Thanks and Bye

Hello dedicated followers,

We appreciate all of your commitment to our hilarious blog. Just thought we would let you know the truth about us. We made this blog as part of a social experiment and you are all just our players in this game. We can see how many of you actually read our blog, and there’s about three people that read it, so in reality, it’s probably just us rereading it because we think we’re hilarious. For those of you that actually read this, thank you for your dedication, we would not be able to be so successful without you all. (lol we are so successful)

We know we did not get that many followers, but we tried really hard.

Although the results did not add up to our effort, we truly enjoyed this blog. At the beginning, our devotion to the blog allowed us to get more followers, but as time went on, our Spanish homework got in the way. As you know, through reading our blog, we have stressful lives. We wish it was possible for nothing to get in the way of our awesome blog, but high school life is hard af bruh.

Thank you. We appreciate all of your time taken out of your precious day to read every post. Just like the Pledge of Allegiance we do every morning, we would like you to pledge your allegiance to the not so fab life blog. Again, we thank you for everything you have done for us. We started out as young ducklings and, with your help, have developed into momma ducks.

Thank you so much my lovelies.

Love,

the not so fab life staff (Alaska, Belle, and Hadley)

Soccer..or not

Hey frands,

Hadley here.

So my friend and I coach youth soccer together. We haven’t actually played soccer since we were about 8, so obviously we are the best coaches around. The team is a co-ed team of 11 six year olds. There are three girls who always decide that it’s a great idea to hug me and touch me. They are six. I don’t know where those hands have been, they’re probably so dirty. I can’t yell at them to get off me because well… they’re six anddd their parents watch the entire practice. So I put on a smile and pretend I love it so much. Then of course, there’s the runner. He runs into the woods whenever I turn my back. One practice I found him in a thorn bush and I had to talk him off the ledge. Apparently he wanted to play “fissies and sarks” and we weren’t going to play that today, so he threw a hissie fit. Then there is the boy that’s actually amazing at soccer, so everyone wants to be on his team when we scrimmage at the end of practice. One kid started to hysterically cry when I told him he couldn’t be on the same team as Cam. As he was bawling his eyes out, I got really mad, but I remember he’s only six...so he got his way...again. Every Thursday, soccer practice is the longest hour of my life.

Although they annoy me, I really love coaching them. I received an email from one of the parents that saddened me. One of the boys on my team recently fell, and had to go to the hospital and get 40 stitches. Four Zero. In his head. And he’s six. And now, of course, he can’t play soccer. As if the forty stitches isn’t enough, he has to come to the games and watch his twin brother play, while he sits on the sideline and watches. The poor little kid is going to have to watch.

See ya,

Hadley

AP af

Hello beautiful human beings of the internet,

It’s Alaska here. I know weird name, but I didn’t get to pick.

School sucks, what else is new. Of course, as a sophomore I decided that junior year would be a great time to increase my course load and take a couple of AP classes. I thought it was a great idea until I had to go pick up my textbooks and summer work at the end of my sophomore year. Realizing how awful of an idea it was to take the AP classes, I already hated myself. The whole summer I constantly thought of how much work I had to do before school starts, and of course I didn’t do it. The week before school started, I decided now would be a good time to open the textbooks. It was worse than I thought. I had to spend my last week of summer doing schoolwork. All the way up until the last day I was doing my summer homework and reading the two books assigned for my english class. Basically, I had a bomb summer but the last week was awful. And of course, when picking my classes for my senior year, I decided taking two more AP classes would be a great idea. I haven’t even gotten the summer work, but I already hate myself and the Spanish language.

As you may know, taking an AP class means taking an AP test… aka three hours of pure torture. It’s really well designed, sit 300 students in a hot gym, and make them take a test on an entire year of information. For the AP Biology test it is 63 multiple choice and 8 open responses. Sounds easy right? Yeah well its not.

