I understand that no one probably wants to here my complaining, but I can't afford
therapy and writing just makes me feel better. Plus you might enjoy laughing at
how shallow and irreverent my problems are. So without further ado, let the whining
begin.

Things I Don�t Understand- #9)The �Hot Guy� in movies
Have you ever watched a movie in which a girl is infatuated with some buff, �hot� guy that every other female in the film also adores? Do they all insist that he is so sexy? Do you find yourself looking at the man and completely disagreeing? Don�t lie, the answer is yes. What is the deal? And then, the woman always has some nice, funny, ACTUALLY ATTRACTIVE guy crazy about her, but in the movie world he is a gargoyle of some kind. For further explanation of my point, I give you the perfect example, The Favor. In this movie, a married woman starts to fantasize about her studly high school boyfriend. She is not unhappy in marriage, in fact, she and her husband have a wonderful relationship. She just wants to feel young again and her nerdy husband doesn�t quite cut it. Who is this poor schlub, you might ask? The man, the myth, the legend, Bill Pullman. I just want to state for the record that I love this man, and he has never been given the respect that he deserves. But mark my words, his day will come. Anyway, she sends her best friend, who is in some tumultuous relationship with Brad Pitt, to find the ex-boyfriend, reporting back with all the details. The best friend ends up going on a date with him, and he comes to know her in the biblical sense. As a moviegoer, you expect the old boyfriend to be an Adonis if this girl cheated on Mr. Jennifer Aniston with him. Finally, the married woman pays the ex-boyfriend a visit and he is revealed. HE HAS A FREAKING MULLET!!!! Are you kidding me? The movie just lost credibility and touch with reality. Also, the guy dresses in red flannel and hosts some kind of fishing contest. What is so damn sexy about a mullet-wearing lumberjack who smells like trout? I am not a Brad Pitt fan by any means (too much swagger = whole other rant), but there is no way that I can believe that any woman, or man, for that matter, would leave Brad for the mullet-guy. And there is no way that any movie is going to tell me that a man with a mullet is finer than Bill Pullman. That is where I draw the line. I mean, he is The King of New York. There are so many other examples of this trend:
�Friends�- Rachel�s boyfriend, Paolo. I mean really, what was that all about?
While You Were Sleeping - This time Peter Gallagher is supposed to be hotter than my man Bill. I still don�t buy it.
Only You - Billy Zane wearing a bad wig and Miami Vice with no shirt underneath vs. an adorable pre-blow Robert Downey Jr. Watch the movie, you�ll see.
I�m drawing a blank right now, but if you think of more, let me know.

Things I Don't Understand - #8) 2nd Cinema Video
So, I decided to go to 2nd Cinema, since the attempt to corner the market on coffee shops with one-hour photo developing has seriously reduced Video Junction's selection of films. First of all, 2nd Cinema didn't have the one video that I wanted to rent. This fine establishment has every Corey Haim/ Corey Feldman, Showtime/Cinemax, straight-to-video, Steve Guttenberg piece of shit ever filmed, but Bottle Rocket? Now that is just too obscure! Any way, after about an hour, I manage to find some videos and decide to check out. Our family doesn't have an account there yet, so I hand the woman my driver's license and start to fill out the form. She then asked me if I had a husband to put on the account and I declined. Josh Jacobs, who works there, heard this and started to laugh. The woman then asked me if I was 20. Umm, wait a minute, didn't she have my driver's license with my DATE OF BIRTH WRITTEN ON IT. After I told her that I was 17, she informed me that one must be 18 to open an account. Now, I believe we can pin-point this as the moment that my head almost exploded. What kind of bullshit is that? Is it really going to take three more months for me to truly comprehend the responsibility and prestige of renting a movie? And, what about the middle-aged woman working at the store? Years of experience has not taught her how to subtract, but it has taught her to respect the process of borrowing a video. I guess by April 27th, I too will learn what it truly means to be kind and rewind. All I have to say is that I'm glad there was an episode of Degrassi on when I got home. Otherwise, I never could have contolled my rage.

