I tab to dictionary dot com more than is healthy while writing this blog. It's not my fault. I think of a fabulous word to use, but I'm not exactly sure if it works for what I'm thinking of. So I just zip over to dictionary dot com, type the word into the nifty little search bar, and voilà (that's French) I know whether or not I can use the word without making a fool of myself.
I haven't been updating much...at all...
This is probably a sign from the heavens and/or me that I am not a responsible young adult and should not be trusted with a blog. Take it away from me. Lock up Remi! No, wait, don't. I need him for, um, school stuff. No, not Facebook at all... Take away my blog, though. I can't write on it as much as people expect me to. I'm letting you all down! I feel like a horrible person.
Okay, I'm over it.
On Tuesday, my English class had a debate on the hot topic of vegetarianism vs. omnivorism; or, as Ms. Knox liked to call it, vegetarians vs. meat-eaters. Yes, this is the very same Ms. Knox who Spiffy and Liss have ranted about on their own blogs. Terrible teacher, lisps a little, over-explains, writes unclear directions, focuses a little too much of our valuable class time on persuasion...yeah, that's the one. She divided the class into four sections: pro-vegetarians, con-vegetarians, pro-meat-eaters, and con-meat-eaters. No one knew what she was getting at with that, but she responded to all questions with either "I'll explain later" or explained which section of the class was what again.
I was stuck with the con-vegetarians, which made me lose the uninterested, slacker-like vibe I have been trying to project for the past week or so. As a proud vegetarian, I was not about to argue for the side of those carnivores. Fortunately, she let us switch sides until we were hanging with the side we wanted.
The pro-vegetarians across the classroom became my new people. We sat around for a little while coming up with reasons why vegetarianism is where it's at, but then we lost interest. What can I say? We're eighth graders. Losing interest is pretty much what we do; that, and make perverted jokes. We do that a lot, too.
"I'm sorry," said one of my fabulous group-mates. You're all fabulous, every single one of you. "But meat-eaters reminds me of dinosaurs."
"Meat-eaters are dinosaurs."
I wrote that down as one of the notes our speaker (Rennie) was going to use in her argument. It became kind of our slogan, our rallying cry. Also, we put our hands up in front of us so that we resembled deformed, scale-less T-rexes and made dinosaur noises. Did I mention that we're eighth graders? This kind of juvenile behavior shoukd really be beneath us, but it's not.
Speaking of juvenile behavior, we clapped like maniacs whenever someone who supported our anti-dinosaur beliefs spoke. We also waved our hands around and gave thumbs-ups while Rennie talked, tried to start chants of "beans and rice! Beans and rice!," and made fun of the opposing sides' arguments when no one was talking. We also talked back when people were talking, enough that Ms. Knox told us we "weren't allowed to talk to the people were talking" several times. I had to ask if we were allowed to talk to the people who weren't talking.
Everyone brought up peanut butter as something vegetarians eat.
"You say vegetarians don't get enough protein. Vegetarians get lots of protein. They can eat peanut butter."
"Peanut butter has protein?" I asked.
"Yeah," said Danny. He isn't a vegetarian, but he did a great job pretending. "That's why you eat pb&j."
"But I don't eat pb&j."
"What kind of vegetarian are you?"
"Don't talk while other people are talking," said Ms. Knox.
We (the vegetarians) obviously won all the debates by sheer awesomeness. Other people didn't agree, but they were just dinosaurs and no one really cares what dinosaurs think.
When I got home, I decided to pretend to be a dinosaur. This involved scrunching up my arms and hopping around the living room making dinosaur noises. Since, as everyone knows, dinosaurs breathe methane (another point brought up by some group: cows contribute to methane in the air), I also said "Methane! Methane!" at random moments.
"I'm going to eat you!" I told the child. "Methane!"
"Stop saying methane," he said.
"Methane!"
"Stop it!"
Since the child wouldn't let me eat him, I decided to eat the cat. "Methane! Methane!" I said, dropping into a very hunter-like crouch and stalking my prey. "Methane!"
"Meow," said the cat.
"Methane!" I tried to bite the back of the cat's neck, as that is a very good spot to bite when killing things, but she tasted nasty and her fur stuck to my mouth, so I gave up.
Madame, my French teacher (all French teachers are called that. Unless they're men. Or women who think they're young enough to be called Mademoiselle), decided to let a notorious problem student take control of the class when we had a half day. He took a vote of what we should do that day, as she asked, but it was already getting out of control by the time his friends showed up to write their own ideas down.
French Activities:
- Heads up, seven up
- Silent seatball
- Movie
- SSR
- Brendan and Brad teach how to take a computer apart
- Mom and Dad
- Loto
- That swatting game
- Gang fights
- Drugs
- Mr. Brown
- Make out
Brad voted for everything. A surprising number of people voted for gang fights. We ended up playing silent seatball. Brendan, however, wasn't ready to relinquish his microphone. He sat at the front of the classroom, narrating the game and giving us comments like:
"Sarah, show some expression."
"Zach and Ryan, stop giving Nick accupuncture with rulers."
"Cooper, stop being such a ladies' man."
I learn a lot in French. No, really. Even with Zach doing things like leaning back so his head is on my desk and dancing in his seat with only this as an explanation: "Madama, I'm in my ya-ya house."
More exciting stuff happens in my life, but my fingers would fall off if I even tried to write it all down. It's practically eleven at night. I'm going to sleep.
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