I've read an article about high school life aka the adolescence stage. Most people would agree if i say it's one of the best stage. There were crushes, love letters, 24/7 call and text, and of course the puppy love. But mine? I didn’t like my high school. And i am thinking that writing about my horrible high school experiences would be fun (I remember a handful; selective amnesia FTW). I never got around to doing it because those years pretty much sucked BIG TIME for me and why blog about that kind of stuff when I could write about my current awesomeness, amirite? My life would make a pretty okay coming-of-age film, really (B-movie kind of thing). Anyway, I’m thinking a series of entries about my years at SMALL TOWN HIGH would be interesting. Or would at least make you feel sorry for me? Or hate me more.


A few things y’all need to know first:

    I was ugly.
    I wasn’t popular.
    I wasn’t friendly.
    I wasn’t well-liked.
    I didn’t like going to class.
    I liked them boyz.
    Them boyz didn’t like me back.
    I changed best friends like I changed my school shoes.
    I yelled a lot.
    I was always looking for approval. From mah peerz.

When Friendster still allowed anonymous testimonials, some shining winners constantly left me hate messages saying that I’ll always be the plastic, cock-sucking whore that I was back then or something like that. Awesome. And I can’t even begin to comprehend how I was the plastic one when I was always backstabbed by them pretty girlz.
OMG OMG, my favorite high school memory: people writing crap about me on arm chairs and bathroom stalls!

Lord, I wanna give Kim High School a huge hug. Thank goodness for college (and having the best time of my life) and growth and moving to the city and blogs and love and trees and vodka. And good genes. Now before any of you start sniggering at me and thinking “LOL KIM WATTA LEWZER”, let me remind you of my kewtness:


So.

I didn’t like my high school and my high school didn’t like me. No love lost, I’m still awesome. Stay tuned for stories! Maybe they aren’t as horrible as I remember them and maybe they turn out to be pretty lame but please, I ask of you: do not throw tomatoes at me.