"I don't think that being a strong person is about ignoring your emotions and fighting your feelings. Putting on a brave face doesn't mean you're a brave person. That's why everybody in my life knows everything that I'm going through. I can't hide anything from them. People need to realise that being open isn't the same as being weak."

- Taylor Swift

Wednesday, September 30, 2009

You're at the right blog, don't worry.

I just changed the skin because I'm bored.

So don't freak.

Most Romantic Man EVA

This is the couple I was talking about a couple of posts back. The gorgeous peeps that BROKE UP dude.

And she became queen and he married some weird anorexic chick. Lovely.

The clip below is when he's being especially soppy - just watch the first bit because you probably haven't watched the series and probably won't get it. Just watch about five and a half minutes, which is about half of the video. The other half won't make sense.

Anyway, don't you think he's the most ROMANTIC MAN EVA!!!!


I won't kill ya. Pinky promise.


Okay, I know who LN is now. Gosh, you didn't have to be so bloody cryptic. I know I'm good with words, but not that good. Also, I read your comments at about 1 in the morning, so I was just like 'LN? LN? Who the fuck is LN? I don't know anyone called LN!'

And it is only now I realized a mother wouldn't be so stupid as to call her child 'LN' - unless you're related to ET. Lol.

I still have no bloody clue who 'Anonymous' and 'Caramel' is. A hint, guys. Please.

Tuesday, September 29, 2009

The Kind of Girl I Am...

...I am the kind of girl who eats more than her dad. And all her guyfriends. And any potential boyfriends.

...I am the kind of girl who people think is either very intelligent but acting stupid or very stupid acting intelligent.

...I am the kind of girl you can never class, never grade, never generalize and never stereotype. I am me.

...I am the kind of girl who doesn't really care about most things, except bad grammar. I can't stand bad grammar.

...I am the kind of girl who loves Kiwis (I used to have a celeb crush on Karl Urban. You can't love Kiwis more than that) but I really hate the accent. I'm Australian, and it drives me nuts.

...I am the kind of girl who can put up with people being intentionally annoying but I get pissed off so easily at uncontrollable things, like sneezes and coughs.

...I am the kind of girl who considers a bowl of icecream a nutritious meal. Well, it has calcium, right?

...I am the kind of girl who considers eating anything less than two jumbo eggs and two pieces of burnt toast is skipping breakfast.

...I am the kind of girl who reads deep into some things and just skims through everything else.

...I am the kind of girl who reads labels of milk cartons when I'm bored.

...I am the kind of girl who is the only one in the car that can read everything on a street sign when the car is going 100 km an hour.

...I am the kind of girl who gets hungry every two hours.

...I am the kind of girl who is not affected by coffee. I'm beyond caffeine.

...I am the kind of girl who will believe everything on the internet and nothing someone tells me in person.

...I am the kind of girl who loves cooking but can't cook.

...I am the kind of girl who believes if it's good enough to eat, it's good enough to put in your hair or on your skin.

...I am the kind of girl who loves the theory of exercise, just not the practice.

...I am the kind of girl who is really unhealthy, but hates lollies. I am one of the only unhealthy people I know that doesn't like lollies.

...I am the kind of girl who wishes regularly she was a guy.

...I am the kind of girl who is the kind of girl I am.


There is this sort of expectation to move on suddenly, emotionlessly, if you like someone but they don't like you back.If you're not over him, you're laughing stock - especially if he's hooked up with someone else.

Which is something I seriously don't get. Love is not something that you can fall in and out of at will. So what if I'm not over the guy who's never going to be interested in me? It's not anyone else's problem but mine. It's bad enough that they don't like me, but to get teased because I'm not over him in about sixty seconds is just crazy. And the teasing is always from boys - what do they know about this stuff? Boys at this age aren't heartbroken, they're just heartbreakers. Seriously.

And I know I always fall for boys out of my league, but it's not like I have much of a choice. It's not like I can point at a guy who might actually like me back and say 'I'll fall in love with him', because love doesn't work like that. I don't know why people have such a big problem with it, but I'm used to love being a one-way thing. I don't see why they find that I like some guy so funny, because when they like someone they're drop-dead serious.

And don't you think I have it hard enough already? It's hard when all of your friends have boyfriends except for you. It's hard being in love with someone who doesn't love you back. It's hard having guyfriends gush about a girl...a girl who is not you.

It's hard enough without the ridicule. Seriously.

