My Term 1 grades (those I have gotten back, that is) are satisfactory, except Chinese, for which I got a 2.4, thus bringing my grade point average to a mediocre 3.6! No, honestly, really bad, considering everyone’s supposed to score really high for Term 1 to offset the damage later on. I just came up with the theory to keep my swinging emotions dormant and unenthusiastic. I’ve topped two tests this year already, probably a new high, unlikely to be broken again.
Also, everyone’s starting to notice my blog even though it has been boring and unamusing for quite some time now. SEE? NO PUNCHLINES ANYMORE, GO AWAY.
Today after RE, Byap and I were out of school, on the way to the bubble tea store. I got a call.
Pay: Where are you? Come to the pool now [for swim carnival heats] Are you coming?
Me: Uh, no, maybe…
Pay: Fuck you, come quickly!
Me: Yeah, okay, bye.
So I went to the library with Byap, instead of SWIMMING FOR THE HOUSE like I should have done, because (and therefore) I was feeling like shit on two legs. Sometimes I see those disproportionately scrawny/fat math and science geeks walking around with plates of chicken rice, looking pathetic and stupid. Maybe I’m not so different from them, except that they don’t fret about getting a GPA of 3.6, and some of them at least have girlfriends and cash and hidden drug imports in their bedroom.
The library was really sad. After awhile we started playing Spot The Chick-Lit Book as we went through the many aisles. Chick lit is really easy to spot, and they all look the same. They’re all in bright colours, with either part or a whole woman on the cover, or a flower, or a random piece of female accessory or lingerie. They all deal with devastating life-shattering issues, like being fat, being flat-chested, divorce, breakups and (under the pen of really really cruel writers) marriage. If they were made into movies, they wouldn’t look out of place in Hollywood.
It’s amazing how much chick lit there is in the library. It was practically chick lit, chick lit, chick lit, thriller, chick lit, chick lit, whole shelf of chick lit, sci fi, sci fi, chick lit – etcetera. And why not? To have not much talent and still find a ready market – totally awesome! Going the J K Rowling way, no doubt, but moolah is moolah.
I reckon it’d be easy to write chick lit.
Me: “Yeah, so Draco and Neville are together, and Harry and Ron and Fred are together right? But Ron pisses Harry off, so he’s like, “IT’S OVER!” and then he goes and falls for Hermione -”
Byap: “Who was actually in a relationship with Ginny -”
Me: “Yeah, then they go and get married! But at the wedding McGonagall turns up, and…”
And I can’t remember much of the story. Apparently Harry and McGonagall have a baby named Severus Albus though.
Sarcasm tag up, because I don’t want any more flamers. Who knows, maybe some chick lit advocate will get insulted. “Chick lit is NOT like that! Chick lit is real lit too! It has feelings!” Next they’ll be claiming that Mas Selamat exists.
Ha ha, ha ha.