Poopiehead and Hot Pink Numbers

I need new eyeliner.

Seriously, this is an actual issue. In the morning, I meticulously carve the bottom line of my eye with a black eye pencil, only to realize, seven hours later, it’s magically disappeared off my face.
And me without eyeliner is just plain scary.
I COULD use mascara instead but I hate that gunky stuff on my eyes. It’s annoying and, frankly, unnecessary.

Today was a pretty horrible day. No classes with Giggles, so no giggles. How cool am I? Word play. Poopiehead, almost ex-crush, seen twice and seen seeing Queen thrice. I was cool like ice though. I totally ignored him and checked out his very buff friend, new to our school. His friend’s a lot nicer than Poopiehead. Even though I barely know him. He’s also a lot taller and a lot cuter.
I want to slap Poopiehead.
Guy with blue glasses (Distraction Boy) is not happening. I think the only reason I was interested in him in the first place was because he’s different. I realize now that’s he’s probably ATTEMPTING to be different. It’s all an act, you see. His fascination with clothing and good music and his good sense of style...yipes. He may be gay. That would be a shame. They get all the good ones.

Note to self: I must ignore Poopiehead at all costs. About two weeks ago, I was convinced I was in love with him. In a freaky mid-teen way, I probably was, but then he had to go and spoil it by trying to hard with his homies and being stupid and selfish. I suppose I only like(d) him because he was different.

Note to self: All boys are the same. Not one is different. Not even Poopihead’s mate. He’s the same. Only a lot cuter. (HA! TAKE THAT POOPIEHEAD!)

Today, wore sensible underwear. None of that cotton stuff (saving it for tomorrow). Instead, I wore a hot pink frilly number that cost about 15 USD. It’s cool, they were totally worth it. I think. I feel very un-Indian for buying them. When I did buy them, I skipped lunch that day in the mall to save money.

Now that Ramadhan is coming up, I must behave like a proper Muslim girl. No more chasing boys and no more cursing. I must be at my most mature level, probably a little higher, actually, and I will be all pure and holy and mellow on the inside like a Bob Marley song.

Now to hate on Poopiehead by repeatedly listening to “I Get Knocked Down” by Smashmouth. Then in Ramadhan, I will just do that by remembering I should be pure and holy and Bob Marley-like.

Minus the weed, obviously.

Queen Out.