Parent-teacher conferences and I do not get along.

I have a bad history with them. It started off in 4th grade, when my split-class 4th/5th grade teacher told my parents I hadn't turned in my poster about the human digestive system. I'd forgotten about it until the day it was due. Wow, the car ride home was not fun.

In 5th grade, my 4th/5th grade teacher told my parents that I had not completed my chapter summaries for the book, Joey Pigza. I didn't know the due date until--what do you know?--the due date. I clearly recall locking myself in the bathroom bawling my eyes out for two hours upon getting home.

In 6th grade, my ancient civilizations history teacher kindly informed my parents that I had a D in his class because I did not turn in my notebook for his periodic notebook check. The reason I did not turn it in is because I lost most of of my notes from his class because most of them were on loose-leaf sheets of paper rather than actually in the notebook. I was a wreck.

In 7th grade, my honors English teacher told my parents that I had a D in the class because I was receiving zeroes on multiple homework assignments. Funny how I'd actually completed them and just forgot to turn them in. My parents were relentless in their scolding.

In 8th grade, my Geometry teacher told my parents that I had a C in the class because I was doing poorly on tests, which was a first for me. I bombed the first two tests of the semester because I didn't realize I had them until he handed them out in class and I thought, I'm screwed. My mom stayed up with me until early morning to make sure I was caught up on all the material.

In 9th grade, my Japanese teacher told my parents that I was not turning in my homework assignments. My parents were not happy. On top of that, my honors chemistry teacher told my parents I was not turning in homework assignments. My parents were furious. I made plans for my funeral on the way home.

In 10th grade, my honors English, AP European history, Biology, and music teachers told my parents I was at the top of my class. I was happy about this. Then I learned that my AP Calculus teacher told my parents I had a B- in her class because I had missed several homework assignments. And my Chinese teacher told my parents I had an A-- in her class because I had missed almost all of my homework assignments. Oh boy.

I don't like parent-teacher conferences. Much as I try, I can never pull my act together enough for my parents to hear nothing but good news from my teachers. My mom and I were discussing this today. She said that I was at the top of some of my classes, but I needed to work on Chinese and Calculus. I told my mom (half-jokingly) that I was at the very bottom of my Chinese class with my A--. This is funny because there are only two of us in the class.

Working on getting it together. I'm just not motivated enough...

LURV,
Hedgehog

Seriously. Not really. But I am in such dire need of a life that I am writing about it, and that's pretty sad.

This is going to sound terribly creepy, but whenever I meet a person, the first thing I do is evaluate how much of a life he or she has. I like to surround myself with people who have cool (but not really cool) lives, so I can feel somewhat important myself.

Here's how I decide whether or not a person has a life:

"Hey, so what are you doing this weekend?"
"Hitting the books."

Boring, okay. Boring. Like me.

"Really? That's all?"
"Well, my band might have a gig on Saturday night, but that's still being decided."

...Maybe not. He's in a band. Got it. Maybe not boring. Kind of cool maybe. But it's just a maybe so he's only maybe cool.

"That's really cool! What do you play?"
"Um...Harmonica."

Harmonica? Who plays that? That's pretty awesome. Okay, this guy's not so bad. Maybe we can be friends.

"Wow, I don't know anyone who plays harmonica. That sounds like a lot of fun."
"Yeah, it's tough to learn. Like any instrument, though."
"Definitely. How was your winter break?"
"I was in Africa for the entire two weeks, which was awesome, but I didn't get any work done."

Africa. Too cool. Little bit too cool.

"I've always wanted to go to Africa! What were you doing there?"
"I was there to support a water filtration system. You know, because a lot of African kids get diseases from drinking lake water."

What? Too cool. Way too cool. I feel like a lazy blob. Too cool.

At this point, the conversation ends because I'm feeling a little too boring and a little too lazy-blobish. But let me tell you, if I had to continue the conversation, it might end up something like this:

"You suck."
"What?"
"I hate you."
"Why the heck do you hate me?"
"Because you suck and you're too cool and I hate you."

And then I would walk away.

The only thing worse than having no life is being an Asian with no life in a private school filled with rich people with super outrageous lives. Somehow, people expect me to be some sort of genius ninja sushi-chef. I like to exaggerate stories in order to make myself seem less like a not-smart not-ninja horrible-chef Asian.

And they wonder why I lie so much.

More on this later.
Love,
Hedgehog

...when it comes to participating in anything that involves moderate to strenuous physical activity. Seriously. If you're Asian, you know what I'm talking about.

I mention this because when I transferred to my new school (I'm an incoming 10th grader), I decided to play on my school's basketball team. I know, right? But before you get started with the: "Whaaat?? chu crazy, gurlfrangg!!!!" I didn't think it'd be a bad idea, especially since I've been playing basketball for almost five years.

For a Japanese-American league. Now you can call me an idiot.

That's not even the worst of it. I signed up for basketball thinking not much more than, "Oh, I've been playing basketball for a while now, and I think I should be able to keep up." It'd be an understatement to say I was horribly mistaken. The school I used to attend was not at all an athletic powerhouse; the girls' basketball teams were the worst in their division. I did not know this. So I incorrectly assumed that the team at my new school could not be much better than the team at my old school.

After the first day of practicing with my new team, I realized exactly how good they really are. They're not "good" or "pretty good" or "pretty damn good." They're "really FREAKING scary good." Lo-and-behold, I am now a member of one of the top 10 high school girls' basketball teams in the country, the 9th team, to be precise.

I hope it doesn't come as too much of a shock to you when I mention that I embarrassed myself on and continue to embarrass myself every day since the first day of practice.

I know a lot of Asian girls who play basketball, and it's possible that they can really compete against girls of all other races in all kinds of sports. So perhaps the "Asheann no good at supohts" stereotype is only applicable to the likes of me. I think I should stick to being a nerdy Asian.

But of course, that isn't going to work out too well for me either, is it? (;



This is a tough stage, folks: realizing oneself really, really (for lack of better words) sucks at something he or she initially set out to do. But it's going to get better. I guess I have to really believe in that in order for it to come true.

Cheeriooo!
~ABC