Feast Day

Although I was brought up a catholic, belief in any god is much to be desired. But, to my despair, since my first year of schooling I have attended a catholic institute, which means it is compulsory that at some point in time during the year we attend mass. The fact that about 98.06% of the entirety of my school aren't even remotely religious, including the teeny tiny problem that almost everyone below the age of 30 nowadays is either skeptical, oblivious or just outright does not believe in god, only remains a small issue and not at all a reason to not be religious, according to my school. So alas, church attendance is compulsory.

The patron saint of my school's feast day was celebrated this week.
Which means two things:

• 2 hours in a church that smells like old people and incense
• 2 hours at a park in the eastern suburbs in the smoldering heat that contains a fenced off, designated swimming area of murky bay water. PLUS, a hectare of grassy area that has transformed into dirt, covered by spiky parts of trees that  have fallen down and stab your bare feet with every step

Oh bliss.

This entire week consisted of signs being plastered all over the school, warning us about immediate detainment upon the sight of "short-shorts, midriffs showing and busty tops" on our person. We were attending church, fancy people from around the state were going to be there. For Christ's sake a priest was going to be present. But, much to the schools prevail, at least 1/5th of the school was in the aforementioned apparel. I'm not sure if anyone has not witnessed a sight such as a teenage girl wearing clothes such as this, but if you have not, count your blessings.

Obviously this an exaggeration and a massive generalisation. But you get the gist of it.
Funnily enough, girls that dress like this remind me of orangutans in underwear.

But moving on.

Girls who entered our front gate were greeted by our cheerful AP bearing a ream of bright blue afternoon detention slips. Feeble attempts to get around the detentions made by incorrectly dressed girls were made. Crying, insolence, answering back, running away, fake names, the lot. They all got what they deserved.

They could be seen in the pews of the church spitefully sporting the school's green P.E track pants.

Suck. Shit.

The duration of the mass causes a fluctuation of emotions for me. I shift between looking wistfully into the distance like a proper immaculate virgin, pondering the contents of my lunch time sandwich, and staring deep into the eyes of the priest, principle or guest speaker with a horrible disgust and disinterest. Plus, I'm not even allowed to sit next to people I know that'll risk further detainment. Bugger all.

After the liturgy, the whole school was given snap wrist bands with a new learning infrastructure printed on them skillfully, using default microsoft word fonts. Thank-you, school! It's just want I wanted! Happy Feast day to you too!

1000 girls boarded buses to the picnic area, thankfully getting out of the church encompassed with Australian heat. C'mon climate, it's spring, not summer. You fool.

The arrival at the picnic brought with it mass consumption of junk. Personally, this is what a feast day is all about, feasting on feast day is one archaic tradition that I wish was still intact. But by George, I love teenager metabolism so, so much.

My three favourite people in the universe- Daenerys, Kanye and Hermione, plus some other gals and I, made our way over to the barricaded bay, floated in the water for a bit, shouted and got moody at some juniors for splashing us and then covered Daenerys in pretty shells.

Aside from making unintentional, unspoken judgemental comments about high school gremlins covering themselves in copious amount of tanning oil and strutting around in the bay in denim and jewel encrusted underwear, I also witnessed one of the most hilarious incidents in which a junior managed to walrus flop onto the sand bank. I cannot begin to describe the hilarity of the situation. Except it looked a little like this.  

I spent the entire day with a rendition of  song by Sparkadia entitled "China" that I had accidentally made up, embedded in my head. "HE FINGERED HER VAGINAAA" is not appropriate to sing with flourish in public. Damn my immaturity.

That night, I attended a concert of some sex gods called Boy and Bear. Aside from the fact a relatively new young couple in front of Daenerys, Kanye and I, were chewing bits of flesh off each other in an attempt to be seductive and that I was also surrounded by teenage pheromones and anonymous farts, I had a brilliant night, dead centre stage.

Here's a sexy image of Dave Hosking. If you didn't notice, he's very sexy.

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Intro

I've never completely understood how or why every private school girl on the planet shares the same attitudes, behaviours and intentions of every other. I'm almost certain that if extra terrestrial life was discovered on an exoplanet in the far off universe, the private school girls that reside on that exoplanet would have exactly the same attitudes, behaviours and intentions of ever catty private school girl on Earth.

The school that incarcerates me has a population of about 1000 girls. FYI, that creates a median of about 500 bitch fights a day. I like to call it Hell. On some days, I wake up, entreat to not attend the prison, am defeated, enter the hell hole and wish I was chilling with Hades or Lucifer. 

Don't get me wrong, my school is fabulous. My teachers can be kind (key words: ''can be") and are very good at filling our heads with copious amounts of information to pass exams and enrich our lives beyond school. The girls inside though, they're a different story. I mean, we're ranked very high up in the State for our results and we get assortments of awards and recognition and superficial ranks like that. Which realistically only make our chins go even further up our arses. Essentially, we're stuck up and we're proud of it. But internally, away from teachers eyes, it's practically nightmarish.

So, academically, I love my school. I honestly, really do. My education is the sole reason for my existence. Without it, I probably would be dead 16 times all for various reasons in which the lessons that caused my survival were learnt in school.

Having said all of this, the primary purpose of this blog is to complain. Not to brag about academic achievements of my school, but to whinge to my little 16 year old hearts content about my high school and the contents within. Realistically, my worries consist of whether or not my family has completed the morning's sodoku without me being able to copy it out, or if I'll exist for long enough to read every single Sherlock Holmes book, or if I've put so much guacamole on my taco that'll it'll want to plummet off. Seriously, if they're the extent of my worries, my life is so beyond brilliant and fortunate and beautiful and wow honestly in retrospect, my life is fantastic.

I am in the final term of my second last year of school. My 13th year of school will be full of procrastination, study attempts and an abundance of cramming of literature, equations, texts, technical Latin names and well, the list goes on.

This blog is a vent attempt to stop my brain from slipping in to a pyschosis.

Enjoy.