onlyemma's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "i'm creative, really I am. Watch me yawn..." Better write another entry quickly to take the place of my last miserable one... Today me, Kate and Shell went to an Creative Arts Fair. The word boring doesn't even come close to what it was. You never would have thought that the people there were 'creative' artsy types at all. As my dad said, what's creative about sitting at a table with a few leaflets in front of you? They didn't even make an effort to make anything look appealing. It was like walking round on one of those university open days where you tell people sitting at desks who couldn't possibly look any more bored, what course you want to take and they yawn and give you a boring piece of paper to read. The only remotely good thing about today was the beautiful sight that was the boy who sat at the information desk. I thought he looked a bit like Leonardo DiCaprio. Unfortunately I don't think I made much of an impression on him though. He asked us to fill in questionnaires and whilst slowly reading mine I said to him "how do you spell fair? Is it F-A-Y-R-E or F-A-I-R?" while Kate and Shell huffed and puffed behind me and sighed loudly, like you do when you think someone's stupid. Luckily the boy (lets call him Leo) contemplated my query for a few seconds and said, "ummm, that's a good question actually..." and beemed at me. But instead of saying thankyou for not thinking I'm an idiot and smiling sweetly, guess what I did.... I turned round to Kate and made one of those constipated noises with my tongue in my chin and went "haha! see? UUUuuuggh!" accompanied by my monkey expression and a small amount of chin slapping. Yes, THAT, is me all over. That is exactly how I tackle being in the company of a good-looking stranger - I resort to 5 year old playground mockery. And I don't even think my wonderful new coat made me any less un-cool, so it's safe for you to assume that Leo didn't ask for my phone number or talk to me again. I dunno, maybe he was just shy. A girl who used to be in my form, Heather, was there too. She was sitting at one of the uninteresting-looking desks looking unimpressed. I'd always been a bit intimidated by her at school and today, even though we weren't at school anymore, I felt like I did when we were. She had been in the popular group and I was in the average/middle of the road group that the boys weren't interested in unless we'd revised for a test or had some tasty looking crisps. The popular group were the 'It' girls of school life. The girls who the boys flocked to and drooled over; who could tie the bottoms of their shirts in a knot during PE and get away with it; the girls who wrote in all of their books with coloured, strawberry scented gel pens and shortened their names to sound like they were some rapper's girlfriend; and the girls who didn't tell me until half-way through a Games lesson that I'd put my jogging bottoms on back-to-front. And one of those girls was sat directly across the room looking expectantly at me, like I should go and say hello. So I just waved and mouthed 'hi' and went back downstairs. I couldn't have said anything to her even if I'd wanted to because just knowing she was there made me feel fat, ugly and below her. So I stayed on the second floor the whole time trying to persuade myself that I'm ok now - I don't wear tracksuits for none uniform days anymore and can control my hair. Katie talked to Heather though, and Heather told her that she hated college and the 'popular' group there. It surprised me that she wasn't in the popular group anymore. So now she must know how the rest of us felt for all those years at school. School is so harsh. I hope it's different when you get older. Even in Sixth form it's the same as it always was. All the popular people congregate in a group to look cool together and higher their status. And there's always at least one of them every day to whom the law of gravity seems to mystify, and they're sprawled on the floor after a mock punch-up gone wrong. Or they've misjudged where the table leg is. I often wonder why people like that are so respected in Sixth Form. I don't see how carrying round a designer, cardboard shopping bag to prove you're loaded, bragging about how much alcohol you've consumed over the weekend and laughing at people you've just managed to hit on the back of the head with a tennis ball, can earn you respect. But if it does, so be it. I'd rather not be respected at all. 7:58 p.m. - 2003-02-19 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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