The holiday season for high-school students has its fair share of traditions: the glorious days off, the despicable return to school, and classmates� tales of hedonism from their drunken/stoned seasonal escapades. This last ritual is the one that I would like to address and, one day, put a stop to. Now, I am not so much of a square as to expect students from refraining from drinking altogether, for I am much too realistic to believe that that would ever occur. However, must they speak so loudly that I must endure their stories while trying to concentrate on a Physics lecture. And the holiday anecdotes are so much worse than the everyday tales. These not just your average who got drunk and threw-up in the bushes. These are who nailed whom and who took a dump where. Another phenomenon that I fail to understand is the tendency of the prep species to tell teachers of their shenanigans, while of course leaving out the small detail that they had altered their minds in some way, shape, or form. Do they believe teachers to be so naive that these adults will not realize that the punks were most likely drunk off their asses when said event took place. Once again, I just don�t understand.

Things I Don't Understand -#7) The jackasses in my Latin class
I'm sorry. I need to study for my test, but I can't until I get this off my chest. Alright, a test over all the information that we have learned this year about Egypt has been scheduled for tomorrow, Thursday, for the last couple of weeks. Well, today Miss Cox gave us the option of taking the test Thursday or Monday. Now, I knew that both me and Tony would get home kind of late from a chemistry competition on Wednesday, so I was excited to hear the option of waiting over the weekend. I later found out that Crystal and Jessie both had to work that night, so they too wanted to wait for Monday. But half the class, people who had NO PLANS FOR THE EVENING whined to have the test on Thursday because they didn't want to worry about it over the weekend. Unfortuantely, being who these people were, they won and I must try to cram a year's worth of Egypt notes into my head within the next couple of hours. Here are my problems with this: a) These people said that if the test was on Monday, they wouldn't study over the weekend for it. Then why does it matter to them what day we take the test on? b)That thing about not wanting to think about it over the weekend. Are you kidding me? Like they ever actually think about any subject other than themselves. c) Every other assignment that we have ever had has been whined about by these people, using their games or other homework as excuses. Now, when students have legitimate excuses, they don't care because it would be inconveinient to them. I'm sorry, but that is THE BIGGEST LOAD OF BULLSHIT THAT I HAVE EVER HEARD!!!! Thank you for reading. Have a nice day.

Last weekend my mother, father, and I went to Decatur to go shopping for spring clothes. Now, for those of you who don�t know me extremely well, the mere prospect of going clothing shopping is excruciatingly painful for me. But that is an entirely different rant all together. Anyway, somehow, during this trip, my mom found a way to discuss every aspect of my life that causes me pain and/or anxiety. First, in the car, she suggested that I get glasses because she is worried about my vision when I drive. Even though I really don�t want to get glasses, I gave in because that is a genuine concern. So that was no big deal, but that was only the tip of the iceberg. We went to have lunch at Red Lobster, which I thought would be a good thing, but I could not have been more mistaken. The onslaught continued when she suggested that I start really considering where I would like to go to college which, for those of you who have read my previous rant know, frightens me to my very core. Then, she mentioned that summer is just around the corner and I should begin to look for a job. She also offered a few suggestions for me to consider. After all of these things, I started to feel like I was the victim of a get-some-direction-in- your-life intervention. I then jokingly asked if there were any other subjects that she would like to address by saying, � Would you like to tackle the weight issue?� Now a normal functioning human being WITH A SOUL would think that this comment would be laughed at and disregarded. WELL, NOT SO FAST MY FRIEND!!! My mommie dearest countered by stating that she did want to suggest that all of us start to exercise. All I could do was laugh and wonder if this was really happening. But of course I had to press on. So, I ignorantly and innocently asked if there could possibly be anything else to discuss, never dreaming that there was. And then it happened. To my horror, I saw my dad, who had remained surprisingly quite during the whole ordeal, mouth that dreaded word to my mom... BOYFRIEND! Again, being naive, I refused to think that my mother would be insensitive enough to actually have that discussion. Well, it turns out that I don�t know my mother as well as I like to believe I do. Yes, she asked if I liked a certain boy that she had seen talking to me. I will not disclose that boys name, but I will tell you that I was none to pleased with her taste. And that was the end. Can you believe that??? I wanted to curl up and die. Through the whole nightmare, the only things keeping me from drowning myself in the lobster tank were the delicious garlic cheese biscuits.

