social aspect of my school is screwed up. Every day freshmen year I’d come home with some strange story; all he would say was, “I can’t believe my tax dollars are being used for such nonsense.”

I hate how people who play school sports have to take their lacrosse sticks or soccer ball to class with them and play with the sports equipment all class as if to say, “Yeah I’m cool.”


In the cafeteria, my friends and I always sat at the same table. Everyone had their own table. But the Cafeteria wasn’t like what Mean Girls considers it to be. There wasn’t a table just of jocks or just nerds or just Asians who have strange piercings. It was sort of a blend, I guess.


All of the dark skinned people who sit on the right side of the Cafeteria are the loudest. I have no earthly idea why.


The girls at these tables on the right side of the cafeteria seem to always have competitions of who can draw more attention to themselves. They will pull each other’s hair out when they get into fights and cuss some girl out in sentences that make no sense whatsoever. They do not speak English. I am certain of that.


Last year, this one girl started to pick a fight with another girl because her boyfriend had cheated with the girl. I didn’t understand why they were picking on each other instead of getting upset with the guy. The whole cafeteria was watching the fight. Then one of the administrators of the school came over and gave them ISS. The girl goes, “You’re just giving me ISS because I am black.” I hate that too.

Spring of Freshmen Year, I was unhappy. I lost 20 pounds in two months. I was constantly tired.

I went to the doctor over my spring break and got my blood tested. I had some sort of chemical imbalance and my hormones were screwed up.


I went to a psychologist – a one time only affair. I sat in this chair shaped like a hand which rested twenty yards away from the guy. He kept this orange little notepad on his lap as he inhaled his BLT. He asked me pointless questions like: “How many pets have you had?” or “What is your sister’s name and how old is she?” I actually had to ask him to ask me questions that related to the reason I was there. Then all he said was, “Why do you think you feel the way you do?” That was the most vague and irritable question of all. Obviously, I wouldn’t have gone to see this guy if I knew the answer. That was a $120 session wasted.


My psychologist told me to keep a journal. He said emotions kept instead for too long only boil up and erupt at some point. I needed to learn how to express myself and relieve my feelings in a way that would not disrupt my social life. So I kept a journal. Every night I would sit and reflect on the day. I pointed out the times during the day when and where I felt more stressed and others times when I was most at ease.

I liked writing in the journal.

I felt most happy when I was with friends, outdoors, painting, or writing. However, these times in the day did not come often.


I consider myself to be a nerd because I take advanced classes and do well in each of them. But there are different subclasses in the nerd family.


There was this one kid in almost all of my freshmen classes. I won’t tell you his name, because that would be mean since his name is enough to laugh at already. This student would get so upset when the Spanish teacher did not clarify the homework assignments. He even would ask for more work. He would say something like, “What? We don’t have a Spanish Workbook Assignment! How can you not assign something tonight?” All the guys in the back of the room would always throw stuff at him when he said things like that. I never did though. I just made a note to never date him.

I hate it when a girl wearing a T-shirt gets a dress-cut referral to the office rather than a girl whose chest hangs out for the whole world to see every day.

I hate it when guys like the stupid, most slutty girls in the grade.

My friends always get mad at me when I start to like or date a guy whom they liked as if it is my fault for being normal.

One of my friends freshmen year dated this guy who was my friend. They dated for five months and talked about five times out of those five months. And each time they talked (for that three or so minute conversation), I had to sit on a three way phone call with them to keep the little conversation going. It was pathetic. Without me, NOTHING would have happened (even though not much happened anyway, but you get the point.)


I hate girls, even though I am one. A bunch of girls together in the same room is the most annoying thing ever. Guys always ask me what important stuff girls talk about during sleepovers or at parties. I tell them: Nothing, because we seriously have nothing important to really talk about.


High School Motto: Live in the Moment


I felt out of the loop sometimes because of the sort of things I thought and talked about. I didn’t know many people who had a list of things to do before they die. I didn’t know many people who considered how they wanted to feel when they were lying on their deathbeds at an old age. I didn’t know how many people at my age considered how people around the world live. I did those things. I still do.


My Motto: Live each day so that tomorrow looks back on today and smiles.





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This article has 2 comments. Post your own now!

Bethani said...
Nov. 19, 2010 at 7:04 pm
Amazing! My friends is one of those girls with her chest hanging out. Grosses me out too. 
 
Laughternchoclate said...
Feb. 28, 2010 at 3:47 pm
Wow... this was really good. I hate math, too, my teacher is really stupid :)
 
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