I had an epiphany today. As far as I can remember, any day in which I am able to say "gimme a grande mocha latte" has been a good day. Those days always will be good. Such Starbucks days during my recent mini-hiatus have been yesterday and last Thursday.

I'll start from where I left off at. Last Thursday held yet another UIL performance for choir. Despite a crappy performance, we walked away with the usual straight ones in both catagories. Good heavens! Could the judges be slightly biased towards Klein? Impossible.

After the pointless performance, I returned to my quiet place of dwelling for a little preparation to attend Larkin's orchestra concert. I must say, at first I was a bit, well, there is no word I know of to describe bleeding of the ears, but I was given the impression that the performance would royally suck ass. Of course, how was I supposed to tell the freshman from the seniors with my damned eyesight? Even with the benefit of my seat in the second row, I'm still blind as a bat, and am generally unable to tell my friends apart. In rare cases, I mistake their gender and even hair color (I couldn't tell if Larkin's head was black or purple). A sad story, but as my mother's primary source of income comes from Ebay, a trip to the optometrist has been out of our budget for awhile, much less a subscription for some decent glasses. Sigh. I think I'll just make an assassination attempt at Todd and swipe his spectacles.

Anyway, as all high school music performances, the concert kicked a lot of ass once the freshmen got done beating and knocking and blowing at their poor. Once the symphony orchestra got on stage, the event actually reached a standpoint so high that I, even I, the sound quality Nazi, would listen to in mp3 format. Gustav Holst's The Planets suite has always been a favorite of mine. Jupiter is one of the few musical scores that can coax a tear from my eye.

Stopping at Starbucks on the way home, Larkin and I said our goodbyes, as she would be leaving for Harlingen to see a friend for the weekend. In fact, read all about that trip on her blog. I think she caught the Plague or something on her return, but nevertheless, she seemed to have a damn good time.

The weekend consisted of floating between Rob's house and mine. Hanging out with Todd and Rob just isn't the same without a female entity full of precious human warmth (a necessary asset over there). Especially because they can't seem to appreciate the crude and realist jabs at society of George Carlin. The man's a god damned genius! Fuck Mickey Mouse! Even Julia wasn't there. A sad, sad day indeed. Except for Todd. He doesn't seem to express that much emotion. Except anger, and maybe a bit of frustration. I still seriously think we need to find him a girlfriend. Or hell, a boyfriend. Somebody, please make the poor kid happy.

An uneventful week until last night came around; my comrades and I decided to go rustle us up some culture and attend the Global Meltdown event at the school. The slipshod performances ranged from (in order of awesome) Latin dancing to raving to some crazy woman dancing to an ABSOLUTELY FUCKING ATROCIOUS recording of some gospel song. The sound quality gave my ears cancer. CANCER! I'M FUCKING DEAF! Allright, it wasn't that bad, but caps lock is stress-relieving sometimes.

Anyway, once we had mulcted our supply of small, edible foreign objects during the intermission, Larkin and I escaped into the night to cause a little mischief. Actually, there wasn't enough time to cause a bubbly mess in the fountain in front of my subdivision, so we were forced to settle for Starbucks and a walk in the park. It should've lasted at least a little while, but alas- only a minute or two had passed before a bloodthirsty golf cart driver hunted us down and advised us to leave before we become van-dwellers. Obeying the underpaid yet dangerous man, we packed up our affection and departed for home.

Tonight I'm busy once again compiling a list of things I hate, and perhaps people too, and not just on my blog. Soon to be published here are The Seven Rules of If You Break Them I Kill You, and perhaps within a week's time, my own personal hit list. When I say I consider someone to be the 127th stupidest person in the world, I mean it. You'll see.