Things I Don�t Understand- #6) Why my parents love my brother more than me. Now, I have often joked about my mom and dad�s preference of my older brother, but I never actually believed that it was true until this incident. Following church on Sunday, my brother asked what we were having for lunch. My mom informed him that we were having roast, which was already in the oven cooking. Well, my pampered older brother made a face and whined that we always have roast. I wanted to slap him right then and there. How dare he say something like that? She gives him shelter, cooks for him, does his laundry, not to mention the whole bringing him into existence thing, and he has the audacity to shun a roast. Well, my mom didn�t really say anything and when we got home they were all downstairs while I went to my room to change. When I went to the living room, they were all discussing possible places to go out to eat. It turns out that my mom had rapped up the roast in foil and placed it in the fridge, all because my bother is a big baby!! Now, if I had made a similar comment, her reply would have been that I could find whatever I wanted around the house, but they would still be having roast. When my brother says it, all plans are canceled and we end up going to Damon�s in Champaign. It is times like this when I hate my brother with the intensity of a thousand suns. It�s already painfully obvious that he is everyone�s favorite. Do I really need these displays to justify that fact even more? First the Red Lobster fiasco, and now this. I hate my family and I want out!!!

Warning: This rant is not my usual, "Let's laugh at annoying little things." This is more a "talk so Jamie can avoid a nervous breakdown," rant. So with that warning let us begin. Ever since the eighth grade, I have been frightened by the prospect of entering the working world. The prospect of choosing a profession for the rest of my adult-life at the tender age of 14 has always been a fear in the back of my mind, and now more than ever that fear is consuming me. Here is my dilema: I have often said that I am intersted in working as a journalist, but lately I am noticing that my writing talents could not support me enough to buy a Beef-n-Cheddar at Arby's. In school I do well in math, but the thought of being a "number-cruncher" everday of my life scares me to my very core. Recently I have considered becoming a History teacher becasue I really enjoy learning about it and I would like to pass that enthusiasm on to students. However, I am currently maintaining a B average in World History, a freshman class, which is rather discouraging. I have run out of career options, in my opinion, and dread the day I must declare my college major. Luckily, my wonderful mother (That's right, my mom is great. Got a problem with that?) has helped me to realize that I have many options and plenty of time. Now, the second chapter in my future-freak-out saga: college. First, to all the teachers who spend their days telling us how high school is cake compared to college, YOU WIN!!! You've got what you wanted, I am scared of college. And to any other student out there, if a teacher says that they are not trying to scare you about college, THEY ARE A LIAR!!! They love to see the look of utter terror on your face as they spin tales of cram sessions and term papers. Which means I have given them countless hours of joy because I am freaked. I'm afraid of not being able to study long enough or write papers good enough. In short, I'M JUST PLAIN SCARED!!! Well, that's it. Thank you and have nice day!

Things I Don't Understand-#5) Pop-up ad
There is this system to get rid of pop-ups when you are on the internet. But how do they choose to advertise this system to lose pop-ups? You guessed it, a pop-up ad! I just can't help but laugh at the irony of it.

Things I Don�t Understand-#4)Chemistry/ Mrs. Chamberlain
Okay, this may take awhile, so try to stay with me. First of all, she had us do this worksheet with a lab. All the questions were basically asking why we thought something happened. We hadn�t studied anything, this was just our own opinion on why changes took place. Then she took a grade on it!! That�s like going to your first day in high school and at orientation they tell you, �Alright, all freshmen will be taking the ACT today.� When the assignments were handed back there was an answer that a lot of people missed, and she said, �Well I told you that in the demo that I did the other day.� Well what Poindexter doesn�t realize is that her demo was AFTER we handed in the assignment. Were we all supposed to sneak into her classroom before she graded the papers and change our answers? What are we? Ninjas? Second, all the posters she has us do. You would think that by my JUNIOR year in high school I would be done with art projects for SCIENCE. Well, you and I thought wrong. My poster board spending has increased 3,000% in the last six weeks. That is just plan wrong!! Finally, and this is more about Mrs. Chamberlain than chemistry, what is with the way she pronounces words. She was telling us about that website Ask Jeeves, and she pronounced it Ask Jeevies, with an E after the V. Doesn�t she understand the cleverness of the name. She has completely taken the wind out of the creative sails of that website. There I have vented all my anger. And if Mrs. Chamberlain should happened to have stumbled upon my website, I�d just like to say..... I meant no disrespect.

