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 Post subject: annoyingly normal
PostPosted: Saturday 3 July 2004 4:25:58pm 
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If looks could kill, I’d be more than dead. I’d have arrows of fire shot up my nose, my insides splattered across the walls and tiny little men would be dancing on my bleeding corpse.

This was one of those times in life when you have just two choices, well actually lots of choices including jumping out of the window, pretending to be dead or simply crying. It’s so annoying how these things never occur to you until after the event, on second thoughts maybe its better I didn’t choose any of those, no window, and do they allow corpses to attend school? And if I’d cried then I would not only have had the humiliation if EVERYONE seeing me being shouted at, but also they would see my beetroot blotchy face and dangling snot globule.

The two choices my distracted mind could think of at the time were 1) say something devastatingly witty and cool, to show her up for what a truly spiteful stain she was, possibly running away before she understood what I meant, but in the process earning myself very much needed street-cred and possibly a bit of a reputation, or 2) back down, kiss her sparkly white trainers, admit that I was wrong for breathing and she was right about everything and that the sun really did shine out of her posterior, the earth undoubtedly orbiting her head. Well I suppose it is big enough to warrant a slight gravitational field.

Needless to say, I backed down. Kissing the kappa though was not something I was willing to do so just a grunted sorry and a very rapid retreat had to suffice. Making a quick getaway has never been one of my greatest talents however; in fact walking quickly has always been a bit of a problem, my coordination and balance is comparable to that of a new born donkey. Tripping over myself isn’t something I find particularly difficult.

This was a spectacular tumble, even by my standards. After turning to flounce defiantly away, trying to retain some kind of dignity and self respect I caught my toe on the heel of my patent black leather shoes. The shoes that I had to wear because “they were practical”, it didn’t matter that they two sizes too big, “you’ll grow into them” or that they were yet another cause for people to ridicule me and my non existent fashion sense. My futile attempts at convincing my mother to shop somewhere other than ‘cut price shoes are us’, in the ‘cost-low’ section of the arcade have all sadly been in vain.

I wish I could say my fall happened in slow motion and I gradually struck the floor but I actually hit the deck in light speed, landing like a heap of telephone directories. Not bouncing. I sat up, scraped the hair from out of my face and turned to look as the pages from my, soon to be graded A, “Shakespeare’s London” essay were scattered around and trodden underfoot by the cool kids (in their cool shoes).

Melissa Katz threw me a ‘don’t mess with me or this is what happens you mere mortal’ sneer and trounced off, flanked by her sour faced handbag toting, gum chewing wannabe teenage mums.

No, I wasn’t her favorite geek in school, but I was no longer the one she actively pursued and wished death upon. It may sound extreme, but she did wish death upon me. On the few occasions when I have had to unavoidably visit the ashtray they call a toilet it has been there, clear for everyone to see, “MEL iz aftar looeze I wil kil u hore”. Stupidly, the thing that most annoyed me about it was the lack of care taken with the spellings and grammar. I even considered correcting it once, but even correcting graffiti is in my eyes, still vandalism and the mere thought of that makes my eyes water.


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PostPosted: Saturday 3 July 2004 4:33:11pm 
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ha haha, good stuff han, very funny

is there more? keep going


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PostPosted: Thursday 8 July 2004 7:18:02pm 
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i like it, v. funny :grin:


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PostPosted: Saturday 17 July 2004 11:25:57pm 
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I suppose the grudge started in English, my favorite lesson, though not unfortunately Melissa’s.

I never asked to be good at English, although I must admit I do feel a certain tingle of triumph when my essays are rated top of the class (and year…. not that I’m boasting). Obviously the joy at my success isn’t often shared with the rabble; the one it most seems to infuriate is Melissa. I suppose it’s hardly surprising, seeing as my consistency in getting high marks is matched only by hers in getting low ones.

It was stupid of Miss Appleton to suggest that I, Louise Miller give that awful Melissa Katz some help with her essay. Normally I wouldn’t mind but Melissa Katz! How could I be expected to house train, let alone educate that Neolithic ignoramus?, someone who takes great pleasure in pulling the wings off flies and exclaiming with glee “look now it’s a walk” , one of the few people who I find completely intolerable, and as for her intellect I mean talk about thick as shi…

Melissa nearly choked on her chewing gum and there was a loud thump as the usually swinging legs of her chair were returned abruptly to the floor.

Evidently I had been thinking out loud and the hearing of Melissa Katz, usually inactive during lesson time had latched on to the sound of her name.