Monday, September 28, 2009

Back from the Bush

Okay, I haven't got a clue who LN or Caramel is, but I have a feeling that 'Anonymous' is Jesse or Ryan...please let me know if I'm not on the right track.

I've just gotten back from a three day camping trip, which was, as always, fun, exhausting and dirty. Hygiene really is a low priority of four wheel driving camp trips, so it was so nice to have a shower and wash my hair after two nights and three days surviving without flush toilets, running water, internet or electricity. Compared to all the grubby four-year-old boys running around like crazy I'm such a prissy city girl, but I'm not that bad. At least I can survive without a straightener for a weekend - which is more than what most girls I know can say. I actually can't remember the last time I used a straightener, and the only time I used a curler was for my prom last year.

I'm gonna go and write another post now, so I'll be back in about sixty seconds. Trust me.

Friday, September 25, 2009

13 + 3 Things I have learned from three terms of being thirteen.

I have been thirteen for three entire school terms.

Just one more to go. Yipee!

I've learned a lot over my three terms of being thirteen. Thirteen things, in fact. Thirteen plus three:

1. Tummy tuck undies do not work. They're tight enough to be uncomfortable but not tight enough to do anything.
2. The best guys are always found in detention. That way you're guaranteed not to get a pommy brat. Not an after school detention, because then they're a bit too wild, but the ones that get lunchtime detention have just enough rebel in them.
3. Never expect any more than friendship from a friend. It only hurts when you want more.
4. Bad days are always followed by good days.
5. Always shake a deodorant can before spraying.
6. Pilates is bloody painful, but it does work.
7. There is no halfway house when it comes to teachers - you either love 'em or hate 'em. There is no such thing as a cordial relationship with teachers here.
8. There is an enormous difference between the two coffee machines at our school - pay a dollar sixty and you get a midget cup of grey water with soap bubbles floating on top, pay forty cents more and you get a larger, half-decent coffee.
9. Intentional or not, all thirteen-year-old boys are heartbreakers.
10. The same thing can be said about fourteen-year-old boys.
11. The more you're attacked, the more you rebel. It is the only way to survive.
12. Music is food for the soul and literature is food for the mind, and both are as important as food for the stomach.
13. When in doubt, rebel.
14. Never trust people who change sides. Once a bitch, always a bitch. Once a bastard, always a bastard.
15. Never trust anyone. Because if you take their advice and succeed, they get all the fame, but if you take their advice and fail, you get all the shame. All your successes should be your successes, and all your failures should be your failures.
16. The rough road leads to paradise, the smooth road leads to hell.

And now you're probably thinking I can't count, or I don't know my own age. That's not true...I said thirteen...plus three.

Hah, tricked you!

I probably didn't, but a girl can dream.

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

Reading Deep.

As a writer myself, I have great respect for all writers of all kinds. Authors, novellists, journalists, bloggers, poets...

Lyricists. Especially lyricists.

For me the true essence of a song, especially songs nowadays, is not in the music, which is mostly synthesized and heavily edited and digitally embellished. In this day and age, the most pure, most human part of a song is no longer the actual music, but the lyrics. There is no way around writing lyrics if you want a song that can be sung to. No matter what, someone must think up words to be set to the music.

And there is so much you can say in a song - so many things you can say that, if it weren't in a song, would be so cheesy. You can show how happy or how sad you are, how heartbroken and depressed or elated and over the moon you are, whether you're off with the fairies or down in the dumps. Things that are so hard to tell people normally without getting criticized, you can say in a song.

And, if you come from a music background like me, I find it easier to get over something if there's a song I can relate to. Whenever I'm so down, or so high, that I'm at loss for words, I post a song on this blog. I always hope that people could see songs the way I see them...

But no-one does.

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

Miss Sophisticated Singapore

These are the kind of people I hail from.

And they say I'm tacky...

Sunday, September 20, 2009

Narrow Minds, Empty Hearts.

Narrow minds,
Empty hearts;
Peaceful souls,
Unknowing eyes.
No destiny to fulfil,
No dreams to pursue;
Happiness never found,
Never lost.

Open minds,
Broken hearts;
Restless souls,
All-seeing eyes.
Impossible destiny,
Impossible dreams;
Happiness ever present,
Never there.

Oh, be some other name...


Do not just sign yourself as 'Anonymous' of you want to comment.