So the day comes of my AP test, and I am sitting in the gym at a table with my friend. We take the multiple choice and its not that bad, just long and more tedious than hard. Once the hour and a half is over, we get a ten minute break, and everyone is just hanging out. Then the open response starts. The first two questions are “long response” and the other six are “short response”. The first two arent that bad, and my friend and I were pretty equal in time when we were working. Then, I turned to the clock to see how much time was left, thinking around an hour. But no, I looked back to see we had half an hour left, and five open responses. I kid you not my pen did not lift the paper during that time.

So moral of the story, budget your time, or you know just don’t take AP classes… lol.

xoxo

Alaska

If You're Having a Bad Day... Click Here

 

Priorities

Everyone wants to have a "good body." The problem with that is that involves working out. The problem with that is that involves the gym. The problem with that is that involves people. The problem with that is that involves moving. The problem with that is that involves sweating.

How does one get in a hard workout without caring who is on the lookout. The gym is all about the atmosphere. You can't be the kid who goes to the gym with all the elderly people who can out bench and outrun you. First of all, do you really want to get embarrassed by a seventy year old woman on the adjacent treadmill? The other issue is with the locker room where older people misread the sign and think of it as a open shared changing stall. Who wants to have to attend PTSD therapy sessions because of experiencing old people changing around them? There's no option but to go to the gym where the entire high school tries to be athletic at.

There are many types of "gym rats." The jocks... those who need the gym to get into college for their sport and easily lift absurd amounts of weight or don't break a sweat until mile 10. The 'pretty' girls... those who do not even try to break a sweat and look cute. The 'gym rats'... the ones who the front desk knows their name by heart. Lastly the people who genuinely use the gym for the purpose of working out and being healthy. These are everyone's role models. They sweat, are strong, run far and fast, and look good while doing it. In my mind, I am part of this squad.

Everyone at the gym knows the number one rule is when someone is using a machine do not choose to use the one next to them. Only use a machine next to someone if there are no other options. Now if you are like me and a competitive person, it's always a race of who can lift more or do it more reps or run farther. 8:50 p.m. Strutting into my local "cool" gym and got on a treadmill. Losing track of the long three and a half minutes of my brisk jog, soon I turned to either side and realized that every machine was full and a girl happened to be stepping on the treadmill next to me. Giving a slight smile, my right hand slyly slipped onto the control keys and cranked the speed up to 8.5 mph. As each beep that signaled a .1mph increase in speed, her treadmill was going up .2mph. It was an undeclared race. I would win. The longest minute of my life and my legs went numb. Before I knew it my foot accidentally ran on the side and my knees were being grated. I survived to tell the story but rumor has it I did two summersaults others say my hair got stuck in the treadmill, but the trainer claims I gracefully tumbled off and ended up dazed and confused on the ground. My racing buddy, the girl, looked like a gazelle who wasn't breaking a sweat after 6 minutes of 8 mph running. She managed to turn around, watch my fall, ask if I was ok, get the trainer, and then proceed running while facing backwards. How does one fluidly run and socialize while looking pretty? If anyone knows please share the secret.

Pain is Beauty...?

Hey bloggers, long time no talk.

The other day, I decided the caterpillars on my face were out of hand, meaning it was time to undergo the torture of getting my eyebrows done. Yes, it kills. Yes, it makes your face all red. But, your eyebrows look amazing. Just think about how many people will be envious of your beautiful eyebrows, capturing all of their attention. Of course, you have to endure the extreme pain of hot wax being poured over your unwanted hair. For someone like me, my eyes twitch. Yes, they twitch, so attractive, am I right? The ladies attempting to remove my eyebrow hairs constantly repeat, "Just relax, just relax." What do they think? I am just twitching on purpose? Yeah, I'll "just relax". I can't help the fact that I have a reaction to some stranger deciding the fate of my eyebrows. Eyebrows can make or break a face, like all those pictures of celebrities without eyebrows and even Taylor Swift looks ugly. Anyways, they say pain is beauty, but this is honestly crap. Pain is not beauty, pain is ugly. Have you ever seen someone in pain look pretty? No. By hurting yourself, you don't look any prettier. Sure, your eyebrows are gonna look fantastic but that is not because of the pain. There are other alternatives that could possibly make you look good. And you know what, you could look good without even doing anything that brings you pain. Anyways, I got a bit off topic today, but beauty was what we were talking about. Another painful activity that my mom made me go through the other day to enhance my beauty was getting my makeup done at Sephora. Ew. In the middle of the mall with everyone walking by I have to sit in this uncomfortable chair with some lady painting on my face. Then when she finishes covering up my entire face with some liquid stuff that is supposed to match my skin tone, she moves to the eye makeup. As I mentioned before, my eyes are twitchy and I don't do well with people coming near them, so of course when she attempts to do my eyeliner, it gets all over my eye, making me look worse. So, basically, I left and was in a bad mood the rest of the day.

