I just spent six hours of today being a young creep with messy hair at the states math meet. I succeeded in the art of failing using the help of guessing by logic, and spent high amounts of time staring at the gorgeous visages of famous mathletes strolling around. These kids are beautiful mentally and physically, they look awesome, do math awesome, talk awesome, walk awesome, and just simply exude awesomeness. During the car ride to the site of the meet/ride back/both, I was brought to the realization that by stalking fashionable and math people, I don’t really have a life.
But what actually is the meaning of life?
“STALKING!!!. . .. ... .right?”
“Nope.”
^^^^^^^^^This is basically what they look like, except insert male features in faces (not that females aren’t awesome but I didn’t see them/fall in love with them.)
It’s actually lame how real nerds do not wear large black glasses with khakis and argyle sweaters, and people who dress like that can’t actually do these little creepy wordy puzzles known as math.
But it doesn’t matter, because I don’t want to argue with felines whose heels and stare could rip my throat apart.
Errr. . .convos, the words exchanged between more than one person.
(As Catherine sit struggling with the new idea of logarithms, or logs, the pieces of wood that float in a swamp.)
Mother: Hey Catherine, could you try some of these on? (holds up light peach colored silk dress)
Catherine: Sure I guess. . .
Christina walks over and
Christina: Hey! I want those.
30 minutes later, As she struggles with the inequalities of wood,
Mom: Also, can you try these? (Holds up two of her old tops white lace crop and green-blue luxe knit
Catherine: Um yeah
Catherine: Hey they look nice thanks! (Puts them in her closet)
20 minutes later
Mom: Hey can you let Christina try those two tops
Catherine opens closet and hands Christina lace crop
Christina while putting it on
Christina: Ahh, this can’t go over my head, Cathy, can you pull this over my head?
So yeah if I fail my log test these two have some responsibility.
