I Hate Heath
December 16, 2003, 2:51 p.m.

Well, that was a lovely concert. Really. Last night, the winter show went pretty darn well. The band did its best, and the orchestra too-- especially on Schubert's famous Unfinished Symphony, but we sucked so bad on the Pavane. The violas didn't know their parts, the oboe player wouldn't come in (and she was a main voice), and most of the strings were out of tune.

So yeah, it sucked.

And it was even worse this morning.

Alice and Adam didn't come to the concert, so Jackie and I had to play the corresponding parts: Jackie played the solo for clarinet and I played Alice's solo.

The two of us sucked balls, man. I mean, it was so bad. No longer am I used to playing in front of everyone. I got super-super-hyperactive nervous. Even in auditions, I never felt so many butterflies. God, I can't believe how nervous I was! Pathetic.

But Alice is used to her solos, you see. She does it all the time, robbing me of the experience. I can't deal with that pressure anymore. I can be technically proficient in everything, but when it comes right down to working while that nervous, it won't take long for me to fuck up a passage.

And I did. Oh, I did. I don't want to talk about it.

I spent the entire day either in the band room or at lunch. After the concert, I hung out with the guys (Heath, Drew, Steven, Charles, etc), just chillin'.

Of course, there's little chillin' to be done when one is being told that the gluteus maximus isn't a muscle, but is the actual butt as a whole, even if one knows that the other is wrong.

Heath is so stupid.

"The gluteus maximus is a muscle, Heath."

"No it's not! It translates directly to 'butt fat'." I highly doubt that. 'Butt' is short for buttocks.

A gluteus is any one of the three muscles that make up the buttocks. Maximus in Latin means longest or greatest. Of course, Heath doesn't know that, but I sure did.

"Heath, you're wrong," Drew chimed in. "It's the largest muscle in the human body."

"How can you tell me--"

"It is, Heath." I second.

That boy has been arguing about stupid stuff like that all day.

Like when I told him someone was out of tune in the jazz band. I didn't necessarily say it was him-- I couldn't tell who it was. I only noticed because most of the voices were in unison.

Of course, he got defensive and said that no one was out of tune, that my ear is horrible.

"God, you trumpet players are so sharp!" Yelled Mr. Nicholson seconds later. Booyah!

And so he kept arguing with me to prove me wrong with everything. God, he's dumb.

I skipped sixth period and stayed in the band room with Drew, Steven, Elijah, and Charles. After a while, Drew left to go Christmas caroling around the school (though he's Jewish), and I went into Mr. Nicholson's office to help straighten it up.

When I came back from posting a memo on the bulletin board, Mr. Nicholson's office was replete with the sound of an alto sax player tooting out some of the more famous jazz tunes.

I recognized the style instantly, having listened to it for three hours before.

"Is that Drew?" I asked.

"Yeah! Isn't that awesome?" exclaimed Heath.

"Yeah." Too much reverb on the CD, really. The echo was a bit annoying.

"He sounds so great! He doesn't play like that in person."

"That's studio magic for ya. People can make the worst-sounding people sound like a professional."

"That's explains why Britney Spears lipsincs to her songs..." mused Lexi.

"How the hell did he afford the studio time? That's, like, 200 bucks an hour!" thought Heath aloud.

"He's rich as hell," said I.

"Yeah, yo, he's got, like, six rooms in his house!" said Lexi.

"Bedrooms?"

"No, bathrooms."

"Are you serious? Why the hell would he need six bathrooms? There're four people living in his house."

"God, if he's got that many bathrooms, think about how many rooms there are!"

"And he has a guest house."

"Jesus!"

And he lives in South Beach, and he's got a boat, and his house is right on the beach.

"I'm going to seduce him and make him marry me," said I. "Reverting back to my old golddigger ways."

"He would never marry you, Allison. He wouldn't want someone as ugly as you."

"Funny, you never thought I was ugly until I turned you down after you asked me out." The crowd oohed.

"I must've been smokin' somethin' at the time. I don't know."

"Well give me some of that shit you've been smoking!" said Mr. Nicholson.

God, I'm getting so tired of being insulted all of the time. That kind of shit has an affect on ones self-esteem. All they ever do is tell me how ugly I am, or how I lack the curves a "normal" black girl should have. Do they think I don't know that I have no ass? Do I not see myself naked? For Christ's sake, the last think I need is to tear me down for it.

The only person that has let off a bit is Drew. The others talk about me all the time, like I'm they're little plaything. Drew would eventually join in after Heath, who leads the insults (go figure), once the entire group is laughing at me. But that's more for his image's sake, I think. I hope.

Well, I must go. Dad's bitching at me. Again. I might add onto this entry later. Or I might not. Adios.

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