1. The affliction of one or more being a loser.
2. The social disease I suffer from.
Saturday, June 5th ~ My Bedroom, 5:00pm
There are ten things I must achieve throughout my sad, sad existence before I die of loserdomness:
1. Stop only being known as Nate or Philip's little sister.
2. Get Ethan Stanford to notice that I'm alive, not to mention stalking him like a homeless puppy.
3. Figure out a way to look boy-ready while playing soccer like Kimmy does.
4. Get my hair to stop having a mind of its own. (If I wanted to be a frizz ball I would exchange Dad for Cousin It.)
5. Convince Mom that just because she chose the vegetarian lifestyle, it doesn't mean I did or that I want a burger any less. Go meat!
6. Stop biting nails
7. Stop biting lip when nervous
8. Become popular
9. Get a boyfriend
10. Grow a freaking chest before I'm mistaken for a guy!!!!! (My long hair has prevented this from happening so far, but with guys growing their hair longer...who knows.)
Saturday, My bedroom, Bored
There are ten reasons I will never accomplish any of these goals:
1. Nate and Philip are sport stars while I trip over my feet merely walking. Or breathing.
2. Ethan is only two years older than me but could pass for a college student. Any Good Samaritan might mistake him for a pedophile if we ever went out. Maybe. Probably.
3. As stated earlier (reference number one on Why Not list) I fall over too much. That takes a serious toll on a girl's hair.
4. Genetically speaking, I might as well be related to Cousin It.
5. Mom would faint, die, and come back to haunt us for eternity if she heard Dad and I went for emergency McDonalds runs at least twice a week.
6. Life sucks, might as well take it out on my nails.
7. Biting your lip makes it pinker, like a natural lip stick...
8. Loserdomness is deadly.
9. Guys are afraid of catching loserdomness so they stay clear.
10. If Mom, Aunt Jeanie, and Aunt Justine are any indication, bosomness skips every other female in my family. Cousin Missy has enough for all five of us.
Still Saturday, Still in my room, Still bored
I really need to lock my bedroom door. My parents complain about my grades, but when you live in a zoo - minus the flying poop thank God - how are you expected to concentrate? Let me explain to you how very sad my life is.
"Did you touch my equipment?" Nate asked, storming into my bedroom quite rudely if you ask me.
"No, sorry but I don't believe in incest," I said, never looking up from Mom's Cosmo. No wonder she hides it away from me, it's all about sex. It's sad to know that my mother reads this inappropriate filth. I mean, she's a forty-year-old mother of three, she shouldn't be reading up on any new sex techniques. Eww. At least I have Lindsea's mom for a proper maternal influence.
"Whatever dweeb, just don't touch my stuff," he grunted.
"It's impossible for me to be a dweeb, I'm a woman." I said with a smirk.
Of course Nate was all "What do you mean freak?" in his loving brother way. Well, being myself and being unable to keep my big mouth shut, I explained to him - in simple terms and without any big words so he could understand - what the real meaning of dweeb is.
Sadly, my comeback backfired because now Nate and Philip think I'm a pervert. All I did was point out to Nate that I can not possibly be a dweeb since "dweeb" is acronym for the phrase "dick with eyebrows". Even Urban Dictionary says so! OK, maybe that's where I originally got it from, but still, that's not the point.
Saturday, World War III Zone, 6:00pm
Parents are useless. Not that I didn't already know that, but now it turns out that Dad "borrowed" Nate's soccer equipment for his The Prime Ninjas (yes, that is really their team name. It's prime as in-the-prime-of-their-life. Yeah that's a joke) practice on Thursday. The problem is that Dad has the memory of a pea and left it there. I would go see what color Mom's face is, (red, blue, purple?) but I'd rather paint my almost-nonexistent-nails right now.
"How could you be so irresponsible Jonathan...?!?"
Red or Pink? Hmm, red nails are classic...