Because I value your comments so much - it's the only way I know my blog is actually getting read - but, to be honest, I haven't got a clue who the hell you are if you're just 'Anonymous', because I have so many of those floating around on my blog.

If I know you, please list your name or some other way of me recognizing you, and I don't know you...just put a name or nickname or whatever. Please. Anything but anonymous.


Saturday, September 19, 2009

And with a kiss, Romeo dies...

I've just watched the legendary Zefirelli version of Romeo and Juliet.

It's beautiful - despite the fact most of it is men in tights. That aside, it's really breathtaking.

But it makes me sad to think that when Juliet gets her Romeo, girls nowadays can only dream of someone like Romeo Montague. They don't make men like they used to - poetic, passionate, dashing heroes like the ones in storybooks. The kind of men that Shakespeare would have seen, not just dreamt of. The kind of men our world needs, and the kind of men that have died out, replaced with the kind of brats you find today, the kind of brat I'll probably end up marrying.

'Never was a story more of woe
Than this of Juliet and her Romeo'

I can think of one...

Teardrops on My Guitar

Thursday, September 17, 2009


I have been trypanophobic for as long as I can remember. I can't stand injections. I really can't.

Trypanphobia is basically the fear of injections - and I am truly terrified of them. I constantly get bullied and teased by it, and even those who should know best, those supposed nurses and doctors and medical professional personnel, think I'm a wimp.

I don't think I'm a wimp for being scared of injections - you would too if you were me, and, anyway, there are a lot more pathetic things to be scared of.

When I was little, I spent a little time in hospital, and an operation is inevitable in the near future. But, I'm not scared of hospitals. Sure, I don't really like them, nobody does, but I'm not scared of them.

Operations creep me out a little, especially considering 4000 people die in Australia alone simply because of operation errors, stupid things like leaving tools in a patient's body! You'd think they'd notice a big silver metallic thing amongst the blood, but, obviously not...
I'm also not thrilled about the idea of anesthesic awareness, which is a scarily common thing where anesthesia doesn't work, and you're paralyzed but you feel everything. And if you aren't paralyze, doctors inject you with shit that does make you paralyzed, and then convince you afterwards you just had a nightmare and, if that doesn't work, beg and grovel and bribe you not to sue and keep your mouth shut.

It's a lovely society we live in these days.

But back to needles. I can't stand it. I just think it's so crude to jab shit into people, in this day and age and in our world of such advanced technology. It's so barbaric.
I'm also not so crazy about the pain - I can't stand it. Other pain I can deal with, but not needles. It's because it's the only physical pain another person inflicts on me - other pain is just the shit my body goes through. But to willingly inject someone is just sick.
It's not the blood - it's the idea, the whole concept of injections, the pain, and the endless bullying, trauma and general unkindness I've learned to associate with needles.

Everyone is so unsympathetic - wimp, loser, baby, crybaby, mummy's girl - I've heard it all before. Medical staff are a little more classy, and bitchy, with their vocabulary - uncooperative, impudent, immature, disruptive, even cheeky - but what's so cheeky about a five year old girl who's just come out of hospital being scared of needles? Maybe if I had gotten the support I needed my phobia wouldn't be so bad.
And I can't trust people about to inject me at all. 'This won't hurt a bit' is one phrase that means, in my head 'It's going to hurt like death ten times over' and they threaten me, embarass me, humiliate me in front of all my classmates, and then call me a crybaby. One nurse even told me to shut up when I started crying.

And then MW - the fat idiot who goes to my school - teased me endlessly about it - and he still does. At my old school, we had pins to denote whether we were student councillors or whatever, and the boys would take off their pins and corner me, shoving them near my face and waving them in front of my eyes, or grab my wrists and poke my arm with them. And I was screaming, terrified, and the teachers just said 'don't be such a baby' and to 'stop making so much noise'. What the fuck? Well maybe I'll get something you're scared to bits about and wave it in front of your face. Is it snakes? Well I'll grab a bloody python and shove it up your arse. I'm not scared of snakes, and I don't give a fuck whether you're scared of needles or not. I am. And I'm not ashamed of that.

People don't understand that people can die from trypanophobia - there's a syndrome called VVS, when the sudden plunge in blood pressure, which is a learned response to needles and injection related-trauma, that kills several people each year. My phobia has become so severe that I literally have to be forced to get injections and blood tests, and I scream the whole time. It's not funny.

But everyone seems to think it is.