Hope your days go better than mine,
Hadley

ONE

On April 15, 2013 the city of Boston showed its resiliency. Two bombers with help from friends and acquaintances around the area set off two bombs at the finish line of the Boston Marathon. Known in Mass. as 'The Marathon,' it has been held by the Boston Athletic Association for the past 118 years, 117 as of 2013. Whenever something horrific happens, people remember what they were doing during that specific time with great detail.

April 15, 2013

8:50 a.m. 26.2 miles from the finish line, the Marathon begins and runners who have worked for the past year or more, start on their journey which often symbolizes more than just a run. Various people run for a cause and raise money, such as Team Hoyt which consists of Dick Hoyt who runs with his son Rick Hoyt. Rick Hoyt has cerebral palsy and his dad Dick pushes him the entire way in a wheelchair. The marathon in Boston symbolizes the coming together of not just one city, but unique parts of the world together with one goal.

10:50 a.m. My neighbor began running in the third wave of people to start the marathon. She had been training for the past two years to reach this point and be able to finish the race. Her dad ran behind her, but as the journey continued ended up over a hundred yards behind her. We were all cheering her on at home watching the t.v. thinking maybe her face would appear at some point over the course of the day.

2:49 p.m. The first bomb goes off and mayhem starts. Boston is rattled and people are shocked and confused. First aid responders are in the area and begin the respond. This explosion was closer to the finish line. My neighbor is yard away from completing her vastest goal of her life thus far. Panic sets in.

2:50 p.m. The second bomb goes off. People are injured, crying, screaming, and panicking. Little did everyone know the city we once knew and thought was strong would become even stronger and brave in the face of danger. Two bombs would not tear apart our city, but bring it together. The destruction and horrible damage done would also show those who have no fear and run towards the mess in order to help. Runners would keep running through the finish line and straight to the hospital district in order to donate blood for those who were injured and bleeding. First aid responders carried victims through hospital doors. Back at home, we are all breathless. Cell tower were immediately shut down in and around Boston. There was no way to reach my neighbor and know if she was ok.

Later that night, she and her dad returned to their house shaken up and forever changed. She was in between the two explosions which was only a few hundred yards. Her dad was intertwined in the crowd separated from her. Mayhem did not allow them to find each other until hours later. Millions of people were confused and adrenaline was rushing.

Luckily, out of all the bad, people learned something from the Boston Marathon. Everyone need to be thankful for the days they have on earth because you never know when it could be your last.

From all of the bad in the country and city we know, the names of the bombers should not be what people take away from the situation or what country they are from. What people need to remember are those who lost their lives that day. From each terrible event that happens, I personally try to remember the name of at least one victim.

For Sandy Hook Elementary School a mere four months before, I remember Charlotte Bacon.

For the Boston Bombings, I remember Martin Richard.

Never forget what forever changed our city.
http://www.onefundboston.org/

No Gas, No Go

Hi everyone! I'm Belle and I'm also a junior.

