The Blonde and The Beard
What a busy month February will be for me!
And that’s how I open my first blog entry for the second – or more popularly known as the “romantic” – month of the year. But truth be told, my February 1st was draining –
mentally draining, that is. I got to school and was slapped with a schedule and list of projects good for the whole month. What in the world was that? Our professor is apparently unavailable because of more important matters. It pissed me off because: 1) one month? Seriously?; 2) I haven’t learned anything worth knowing about the subject; and 3) one month? Are you kidding? But what the heck, college isn’t college without shits falling from time to time.
Here are other reasons why February is and will be my half-most favorite half-least favorite month (so far):
Legally Blonde, the Musical. One of the things I like about the school I’m attending to is their annual Literary Musical. From what I’ve learned with the help of my annoying queries, Literary Musical is like the College Intramurals/Sportsfest. But in the case of LitMus (this is how they call it), students are grouped according to the majors their taking and will present a musical performance (thank goodness, this isn’t sports) in the most creative way they can to impress the judges. Think of a talent contest and
Glee combined. And for the Institute of Liberal Arts: AB Broadcasting, our assigned director Mikko Angeles (the only dude I personally know who acts on stage, which makes him a hundred times more awesome than other dudes) proposed us several popular musicals that we can adapt and present:
Legally Blonde,
The Rocky Horror,
Hairspray and
In the Heights. I have chosen
The Rocky Horror because: 1) it was once shown in
Glee; 2) it was part of Charlie’s life in
The Perks of Being a Wallflower (Stephen Chbosky); and 3) it is the freakin’
Rocky Horror. Enough said. But only .00069203% of the AB Broadcasting students voted for this particularly eerie but epically epic musical.
Legally Blonde won by knock out. So
Legally Blonde and Elle Woods, it is.
I’m not sure yet how we’re going to pull this off with just a 5-8 rehearsal days. But we can do and win this! We have Mikko as our director and Marion Pagcaliwagan as Elle Woods! I may be unsure about the tight schedule we have, but heck, I’m sure we can make this work. So what if we win? I don’t think there is a tangible prize, but bragging rights are enough. I will update you about LitMus, promise.
Literature Reporting. I’m excited for this, really. I love Literature and nonstop message relays. I’ve gotten the hang of class reporting, and weird stares from classmates sitting in the first and second rows, and inattentiveness from those who are at the back of the room, and my body’s reaction (massive blushing and inconsistent pulse rate) while talking infront. I’m excited because I seriously want this to already end. Prolonging my jitters won’t do me good, will it?
Draining-like-laundry-machine Softball Practices and Friendly Matches. If I’ve already gotten the hang of reporting,
this – this thing we do to pass Team Sports while excrutiatingly killing ourselves in the process – I haven’t. I have something to tell you though: as much as I’m hating myself for being such a weak player in every physical game imaginable, I’m quite...
enjoying this game. Just this Friday, we had a friendly match with the College of Teacher Education students, and guess what guys? A ball (and yes it was the mushy ball again) was pitched, I swung, I missed. The second pitch came, I swung, I hit, I ran to first base without getting tagged (and yes, I know this game and the terms already). Another batter batted, she missed, but I was allowed to run to second base, I got there safely. The same batter batted, she hit; the defense team all scurried to get the ball; I ran like a mad killer to third base, I almost got tagged, but I got there first by a painful millisecond; I accidentally stepped on someone’s foot, I said sorry, he said it was okay. A new batter batted, she missed till third pitch and was struck out. I held on to my base. Another batter batted and had the same fate with the one before her. And still I held on. The team was out (what’s the right term again?). My team was out.
I was out. I didn’t get to home plate. Such a fate.
Yes, I only got to third base. No home run, guys. Although I would have wanted to complete the bases and give my team a score, third base wasn’t at all bad. I was so happy about what I did that I suddenly had the flicker of a hope that, maybe, I could pass Team Sports and not have a written-in-bloody-red-5 in my scholastic card. And I hope my teammates could, too.
Valentine’s Day. What can I
even say about this.
Semi-finals Exams. Meh.