I felt my face heat up, I was going red. When I blush, it isn’t just my cheeks; it’s the whole of my pudgy face, neck and ears. And it isn’t a gentle pinky colour that normal people go either; it’s the full red of ripe tomatoes. It runs in my family, my aunt Edith is continually in this state, Tomatofied.

The bile was beginning to rise in my throat, and I could feel an asthma attack coming on. I tried to discreetly open the Velcro side pocket of my washed out school bag. I don’t know if you have ever tried opening Velcro discreetly. It’s impossible; you only result in a prolonged and irritating ripping sound. Gradually, one by one, the whole class turned to look at me, my tomatofied face now started throbbing and I was desperately fumbling around for my inhaler. Still, Melissa glared at me. Although not fully understanding exactly what I had said, she was able to comprehend the main gist and she was not a happy bunny.

Finally I felt the cold hard shape of my inhaler and was able to relent my rummaging and withdraw my hand, grasping it securely. I’d forgotten about the fruit pastels I’d left in there last summer. Three of them were stuck to the side, each supporting its own mini eco system of hair and fluff. I thought my face may actually explode at this point and I’m positive it must have had a purple tinge as the famously unsympathetic Miss Appleton suggested I take myself to the toilets to sort myself out.


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PostPosted: Saturday 17 July 2004 11:38:51pm 
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ha ha ha
keep going


it is very funny han


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PostPosted: Monday 26 July 2004 4:15:42pm 
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Supreme Pie-Eater, Registered Animagus (Platypus) and Princess of All Pink Grapefruit

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:lol: love it, han lin. keep writing!


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PostPosted: Saturday 28 August 2004 5:45:24pm 
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Nothing ever goes wrong independently. Its my deep rooted suspicion that fate, karma, back luck and bad hair days all conspire to make what could just have been a comfort food and soppy movie kind of day into hoping a giant hippopotamus or grand piano would miraculously fall from the sky and crush you to death kind of day.

So there I was, the thick smoke of the toilet further aggravating my, by now quite advanced asthma attack and also making my eyes stream. My eyes and my nose seem to be activated on the same circuit. Some design fault that means whenever one starts, the other surely follows.

I puffed in on my inhaler held my breath and then felt my airways begin to relax. My breathing slowly returning to normal, I ventured a quick look in the mirror. My throbbing red face was now accompanied by big streams of snot and my eyes had swollen up like radishes. I looked rather how I’d imagine the red teletubbie to look after its gone 10 rounds in a ring with an angry bull. I needed to, in the words of Miss Appleton, “sort myself out”; first I needed to wipe my eyes. I cringed as I knew I’d soon be rubbing my eyes with economy “qwik wipe” toilet tissue, not dissimilar in texture to sand paper.

I ventured into the first cubicle, but quickly retreated, the smell alone made me quite giddy and it made me squirm to think of the lack of hygiene. The second cubicle, though more promising than the first, I could quite clearly see the bottom of the toilet pan and the seat seemed clean, had no toilet tissue.

I had hoped I wouldn’t need to look in the third cubicle. It’s well known that the third cubicle is the territory of the –look at me I’m giving myself cancer but I look so cool doing it- smoking brigade. Tentatively pushing open the door, I was tensed and ready to run at the slightest sign that anyone could come in. I fumed as I looked at the piles of ash and small round burns on the toilet seat, we don’t piss in their ashtrays, why do they feel the need to misuse and vandalize our public convenience?

I reached to the dispenser for the qwik wipe and had difficulty in extracting a whole sheet; it’s so thin it usually tears in the middle rather than at the perforations. When I’d finally obtained one, after several failed attempts, I decided I needed at least two, because one sheet would simply disintegrate in my hand, or rather on my face, leaving little balls of tissue. Cause for yet more ridicule and embarrassment.

Just as I was triumphing in my victory over the demon dispenser and its well protected qwik wipe, the outside door of the toilet banged open. I silently cursed myself for getting so wrapped up in my own mini victory against the dispensary apparatus that I neglected my basic aim: not to be found in the third cubicle.


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PostPosted: Friday 3 September 2004 10:26:12pm 
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Without thinking I locked the door. It’s ironic how the only toilet never used for its correct purpose has the only working lock. I was just pondering this when my presence was discovered.