As of yesterday, I had not pumped my own gas. I wouldn't necessarily say I'm scared to, it just that... I get a little anxiety about everyday activities. Most people go about their week and fill their gas tank like its not a problem. Do you know how difficult it is to figure out how to properly insert your credit/debt card and then "quickly remove it". Then you have to remember which of the options your car takes or else you will screw the engine and be at the risk of murder from your parents. Then of course the insertion of the gas pump into the car and holding it there for like 15 minutes. Winter here in New England while holding a cool metal handle is the equivalent of putting your hand to dry ice in Antarctica while enduring an ice bath. I felt like the snow miser from that classic christmas cartoon. So in short... I was sweating.

Anyways, I guess you could call me a princess, I mean my name definitely adds to it. But really if you look at me in any way shape or form, I'm not. My parents named me after my great grandmother who was a gynecologist. Really, I should embrace it and say it's because I'm a princess but I hate when those stuck up girls always talk about how their parents spoil them and they've never had to work a day, so instead I explain the reasoning over and over again about my grandmother.

I work at the local supermarket, so it's obviously the dream life. I get to wear the lovely navy blue jacket and khakis, talk about comfortable. Don't forget the sneakers and khakis look which obviously is the way to attract all the boys. When I first started my job, I had the unrealistic dream that everyone I would work with and all the people that would come check out at my line would be attractive high school boys, however this could not be any more true.

One quiet day at the supermarket, the awkward kid that always tries to talk to me decided to strike up some interesting conversation. He told me a story, it goes like this: "One day, you had a line at your register and I had no one in my line. A boy with his groceries walked by all the empty lines to your line, even though you had people in it. I was thinking 'Oh I get it...you're going for the eye candy' and I mean I don't blame the guy."

If this isn't the most awkward thing you have ever heard, then I really wanna hear your stories. At least someone thinks I'm not ugly. Even if it's the greasy haired cashier whose a high school dropout and has been working at a supermarket for the past 5 years of his life. His greasy hair appreciates me and I appreciate that. Sorry I tend to get a bit sidetracked...but anyways, I don't like being referred to as a princess because I'm not. I do have a job, I pay for my own gas, and I don't go running to Mommy and Daddy for every little thing I need. In other words, that's a tad about me for now. 

Terrible, No Good, Very Bad Morning

Hey I'm Hadley! I'm a high school junior. My two friends and I decided to start this blog to share our awkward encounters and relatable stories from high school.

I arose from my beauty sleep and put on my face, otherwise known as makeup. Then, of course, I fried my hair in order to impress nonexistent boys. Stopping for my daily coffee to get me through the day, I demolished a Boston cream donut in under five seconds (new personal record). On my way to the jail, some people like to call it school these days, I almost got pulled over due to my constant speeding. You know what I love? Strolling into school and being surrounded by all these happy couples. I swear they all planned to gather around me as if I were famous enclosed in a circle of body guards. Five long minutes later, I reach my group of friends (and by "group" I mean two). The best day of my life continued when I got the necessary bricks out of my locker and went on to flip my own lock. For those who do not know what a flipped lock means, it's usually when some kind person puts your lock on upside-down and you have to sit on the ground in order to look up and struggle to get it unlocked. Except this time... it was me with my own locker. It's always nice to hear people laughing at you as the only kid since freshman year who still has to wrestle with her flipped lock. Better yet, I was the one who flipped it...

At my school, it is a rite of passage to trip while going up the crowded main staircase. Most people complete this task their freshman year and learn from the embarrassment, but lucky me, I had the honor to be an overachiever and trip not once, not twice, but three times. Today would be that third time... with my coffee. Luckily, only half the coffee spilled and I only lost one of my two shoes. Finally reaching my first block class, AP Biology, I sat down in the back of the class next to all my friends that I could not name if you asked.

"So class, time to pass in your projects."

All my friends pulled out their colorful, well-completed project as I searched my backpack to see if miraculously I had done this "project". Somehow, the project fairy must have missed my house. Glancing at the clock, hoping class was almost over, I asked my "friend" if the clock was broken because it only said 7:31 which meant it had only been one minute. That's when I knew it was gonna be the best day of my life.

-H