First of all I would like to say that I do NOT want to write a diary. Not at all. But this is our English assignment at school so I guess I have no choice unless I want to get screamed at by Mr Bacov, our English teacher. Isn’t it funny how his name is actually “vocab”, as in vocabulary, backwards? And guess what, dumb diary, we have to write in you – this puny little high school 99p notebook bought at the newspaper shop – everyday till Thursday, as if a day wasn’t bad enough.
Anyway, he says we have to use lots of descriptive language, which, by the way, is teacher talk for saying, “Just use words that describe things, for heaven’s sake”. So fine then, I will. Mr. Bacov is in his late thirties (though he looks as though he could be my nana, good grief.) He has a moustache the size of the Amazon rainforest and he smells like my Papa’s Colgate mouthwash. Well, his breath does. He wears blue shirts rolled up at the sleeves and a tie, a normal one though once at Christmas he wore a green and red one with snowballs which was hilarious. He has real bad handwriting, and once he wrote his “v” like a “n” and everyone thought he was Mr Bacon, which was his nickname for a couple of months. What else? Oh yeah. He also shouts at me (and other people too) for not doing homework and doesn’t accept excuses. He also says my grammar and spellings real bad but who cares? I sure don’t.
I know that there’re a couple of mistakes already but like I said, everyone makes mistakes.
I have to go for dinner or else Momma’s gonna nag me. She’s a real good nagger. I think she ought to win the Nobel prize for naggin.
Today we went over to my nana’s house and had dinner there. She’s a real good cook – one bite of her Yorkshire pudding and it’ll send ya flying. Today Mr Bacov said we had write about what happened today at school. Nothing much happened. But there was this cute all-American-boy who moved in town and got to be in my friend Shania’s class. Lucky thing. Shania thinks he’s hot. I wonder if they’re gonna start dating soon. Speaking of dates, I borrowed a book from the library called Mates, Dates and Fates. It’s this awesome book on mates that go on dates but end up in Greek times with the fates.
Rats. It’s nine in the evening and I still have to do my maths homework. Ditto German. And ditto Geography. But I guess I’ve done my English so I’m pretty productive…
Ok, it’s nine fifty two and I’ve done a bit of German revision for our pop quiz, a Geography worksheet and I am totally stuck on maths so I guess I’ll call Shania for help.
It’s ten. Shania isn’t home…maybe she’s gone dating. Anyways, I’m gonna go to Facebook to get some help. Or I’ll sleep. Anyways…I’ll have to go so bye!
Shania WAS out dating (at MacDonald’s, believe it or not) and she came home at 2 in the morning and was groggy and cranky, so she did not help me at all. A good friend SHE is. So I got yelled at by Mrs. Hoskins, and I had detention. I’m doing my English real well. I am also finished with my book, which is real quick for a slow reader like me. I read all of it in detention. Plus I did some of my History. AAAAAHHHHH! German test tomorrow so gotta go study!
It’s 8 in the night now. I’m bored. My little bro Ryan is coloring in his little coloring book (he’s doing an Elephant but it looks more like an alien) and momma’s on the phone with her friend Melanie, which I am to call Ms Robinson, and Papa’s reading the financial times. I’ve done all of my homework and since I’m an angel (literally) I will help with the hovering.
I can’t believe what’s gotten into me. I am soooo weird. I am writing in this dumb diary of mine, and it’s HOMEWORK and I’m actually trying hard, for once. And I broke up with Shania, who has been my bff since I started going to Clayton High School.
What is wrong with me??? Shania and I have never had a tiff. Not even when I started hogging her boyfriend (before Tiao, the all-American-boy superstar from L.A.) Mick and not even when she had her ears pierced without me when we specifically said we had to do it together. And not even when she put a whoopee cushion under my bed and videoed me sitting on it and then uploaded it onto YouTube. And not even when I spilled a Shirley Temple all over her best white dress that makes her look amazing.
It’s late. I better get to bed.
Today we went out for a fancy Italian restaurant with Ryan. Momma had spinach salad and MINERAL water (ewww!!!), Papa had beef lasagna and some beer (typical), Ryan had a kid’s meal which had broccoli (he did not eat it), mashed potatoes (he flung this on the walls), peas (he started flicking them at me but Momma told him off severely) a cheeseburger for toddlers, and a carton of Kool Aid. Talk about kids. I had some Penne Cabonara, a diet coke and some salad.
Afterwards as we headed back home Ryan complained that there was a stone in his shoe and we had to stop by the ice cream stand, and then took his shoe off… and surprise, no stone! And then Ryan said he HAD to have some ice cream other wise he wouldn’t walk and Momma said only if he made his bed tomorrow and he put on his pouty face and said fine. Papa bought me one too, which I thoroughly enjoyed even though obviously I already make my bed every day. Papa then said we had to get a move on so I ate my ice cream.
Ryan dropped it on the floor and then cried and demanded for another one, but everyone said NO, so he didn’t have one. Tough luck, loser, I muttered.
Now I am stuffed full and so, goodnight!!!!
I am so excited as I write this as today we had to hand our diary. And I got an A minus! That is the best grade I have ever received for English. Mr. Bacov put a comment too: Well done Johanna, you have certainly expressed feeling and put lots of descriptive language in your diary. Good job! I was tempted to give you an A, but since you made a lot of grammatical mistakes, I gave you an A – since you impressed me a lot.
Well aint that awesome! Momma and papa were pleased. Ryan was not. He did not like the bit where I criticized him. We’re going to go shopping at Wallmann’s tomorrow. I am going to buy a nicer notebook and continue you, my dear diary.