“Oi right,” Oh no, I instantly recognized the whining voice of Melissa’s number one, Natalie Spencer. If she found me in here she’d probably cut me up and feed me to her jail bait brothers. I froze, scarcely daring to breath, which in a post asthmatic state is easier said than done. “Dat drink you wonid right iss in my locker” What? Drink? I was only puzzled for a moment. “So you meet me at harf free an get it right?” oh no, she thought I was one of her cronies, at least this meant she didn’t know I wasn’t and she wasn’t about to break the door open and cut me up. “Awrite see ya Melz bye”. bu***r. She thought I was Melissa. Not one of the monkeys, but the organ grinder herself.

I made myself count to twenty three after I heard the door shut behind her before I slid back the bolt of the door, made my attempts at ‘sorting myself out’ and left. Why twenty three, I don’t know. I’ve always had a strange fascination with prime numbers. Sometimes I even surprise myself with how nerdy I actually am.

I glanced at my watch and was horrified to see that I had been absent from my lesson for a total of seven minutes. I quickened my pace and began power walking to get to class as soon as I could. I turned my head down and concentrated on marching up the corridor. I was thinking up exactly the right excuse to use on Miss Appleton when I walked straight into Mr Crimp.

Had it been any other teacher, they would have let me on my way, possibly even laughing about it with me, but this was Mr Crimp.

Mr Crimp or Chimp as I like to call him (obviously not to his face) is a testosterone excreting, ape-like P.E teacher. His knuckles graze the floor as he walks and he has to wear Velcro shoes because he hasn’t the mental capacity to cope with shoelaces.

A teacher like this has absolutely no time for a slightly over weight, academic high flyer with no interest whatsoever in physical education.

I was forced to explain my presence in the hallway, and after sneaking a look at my watch (now showing that I had been missing for eight and a half minutes), I decided that drastic action was called for. The one weakness that all male teachers share is that they cannot bear to hear about any kind of feminine problem. Using this very much to my advantage, I tore my wandering gaze away from his crotch, for it was there my eyes were transfixed, as though by some horrific car accident. It crossed my mind to wonder why all PE teachers wear such tight shorts, I suppose its one of the great unanswered questions.

“I was in the toilet sir, I ….had to go, you see I …..”

At this point he abruptly cut me off coughing and turning slightly pink. I was warned not to let it happen again, (and how exactly was I supposed to do this?)He also ordered me to remember my PE kit for next lesson.

When I resumed power walking, I found, much to my relief that within afew steps I could leave Mr Crimp’s distinctive aroma behind me, a delectable mix of stale vegetables and too much cheap deodorant that had more of a stynx effect than anything else.

After finally reaching the door to Miss Appleton’s classroom my watch displayed clearly that I had been gone for a grand total of nine minutes. With a deep breath and an apology on the tip of my tongue, I turned the handle and stepped inside.


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PostPosted: Saturday 9 October 2004 5:12:47pm 
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To my surprise and great relief, no one noticed me come in. This relief soon turned to horror as I realized that the whole class’s attention was focused on Melissa, who was rummaging around in my bag.

Why is the teacher never present on these occasions?

With a wicked screech of glee, Neanderthal Mel held her arm above her head, greedily clutching something in her grubby paw.

My heart actually stopped. I know it’s a medical impossibility, but at that moment, I was even ready to defy science.

“ERE look Loueez az a weslife CD”

Oh….Dear…..GOD.

Of all the things in my bag she could have possibly picked out to use as a prop with which to ridicule me (and believe me there were a few) she had to pick the absolute worst one. Westlife. At this point, I’d just like to say that the CD does in fact belong to my sister, and that I was only borrowing it.

I had never before been happy to hear the bell signaling the end of lessons, the shrill ringing sound punctured the dry atmosphere of the classroom and luckily I was very soon forgotten in the mad rush to get out of the door.

As usual, I was the last to leave the classroom but unusually I wasn’t smiling. I had achieved nothing during the lesson except self humiliation; I silently cursed asthma and Westlife for co-conspiring to bring me down. Whilst picking up the scattered contents of my bag (Westlife CD smashed into 4 pieces under cool shoes), I only managed to find small comfort knowing that even though I had missed nearly a whole English lesson, I was still a term and a half in front of everyone else.


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PostPosted: Saturday 9 October 2004 7:01:45pm 
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i liked it, especialy since I know how it feels to be "Louise"

Keep it up Han Lin!