Wednesday, September 16, 2009


I have a more personal reason for being a feminist.

Every day, love lets me down. And as I become more disillusioned with love, the more disenchanted I am about men. What can inspire a human being to not only reject someone, but to rip out their heart, tear it to pieces, dunk it in acid and then stuff it back in? What justification is their to cause someone so much pain? How can they do it so guiltlessly?

I know, it's not just men. But, because I'm neither a guy or a lesbian, I can only fathom how much pain women inflict. But that's no justfication. I know so many people who say 'well, this chick's just trodden on my ego so I'm going to rip someone else's heart to pieces', or cruder sayings to that effect. What's wrong with the world? Why do we look for opportunites to be so inhuman?

My mother always told me you never compare yourself with the worst - only with the best. She always told me it doesn't matter how horrible everyone else is, I always have to be the best person I can. Lowering yourself to their standards is disrespecting yourself and what you can do.

It's not that everyone's mother is worse than mine, it's that people who chose to hurt people like me don't listen. But, I guess, what comes around, goes around...

Monday, September 14, 2009

When There Was Me And You

I know, it's High School Musical. I'm a dorky biatch.

I don't care.

I'm Wrong.

School tells you that you're wrong, every day. That you're stupid. You're crazy. That everyone else is so much better than you.

If you like spending all your evenings researching the anatomy of an atom, then my school is totally for you. If you like doing university-standard maths in your early teens, then my school is definately for you. If you like going to bed at eleven and waking up at four, then my school is the thing for you.

School tells you over and over that you're a loser, that you can't keep up, that no matter how hard you try, you never try hard enough. Even if you change your supposedly bad ways, your past comes back and bites you on the bum. Letters and detentions meant to be dealt with months ago come out just when you're reforming, and then you get in trouble again.

There is no privacy at school. They watch your every move, and punish every minor thing, real or imaginary - and yes, most of them are imaginary.

And I can't stand people yelling - at me, or at anyone, unless I really hate the person getting yelled at. I am terrified of yelling - I have too many bad memories of people screaming their lungs out at me. And they yell at me, left right and centre. I'm always guilty until proven innocent, wrong until proven right. They yell at me for things that happened way in the past, things they've already yelled at me for, and for things that are purely in their imaginations. I've been through a lot of shit, and I think I'm pretty tough, but I can't stand people yelling - I just break down. But if I do, I'm a wimp. If I cry, I'm shirking responsibility, being childish and petty and foolish, being weak and trying to get sympathy votes. If I somehow manage not to cry, I'm hardened, brazen, impudent, rude and an ungrateful whore.

Have they ever considered just how hard it is for me to be a good student? Maybe they should stop burying me under crippling pressure and maybe give me a little help. They don't let people with dyslexia just crash and burn like they're letting me do. Have they ever considered that I'm not lazy, or intentionally disobedient, just misunderstood? Have they ever seen my side of the story? Have they ever admitted that maybe, just maybe, that sometimes I'm right and they're wrong?

Saturday, September 12, 2009

Books That Every Thirteen Year Old Should Read

  1. Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen
  2. Mao's Last Dancer by Li Cunxin
  3. Wild Swans by Jung Chang
  4. To The Edge of the Sky by Anhua Gao
  5. Harry Potter and the Philosopher's (Sorcerer's) Stone by J.K Rowling
  6. Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets by J.K Rowling
  7. Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkhaban by J.K Rowling
  8. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire by J.K Rowling
  9. Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix by J.K Rowling
  10. Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince by J.K Rowling
  11. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows by J.K Rowling
  12. Twilight by Stephenie Meyer
  13. New Moon by Stephenie Meyer
  14. Eclipse by Stephenie Meyer
  15. Breaking Dawn by Stephenie Meyer
  16. C'est La Folie by Michael Wright
  17. Wishful Drinking by Carrie Fisher
  18. A Little Princess by Frances Hodgson Burnett
  19. Dragonkeeper (Dragon Keeper) by Carol Wilkinson
  20. The Garden of the Purple Dragon by Carol Wilkinson
  21. Dragon Moon by Carol Wilkinson
  22. Just Tricking! (also known as Just Joking! or Just Kidding!) by Andy Griffiths
  23. Just Annoying! by Andy Griffiths
  24. Just Stupid! by Andy Griffiths
  25. Just Crazy! (also known as Just Wacky!) by Andy Griffiths
  26. Just Disgusting! by Andy Griffiths
  27. Just Shocking! by Andy Griffiths

Left Out.

