new, improved, and no longer defunct!

...the academy's horrendous grocery-store-sale-flyer-resembling school newspaper, that is. way back in may or so, c and I came up with a plan to restart it--we'd been on the staff in freshman year and then the whole thing fell apart. our faculty adviser [whom c tells me we should call ms. butler] approved highly, and so the plan was set into motion. fast forward to yesterday.

[note: this was during our half-hour break in between periods 3 and 5. it is not lunch. lunch is in between 6 and 7. it sounds like a scheduling derp but it's actually quite awesome.]

A Conversation Straight From The Gay Table

me: "sorry we're late..."

ava: "WHERE WERE YOU GUYS?"
[she was really mad we missed being in the cafeteria for fourth period yesterday. ok, can I help it if I needed to "decorate" my locker and c takes approximately a year to pack up for any given class? but I promised ava that c and I would be in the caf. I kind of forgot we needed to talk to ms. butler. and yes, ava was literally yelling.]

c: "sorry, we had to go see ms. butler."

ava: "WHO'S MS. BUTLER?"

me: "exactly..."
[ms. butler doesn't actually teach anything. she sits in an office all day and does... something for the school. I don't know what.]

c: we're starting up the newspaper again.

ava: you guys have a newspaper? [slightly glares] what's it called, music weekly?
[OH PASSIVE AGGRESSIVE YOU ARE BACK]

we made an effort to explain that it was the school newspaper and would not involve any musical selections circa 1989 if we could help it. she brightened at this, then asked if she could help, "unless you guys DON'T WANT ME TO [/gloom]". this is where we made the mistake of being all "oh sure you can help!!"

she then promptly decided she was going to TAKE THE FUCK OVER.

ava: "can I write? well, I don't want to write. I want to write whatever I want and can I also read people's articles like to see if they flooow?"

c: "ava, that's what an editor does."

I would have let her have the editor position. I really would. except I have a clear, fulfillable ambition for what I want to do when I grow up, unlike the fucking gay table. I really, really want to be an editor. and I have a talent for it, I KNOW this. know what else this ties into? the academy's drama club. I know that sounds like a tangent, but bear with me here. I love working on stage crew. I have stage manager power, and I'm pretty damn good at not freaking out too much. ava has also been on stage crew at the academy. she's been specially trained to do the lighting, while I'm Official Stage Manager. guess what position she wants? stage manager. why? because I have it. now, can you imagine her as a stage manager? "GUYS LISTEN TO ME. LISTEN TO ME! [screaming] FUCKING LISTEN TO ME! OH MY GOD FUCK YOU ALL, YOU DON'T FUCKING LISTEN TO ME, THIS IS TOO HARD! OH MY GOD, NO ONE HAS ANY RESPECT FOR ME, JEEEESUS WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ALL OF YOU?"

now I'll draw it back to the point. I am the editor. she wants my position because she can't have it and she knows it. but hell if she doesn't try. from a note c wrote me in that same period:

if you want her to do anything just say you want to do it & she will.

I believe she would call this a "quirk". I also believe I would call it "obnoxious".

today was our club fair. in special school event terms it means the entire academy went to mass in our poorly-lit gym and then we all ate lunch on a grassy knoll [read: pavement, about ten square feet of dewy grass, and three picnic tables]. after that, it was time for a representative from each club to stand up and entice people to join by offering food. the newspaper will involve bribing people with food, but we didn't tell them that. also I think our announcement was a bit awkward [c, since you're the only one that reads this, I don't just mean your A/8 fuckup, I know I rambled too much and basically failed to express my point as desired], but, y'know, at least we taped up flyers.

the only thing is last night ava tried to micromanage the newspaper over facebook. oh christ. mind you, this was AFTER c and I spent two hours planning over the phone, and during that time we called her and offered her a position in advance. WHICH SHE DECLINED. and now she thinks she owns the paper. oh christ. spare me, will you? she gave both c and I the cold shoulder for most of the day, which failed to express anything.

except "christ, what an asshole".