THE WAREHOUSE/BURGER KING ADVENTURE
Saturday night Jodi, Kristan, the Paddies, and myself decided to go to this teen club called The Warehouse in Charleston. First of all, anyone who knows me knows that my wardrobe does not come equipped with a "clubbing" ensemble. I own no halter tops, and I refuse to wear leather pants. Anyway, we decided to go check it out.
So we headed to Charleston, blaring the S Club 7 the whole way. Yes, you heard correctly, I own an S Club 7 CD. Wait, no, I own TWO S Club 7 Cds. Go ahead and laugh at what a loser I am, I'll wait.

Done yet? Nope not even close....

Okay, so we get to The Warehouse and as we pull up we see a minivan dropping of a couple of kids. We then start to worry that we will be partying with a bunch of 12-year-olds. We got inside and roamed around for a while. There was no dancing. It was basically a place for kids to hang out with there "crews". After five minutes in the building, we had already lost fifty cents to a broken foosball table. That last sentence basically sums up our entire experience at The Warehouse. Realizing that we didn't belong there, we decided to get our clubbing-virgin butts out of there.
We drove to Mattoon and found a place that was way more up to our speed: The Original Burger King. We ate, played some great tunes on the jukebox (i.e.-Hanson), and laughed at the fact that we fit in better at Buger King than we do at the teen club. We decided to return home and invade John and Jeff's house, because that is always enjoyable. Their sisters were having a slumber party, so we talked to their friends and hung out in the basement.
At 11:30 Penny, John and Jeff's mom, said that my car had been TPd. I went outside and found my beautiful Bonneville covered in toilet paper. We quickly tore off the paper and got in the car to look for people walking around. As we drove, we saw Amy O'Dell and some other people drive by. They quickly became our prime suspect, and I proceeded to follow them. After awhile, I think they realized we were following them and started speeding up. We were now involved in a high speed car chase. I decided that we needed some serious high speed car chase music: S Club 7. Finally, I turned so they would think I had stopped, only to cross paths with them again. Well, that plan came back to bite me in the ass when they ended up following us.
Eventually the chase ended and it was time to take everyone home. But we all agreed that we will always remember THE WAREHOUSE/BURGER KING ADVENTURE.

Things I Don't Understand-#3) Guys who break up with their girlfriends over the internet-aka: Guys who don't have penises.

The Hell That Was My Family Vacation.
On Sunday my family went to Milwaukee to see a baseball game. Unfortunately, it was 287 degrees outside with the sun beating down on us. After two innings my mom and I left our seats. She bought me a Root Beer Float and we stood in the shade. There is a T.G.I.Friday's Restaurant in the stadium really close to our seats. So mom and I sat there while watching the game on TV monitors. At the end of the game we drove south towards our hotel which was close to Chicago. Mom was pulling off the interstate to get gas when the car died. We were barely able to pull into the parking lot of - remember this is Wisconsin- The Cheese Castle. My brother and I were on the verge of suicide. Our dad called a cab so we could ride to O'Hare airport, rent a car, and drive to our hotel since the car wouldn't be ready until the next day. After a long stay at the lovely Cheese Castle, our cab arrived. Now, I don't want to sound like a snob, but upon seeing the driver I was not thrilled about riding in a cab with him for an hour. He had long red hair, and he was wearing a purple, tie-died wife-beater. The air conditioning in the cab didn't work so the windows were rolled down, sending my hair flying all over the place. We were in Chicago, and everyone in the cab (except the driver) saw an exit sign that said in bold letters O'HARE. The driver, or Cletus the Slack-Jawed Yokel as my brother fondly referred to him, kept right on driving. Nobody said anything, because we thought he knew what he was doing. Five minutes later he asked, "I didn't pass the exit, did I?" (My brother later asked the question, "How do you miss one of the largest airports in the world?") He then told my dad, "You tell me what to do, because I have no idea where to go." How did it suddenly become my father's job to find the airport when Bubba was the one who missed the exit? Then, the grandmother of them all, while driving he started to put in eye drops. Around this time my life started to flash before my eyes. I was remembering those stories on Dateline and 20/20 about people who make their cars look like cabs, pick up unsuspecting passengers, and proceed to murder and/or rape them. My dad told the driver to pull into a gas station so he could ask for directions. My dad got back into the car and told the driver what street to look for. After all of this, it seemed like the driver was angry with my dad! DUDE, YOU ARE THE MORON WHO MISSED THE EXIT!! Anyway, we finally reached the airport. My dad only had twenties, so he was forced to give the driver a tip. Does that blow or what? Dad and Chris went in to rent the car, while Mom and I stood with the bags, laughing at our misfortunes. We then rode the shuttle to our rental car. As we left the lot my brother told my mom, "If you severe tire damage this car, I will kill you." We arrived at our hotel around 11:00 or 11:30, and then fell asleep, ending our torture. And that ladies and gentlemen was my nightmare.