One more month (plus several days) till The Hunger Games movie release. FTW! I will see you in the Seam and the Arena, Zandro and Kathleen. Peeta Mellark, I will buy and eat your breads till I become as broke as your backyard mouse and as green as one of Katniss’ people from her prep team. Liam Hemsworth, please be a good Gale Hawthorne. Jennifer Lawrence, I trust you completely. Seneca Crane, I will finally witness the glory of your fantastic beard.
And oh, by the way, Wonda has already been born. She isn’t that ready yet ‘cause she still hasn’t bloomed to an acceptable-by-blog-standard way. But she will, soon enough. And I swear by the berries, I will tell you about what the results of these things (or shits, perhaps) are in my future posts. Have a good and romantic and fantastic-as-Seneca’s-beard February everybody!
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a woeful & chaotic diary since 071409
The Blonde and The Beard
What a busy month February will be for me!
And that’s how I open my first blog entry for the second – or more popularly known as the “romantic” – month of the year. But truth be told, my February 1st was draining –
mentally draining, that is. I got to school and was slapped with a schedule and list of projects good for the whole month. What in the world was that? Our professor is apparently unavailable because of more important matters. It pissed me off because: 1) one month? Seriously?; 2) I haven’t learned anything worth knowing about the subject; and 3) one month? Are you kidding? But what the heck, college isn’t college without shits falling from time to time.
Here are other reasons why February is and will be my half-most favorite half-least favorite month (so far):
Legally Blonde, the Musical. One of the things I like about the school I’m attending to is their annual Literary Musical. From what I’ve learned with the help of my annoying queries, Literary Musical is like the College Intramurals/Sportsfest. But in the case of LitMus (this is how they call it), students are grouped according to the majors their taking and will present a musical performance (thank goodness, this isn’t sports) in the most creative way they can to impress the judges. Think of a talent contest and
Glee combined. And for the Institute of Liberal Arts: AB Broadcasting, our assigned director Mikko Angeles (the only dude I personally know who acts on stage, which makes him a hundred times more awesome than other dudes) proposed us several popular musicals that we can adapt and present:
Legally Blonde,
The Rocky Horror,
Hairspray and
In the Heights. I have chosen
The Rocky Horror because: 1) it was once shown in
Glee; 2) it was part of Charlie’s life in
The Perks of Being a Wallflower (Stephen Chbosky); and 3) it is the freakin’
Rocky Horror. Enough said. But only .00069203% of the AB Broadcasting students voted for this particularly eerie but epically epic musical.
Legally Blonde won by knock out. So
Legally Blonde and Elle Woods, it is.
I’m not sure yet how we’re going to pull this off with just a 5-8 rehearsal days. But we can do and win this! We have Mikko as our director and Marion Pagcaliwagan as Elle Woods! I may be unsure about the tight schedule we have, but heck, I’m sure we can make this work. So what if we win? I don’t think there is a tangible prize, but bragging rights are enough. I will update you about LitMus, promise.
Literature Reporting. I’m excited for this, really. I love Literature and nonstop message relays. I’ve gotten the hang of class reporting, and weird stares from classmates sitting in the first and second rows, and inattentiveness from those who are at the back of the room, and my body’s reaction (massive blushing and inconsistent pulse rate) while talking infront. I’m excited because I seriously want this to already end. Prolonging my jitters won’t do me good, will it?
Draining-like-laundry-machine Softball Practices and Friendly Matches. If I’ve already gotten the hang of reporting,
this – this thing we do to pass Team Sports while excrutiatingly killing ourselves in the process – I haven’t. I have something to tell you though: as much as I’m hating myself for being such a weak player in every physical game imaginable, I’m quite...
enjoying this game. Just this Friday, we had a friendly match with the College of Teacher Education students, and guess what guys? A ball (and yes it was the mushy ball again) was pitched, I swung, I missed. The second pitch came, I swung, I hit, I ran to first base without getting tagged (and yes, I know this game and the terms already). Another batter batted, she missed, but I was allowed to run to second base, I got there safely. The same batter batted, she hit; the defense team all scurried to get the ball; I ran like a mad killer to third base, I almost got tagged, but I got there first by a painful millisecond; I accidentally stepped on someone’s foot, I said sorry, he said it was okay. A new batter batted, she missed till third pitch and was struck out. I held on to my base. Another batter batted and had the same fate with the one before her. And still I held on. The team was out (what’s the right term again?). My team was out.