I really don't mind not being in the loop. I really don't. I really don't care who's going out with who, who likes who, who doesn't like who anymore. I have better things to worry about.

But then people look at me like 'you seriously didn't know that?'

And then they talk to me like I'm some mentally retarted five year old or something, or ignore me completely. And I'm just thinking 'I seriously didn't know that because you seriously didn't tell me'.

I have no problem being the loser, the freak, the nerd. I really don't care anymore. If people don't want to include me in things, then that's their problem. If people don't like me because I like Star Wars and High School Musical or I'm best friends with my mum, then maybe I don't want to like them.

But people can't have it two ways - I can't be both in and out of the loop. You can either tell me things and expect me to remember them, or don't tell me things and expect me to be ignorant. You can't expect me to research which anorexic chick is going out with witch muscle-brained guy.

Because I'm not like that.

Wednesday, September 09, 2009

You're Talking, Therefore You're Not Sick

The ability to speak is not a indication of health. Seriously.

I had a really bad headache during P.E this morning - I don't know whether it was the cold weather, or living in the same house as my sister who's sick, or food related - but I was feeling really lousy, so I was sitting out with the other girls who were 'sick' - there is always at least someone. We were chatting a bit, just a little bit, because we are friends, and then my P.E teacher ordered me back onto the court because apparently I 'wasn't sick because I was talking'.

What the hell? That's like saying to someone who's shrieking in agony 'you're not in pain because you're bad at maths' or something, which someone has said to me, strangely enough. I really hate it how people link completely unrelated things together, like my teachers who seem to blame everything from me not doing my homework to not wearing the right coloured socks to my year nine English, therefore they come to the conclusion that in order to make me wear the right coloured socks they should dock me off year nine English. They'll do *anything* to dock me off year nine English.

Monday, September 07, 2009

I Want My Own Love Story With Cheesy Acting and Happy Endings

Many people often ask me how I feel when it comes to guys. BSC, 'the boy' in Rain...

You know what? It's pretty much like this, sans the cheesy acting...and happy ending.

You Belong With Me
Taylor Swift

You're on the phone with your girlfriend,
She's upset,
She's going off about something that you said;
'Cause she he doesn't get your humour like I do.

I'm in the room,
It's a typical Tuesday night,
I'm listening to the kind of music she doesn't like;
And she'll never know your story like I do.

She wears short skirts,
I wear t-shirts,
She's cheer captain and I'm on the bleachers;
Dreaming about the day when you wake up and find,
That what you're looking for has been here the whole time.

If you could see that I'm the one who understands you,
Been here all along,
So why can't you see you belong with me?

Walking the streets with you and your worn-out jeans,
I can't help thinking this is how it ought to be;
Laughing on a park bench thinking to myself,
'Hey, isn't this easy?'

And you've got a smile that can light up this whole town,
I haven't seen it in a while since she brought you down.
You say you're fine,
I know you better than that;
So what ya doing with a girl like that?

She wears high heels,
I wear sneakers,
She's cheer captain and I'm on the bleachers;
Dreaming about the day when you wake up and find,
That what you're looking for has been here the whole time.

If you could see that I'm the one who understands you,
Been here all along,
So why can't you see you belong with me?

Standing by,
And waiting at your back door;
All this time,
How could you not know?
You belong with me.

I remember you driving to my house in the middle of the night,
I'm the one who makes you laugh when you know you're about to cry.
I know your favourite songs,
And you tell me about your dreams,
I think I know where you belong,
I think I know it's with me.

If you could see that I'm the one who understands you,
Been here all along,
So why can't you see you belong with me?

Standing by,
And waiting at your back door;
All this time,
How could you not know?
You belong with me,
You belong with me.

You belong with me,
Have you ever thought just maybe you belong with me?
You belong with me.

Saturday, September 05, 2009

Uncensored Much?

I swear, sex is part of every subject except maths.

In primary school, we were so sheltered. If someone even mentioned a sex-related word the whole class would be in fits of giggles. Here, in my English class, day in day out, we talk about how sexuality is portrayed in books and movies. Everyone has a straight face.

Here the sex-ed is a lot more full on, but it doesn't bother people. Maybe it's just our school that's gotten over the whole silliness of the matter, or maybe it's just some strange effect that high school has on you - the same effect that makes you uninterested in playing games at lunch like we did in primary school.