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PostPosted: Tuesday 12 October 2004 9:09:32pm 
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I’ve never been superstitious (touch wood) but some things really give me the willies. I never like stepping on cracks in the pavement. I have no idea why I started doing this, probably some habit I picked up as a pre teen so I’d be cool. There is nothing real to be feared from cracks in the pavement, it’s not as if I’d ever be lucky enough to fit down one of them. Much more likely, my weight would further crack the floor causing multiple cracking and a broken ankle. Brilliant.

I also don’t like to walk under ladders. This fear is perfectly rational, as when I was ten I was casually strolling under a ladder when a half full pot of paint landed on my head. At first I thought it was quite funny, but soon I discovered that pink masonry paint doesn’t wash out. I really was the bell of the year six disco with my DIY mullet, yet another cost low solution from my economizing mother.

There are a lot of temporary classrooms at Hardpark comprehensive, you know the sort, porta-cabins with cardboard walls and foil roofs. It just so happened on this day at three thirty, one of the foil roofs had to be repaired so a workman was up a ladder doing whatever it was that would fix the roof.

The ladder was propped in such a way that if I wanted to walk to the front gates, I would have to walk directly underneath it. Everyone else seemed not to notice the ladders presence and were perfectly at ease walking under it. I, on the other hand was stood about a meter away from it, weighing up the possible pros and cons of it. I could get seven years bad luck, the thought of that didn’t really bother me, its more likely the workman would drop his hammer on my head. On the other hand, I could get out of school quicker and home away from Melissa and the turmoil of the day.

My thoughts were very rudely (I thought at the time) interrupted by the sound of raised voices. They were coming from around the far corner of the porta-cabin. This made up my mind, I have always been nosey and never until this moment had I understood why curiosity killed the cat.


As I drew nearer I was able to make out voices, one was Melissa’s and one I couldn’t quite place. I soon became able to make out the odd word, and I wormed my way to the front of the thickening crowd gathered around the spectacle.

“I’ve been suspended cuz of you” YES finally one of them has been suspended. Justice at last.

“narrh you ain’t wheres my drink?” Underage drinking, appalling.

“Got took by Gardener din it?” (At this point I feel the need to say that ‘Gardener’, Brian James Gardener is our head teacher)

“ wot? Why din you giv it ta me?”

“I TAWD you to be at moi locka at harf free, wen you wasent there I Ad ta bring it all myself an 2 litres of voddy aint easy to shove up your jumpa” the stupidity of these people makes me wonder sometimes.

“you never tawd me!”

“ I DID. In the toilets second lesson” oh dear.

“I neva went toilet second lesson” Oh dear

“yes you did, I sed t ya” Oh dear

“It waz hur, dat loueze” Oh dear. Moving backwards through a crowd is very difficult, especially with lots of people turning to stare at me. I was begging Melissa not to notice me. Luckily for me, Natalie is very slow.


“narrh it waz you man”

“IT waz ur”

“callin me a liar?” that’s it I thought, fight amongst yourselves forget all about me, while I make a quiet getaway.

“Lu, oh LUEY where are you?” no, please no. mum, no I’ve told you before about this. Oh god...

“Dat one der she iz” ok, my seven years bad luck had officially started. I had Melissa on my back again and my mother had appeared to collect me safely from school. I thought my reputation and street cred couldn’t get any lower. I was wrong.

I made a run for it; for once my shoes didn’t let me down. I ran straight past my mum, hoping anyone who cared wouldn’t know we were together and jumped into the backseat of my car, immediately flattening myself against the upholstery, making myself as inconspicuous as possible.

My mother seemed to take an hour crossing the school yard and getting to the car but eventually she got in and started the engine.

“Oh Lu, I was out there calling you, you ran straight past me, you mustn’t have seen me”

“Uhhuh” I was still preoccupied watching Melissa and the gang making obscene gestures at me through the window, amazing how they are easier to understand using sign language than words.

“So did you have a good day at school?”



*meg boyd thankyou very much i'll try to be around a little more. nowhere i;ll be too noticed though i'm busy like a bee i'll be ghosting though. message from a bird - he says have fun in ravenclaw*


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PostPosted: Wednesday 13 October 2004 1:14:56am 
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Head Girl, Ravenclaw Prefect and Maker of Witty Random Statements Since 1986 A.D.
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another great installment han lin, and i know how it is too be busy (I am a first year student in university)!!!! See you around!


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PostPosted: Sunday 24 October 2004 9:26:44pm 
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i really want to write more to this story but hi have no idea where to go from here urgh! any ideas feel free to PM me!


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