I was out. I didn’t get to home plate. Such a fate.
Yes, I only got to third base. No home run, guys. Although I would have wanted to complete the bases and give my team a score, third base wasn’t at all bad. I was so happy about what I did that I suddenly had the flicker of a hope that, maybe, I could pass Team Sports and not have a written-in-bloody-red-5 in my scholastic card. And I hope my teammates could, too.
Valentine’s Day. What can I
even say about this.
Semi-finals Exams. Meh.
One more month (plus several days) till The Hunger Games movie release. FTW! I will see you in the Seam and the Arena, Zandro and Kathleen. Peeta Mellark, I will buy and eat your breads till I become as broke as your backyard mouse and as green as one of Katniss’ people from her prep team. Liam Hemsworth, please be a good Gale Hawthorne. Jennifer Lawrence, I trust you completely. Seneca Crane, I will finally witness the glory of your fantastic beard.
And oh, by the way, Wonda has already been born. She isn’t that ready yet ‘cause she still hasn’t bloomed to an acceptable-by-blog-standard way. But she will, soon enough. And I swear by the berries, I will tell you about what the results of these things (or shits, perhaps) are in my future posts. Have a good and romantic and fantastic-as-Seneca’s-beard February everybody!
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a woeful & chaotic diary since 071409
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Already several months had passed, and I am missing
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry more and more each fleeting day. There are just some things in life that we can never forget – especially that something that had given us knowledge, skills, strong relationships and a second home. I am glad that everything in the magical world is now at peace, since Voldemort (yes, I can now say his name; no need to be afraid) had died. I had secretly admired Tom Marvolo Riddle (Voldemort’s birth name) though, because of his intelligence, passion and love for magic. Wasn’t he very clever to think of and conjure his seven
Horcruxes to preserve his life, or form a clan of
Death Eaters who were very loyal to him and would give up their lives just for him to succeed? Not everybody can acquire that much loyalty from people these days. I do not, however, admire him for the way he had carried out all of his plans. He had a good agenda, his means just weren’t morally right. But he still is one of the darkest wizards of all time… and let’s leave it that way.
Oh, for all those who are baffled of what I’m saying here and who the heck I am, my name is
Christine Faye Ordas, and I am an alumnus of Hogwarts. I came from the bronze-and-blue-clad house of the smart ass witch Rowena Ravenclaw and her dictum
“Wit beyond measure is a man’s greatest treasure.” And yes, I know the wonderful Luna Lovegood (she’s such a darling) and Harry Potter’s first crush Cho Chang. I had just left Hogwarts last May. Right now I am trying to pursue a career in magical researches, literature and writing. It’s my dream to inscribe intellectual books, publish and sell them in
Flourish and Blotts for the future Hogwarts students’ use. I am also planning to credibly write for the
Daily Prophet, the magical world’s primary news bulletin. And of course, I will be very much honored to contribute to Mr. Xenophilius Lovegood’s
Quibbler (hence, my interest in magical researches). I have always found the Lovegoods a fascinating family, and I bet working with and for them will be very exciting. Or maybe, in Merlin’s beard’s time, I can write legends and bedtime stories like the famous – and wickedly brilliant – Beedle the Bard.
And that’s how my life goes these days. I am utterly missing my old school, my friends, the Great Hall, the bronze eagle knocker just outside the Ravenclaw common room, Professor Flitwick (the head of our house), Hogsmeade, the Quidditch matches (although I didn’t actually play for the house), the moving portraits, the castle ghosts, the pumpkins on Halloween, the giant pine trees on Christmas, Rubeus Hagrid’s (Hogwarts’ gamekeeper) tea and treacle fudge – even the crabby Argus Filch (Hogwarts’ caretaker) I miss. Maybe I can visit the school grounds sometimes and see how the magical world’s been doing since Voldemort died (I’ve been spending my months in the muggle world, you see). I’ve heard everybody’s been moving on and starting all over again; the ministry is back on work under Kingsley Shacklebolt; and Harry Potter’s scar haven’t been disturbing him since.
All is well, indeed.
And because of that, we should celebrate and drink firewhisky! Oh, I still don’t drink firewhisky; I can take butterbeer or tea or pumpkin juice – just not firewhisky, please.
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