Things I don't understand -#2)Scooby-Doo
Why are Scooby and Shaggy so scared of the monsters? It's always some old man in disguise, trying to save his amusement park.

Things I don't understand -#1)Collagen lip implants.
A women seriously said to herself, "Men don't find me as attractive as I would like them to, my acting career is not working out, but I think all my problems would disappear if I had really big lips." I would love to meet the person responsible for that kind of reasoning.

I have decided to stop watching The Jerry Springer Show, because it makes me seriously depressed. The people on this show are ignorant, disgusting, white trash, yet they always have two people fighting over them. However, I think I am a reasonably intelligent, decent person, and I can't get a guy to touch me with a ten foot pole. I do not need this kind of emotional abuse, which is why I will avoid the show at all costs.

A while back I had a very interesting conversation with a young, male telemarketer. An outline of the basic conversation has been written below.

Me:Hello.

Tele(marketer): Hello. I am calling for MCI, don't worry I'm not trying to sell you anything. I just want to ask you a couple of questions. First, do you make most of you long distance calls in state or out of state?

Me: (guessing) Out of state.

Tele: Okay, and on what kind of installments do you pay your phone bill?

Me: I don't know.

Tele: Don't you pay the phone bill?

Me: No.

Tele: Then who pays the phone bill?

Me: My parents.

Tele: How old are you?

Me: Sixteen.

Tele: No way! You're not lying to me, are you?

Me: No.

Tele: So, that makes you a junior?

Me: Yep.

Tele: Wait, are you going to be a junior, or are you actually going to be a senior?

Me: No, I'm going to be a junior.

Tele: Oh my gosh. (laughs) So who is your special someone?

Me: (frightened) Nobody.

Tele: Nobody? Are you not old enough to date yet?

Me: No, I just...

Tele: Just haven't found the right guy yet?

Me: Uhh...yeah. That's it.

Tele: Okay. Well I'll let you go now. Bye.

Me: Bye.

I see two possible futures for myself and they are as follows:
1) I am a crazy, lonely old woman with a herd of cats. I spend my days writing letters to the characters of my "shows", warning them of forthcoming plot twists. Ex) Dear Bliss, I am writing to warn you that your long, lost identical twin Carlota has returned to Harmony Bay. She has come to kill you and assume your identity because she is in love with your husband Blaine. Carlota plans to take you to the cemetary to visit your fathers grave, but as you leave she will push you into an open burial plot, cover you in dirt, and bury you alive. Please, stay away from her!!
2)I marry a man named Bubba three weeks after high school graduation. During the day, I sell Gospel inspired, homemade knick-knacks (the 12 Apostles, 12 jar Spice Caddy is the biggest seller) on the side of the highway. At night, I go home to serve my unloving, ungrateful husband beer and Slim Jims while he watches Nascar.

My defense for listening to and enjoying the music of Aaron Carter:
I have no social life, I am all alone in the world, and I have a bleak and meaningless future on the horizon, so if I choose to indulge in the sugary sweet pop of Aaron Carter in order to avoid going on a shooting spree, then so be it.