And school has suddenly become so much more...dangerous. In primary school we weren't allowed to handle anything more dangerous than butter knives, and even they had to be the plastic kind that can't even cut through tofu. Here we do woodwork with hand-held saws that could just as easily cut through someone's neck as it does the pine and cut bits of plastic on a bandsaw designed to kill. "Keep your fingers away" the teacher said casually, which is impossible because your fingers have to be very close to the rapidly moving blade to maneouver millimetre-wide bits of acrylic - "It will cut the tips of your fingers off"

From then on we got the boys to cut the acrylic for us.

Thursday, September 03, 2009

...because they really have nothing else to do.

Teachers and politicians here really have nothing to do.

Our new premier (boo Liberal! Why the hell did they kick Alan Carpenter out?) has decided to spend millions of dollars (all taxpayer's money, of course) doing a really thoughtful, useful, task that desperately needs doing.

He's changing an effing logo.

Are you serious? There is so much stuff in our state that needs doing and he decides he doesn't like the logo used on the signs of all the government department thingamajigies so he's friggin changing it. And it's not a simple job either - it's a big buck project. He could spend that money building the new women and children's hospital to replace the old ones that are about to explode from overcrowding, or at least do something about the fact that most people consider Australian children to be dumb and sadly we have the statistics to prove that. We are in the middle of a financial crisis here and he wants to spend our flipping money changing the old logo to the national emblem with the emu and kangaroo.

I swear, these people really have nothing to do.

Teachers apparently have nothing else to do either, because this week is uniform inspection week and they're cracking down on anyone out of uniform. The thing is, our school is not the kind of school where people break rules outright (much), so they're reduced to giving out infringements (get three and it's detention) to people with the wrong coloured socks on. I mean, who cares? My school is supposedly a government school, yet we're expected to dress as though we're a friggin private school. Who cares if a guy wears white socks and a girl wears black socks? I know it's meant to be the other way around but we all have better things to think about then sexist sock colours. We're pretty well behaved for a high school, I must say, but they're really pushing it, you know. Most of us aren't the kind of people who will take this kind of shit quietly - in fact, the more times they do ridiculous things like this the more likely we are to rebel. You'd think they'd have learned their lesson by now, but they haven't.

In other news, I hope I get a good mark for my science project, which involves making a 3D model of a cell. I made mine out of jelly, with lollies embedded inside it (there are two layers) to represent all the shit inside the cell. Nice idea, but it didn't really turn out the way I planned.

For starters, I used an Asian jelly called agar-agar, which is popular amongst vegans and vegetarians because it is made from seaweed extract, rather than pork fat like most other jellies are made of (yes, most jellies are just flavoured fat). Agar-agar sets a little, okay, very cloudy, so consequently you couldn't see all the stuff inside the jelly. So my mother, who helped me made it, made it so I could lift part of the agar-agar off so you could see all the lollies inside.

It looked revolting.

Agar-agar is only liquid when it is hot, or at least warm, and sets as soon as it gets cool. So when we poured the agar-agar over the lollies, the marshmallows melted a little, and the colour from the gel lollies leaked into the jelly. Part of the jelly was also bright orange-red, so you couldn't see the big red lolly that represented the nucleus.

When I took the cover off, it was revolting. First, the smell hits you like an unflushed toilet. The seaweed extract smells disgusting, and mum made an extra concentrated mix for my project. Mixed up with the sickly sweet smell of the lollies, it was vomit-inducing.

And it didn't look too pretty either. The marshmallows had melted and you couldn't see the gel lollies because they had become the exact same colour of the jellies. The piece of licorice in there had absorbed all the water and became fat, wet and soggy, looking like something out of a dead animal.

I got top marks for my understanding of a cell, but it wasn't the prettiest project. Worst off, though, the school publicist was in the room with us, taking pictures of the projects for magazines and such. When she came to my table, she wanted to take a picture, so I quickly put the top part of the jelly back on so that it didn't look too much like a pile of dog sick.

"No, no, take the lid off" she said impatiently
"I'd rather not" I said "It looks revolting"
"Come on, take it off" she insisted
"Really, I'd rather not..." I protested feebly
Then my science teacher came around and told me to take it off, so I didn't have much of a choice. The publicist took tons of pictures, whilst I smiled weakly in the background.

They never take pictures of my good work. Only my bad work.