So, let me tell you now. Physical therapy is PAINFUL. It consists of the therapist bending my arm until it can’t possibly bend anymore. I’m always drugged up on Tylenol beforehand, which helps a little bit, but not much. Therefore, I usually end up in extreme pain afterwards. I would not wish this five-day-a-week therapy thing I have to do on anyone except possibly George Bush or Shirley Phelps Roper.

But today, it may have become a bit less arduous. I saw a few four-and-a half foot lengths of PVC pipe and started doing some of my color guard spins and tosses with it. The therapist was quite happy with how I was bending my arm, and now I have a few minutes less of pain every day to spin a length of pipe. (Still no flag spinning for Luna until the doctor clears her.)

Yay!!

PS: Wear your pajamas inside out and backwards!

PPS: Good job to L.S., L.A., K.P., C.R., M.S., and everyone else that performed at the band concert!

“On three. One, two, three….MAXI THE VOLE!!”

From the middle of September to present day, me and L.A. will collectively say/yell that whenever the entity known as Maxi the Vole approaches. Maxi is a trombone player in the marching band, and his hobbies include singing What is Love very loudly and asking if me and someone else are screwing each other yet. However, that ultimately backfired when I, fed up with his awkwardness-creating assertions, yelled “ARE YOU SCREWING *blankity-blank* YET?” right back at Maxi. Bingo! I had yelled the name of the girl he liked. He quickly said that I was wrong about that, and went on the defensive. A few weeks later, they were dating, and I did a little “I WAS RIGHT!” dance in front of him.

He also enjoyed wearing my very ‘manly’ flowered hat, especially at the band dinner, much to the amusement of me and Maxi’s girlfriend.

Early in the season, L.A. (Maxi’s fellow trombone) and I (an out-of-commission colorguard) decided that Maxi would get punched every time he said something stupid, which turned into Maxi getting punched any time ANYONE said something stupid. (Maxi, if you’re reading this, I hope you have recovered because L.A. is after you again, and you will be punched. If you plan on attending the choir concert, I suggest you wear protective gear.)

And that was my post.

So, a half hour ago, my brother yelled “LUNA! THIS SPONGEBOB EPISODE IS CALLED THE BAND GEEKS!” I got all excited because I have PMBD (Post Marching Band Depression) and it would be awesome of there was a marching band episode of Spongebob. And it was about marching band! There were bad rookie players, director rivalries, fights, and huge stadiums-just like our marching band.

But, at the end, after the band director Squidward grows disappointed with them and leaves the rehearsal (sound like any band directors you know, CHSMB’ers?) they do pull together. The only problem: their performance turns out to be a Phil Collins type song. No marching. No marching instruments. Way to disappoint us all, Nickelodeon.

-Yelling “Cheater tape!” at the Fayetteville HS Band.

-Watching every marching band.

-My brother singing “It’s Tough to be a Jew On Christmas” during “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year”

-Picking out who was lip-syncing and who wasn’t.

-Cursing out Miley Cyrus and David Archuleta, and anyone of that caliber

-The Special Needs Colorguard Performance. (Color guard in a wheelchair!)

-Thinking how the trumpet-stealing colorguard from North Carolina’s face and hair made her look like Lucy the Slut.

-The little girl from School of Rock (the movie) forsaking all the principles that it proposed.

-Noticing that Mary Poppins’ speaking voice sounded like MN’s falsetto speaking voice. (SKETCHY)

-Wondering where they find a place big enough to rehearse these giant dance teams.

-Being interrupted every five minutes to prepare for 25 people cramming into my very small house.

-Watching the Hair cast singing Aquarius. (MUST…SEE…)

And the best thing…

-RICK ROLLED. LIVE. ON NATIONAL TV. EPIC WIN.

OUR FOOTBALL TEAM WON A GAME.

THE LAST GAME THEY WON HAPPENED WHEN THE CURRENT SENIORS WERE IN EIGHTH GRADE.

Granted, it was the Toilet Bowl (two worst teams in the state play against each other.)

But to give you an idea of how epic it was, it was 42-0 (or 48-0, can’t remember.) L.A. even cheered during the last cheer, and he NEVER cheers!

LET ME HEAR YOU GO! COLUMBIA! OHHHH! COLUMBIA! OHHHHHH!!!

It’s going around marching band faster than the Schnade. Certain people have been observed doing the dance in random locations, such as on the practice field, in the band room, in the hallways, and behind the drum major.

If I had gotten that photo of the behind the drum major incident without it being blurred, the caption would have been “Surprise Buttsecks.” Ah, marching band.

During band camp, I met two freshman boys through a bit of randomness. One, M, was short, curly-haired, and he played the trombone. I only learned his name and nothing else. The other, L, was tall, curly-haired, and played the trombone. I learned his name too. The next day, the tall one was wearing a shirt that said "I fart in your general direction." As soon as I saw that, I spouted off "Your mother was a hamster…" and he immediately followed with the next line. Because the fact that I had returned to the real world  from CTY had not sank in yet (still hasn’t), I dashed forward and hugged him. He seemed okay with that, because he hugged me back. We started talking more for the rest of band camp, and into rehearsals.

Fast forward one month to this past Monday. I was trying to persuade L to get a facebook after rehearsal, but he was adamant that he would not be getting one now or in the foreseeable future. He mentioned that he had a DeviantArt, and I said "I have one of those!" I was about to ask him for the URL, but M asked, "So…are you two screwing each other yet?" I whacked M with my video camera, and after a bit of laughing about it, I all but forgot it had ever happened.

Today was the day of the first band competition. The rule for hanging out around the stadium is; you must always have a buddy or you will be forced to stay with a parent for the remainder of the competition. I intercepted L at the bus when everyone was putting their instruments away, and asked "Walk with me?" He walked and talked with me over half of the practice field when M caught up. M immediately got playfully shoved away by L, who didn’t knwo that multiple-person buddy groups could exist. I explained this quickly to L, who apologized, but the damage was done.

"You shoved me and not her? I think that says a lot," M said. L and I each gave M a dirty look. "I still think you two are screwing each other, or you will be," M continued. Both of us yelled "NO!" but M didn’t let up for the rest of the day, even after I had made the point that it would be a bad idea to shove a) a girl and b) someone who’s perpetually off balance. Short of avoiding L entirely, which I didn’t want to do because I like the guy, (with a lowercase l) there was nothing I could do.

I had told L about CTY previously, and I found out that if L wanted to, he could go next summer-he’d taken the SATs in 7th grade (like me) and scored higher than most seniors do (like me). I vowed to kidnap L and bring him to Lancaster next summer, because I thought he’d enjoy it immensely. However, that is beside the point. I realized today when I was talking to him on the bus that if I had met him in the Alcove instead of at band camp, I would probably be just as good, if not better, friends than I am with him now. But that is what we would be; friends. L is one of those quirky, nerdy people that aren’t afraid to be unabashedly themselves that I am so drawn to, but it’s not a romantic attraction in any way shape or form. It could take that shape, it has before, (see earlier post: Laundromat-also there were two others, one requited) but in most cases, that attraction manifests itself in the desire to be friends with these people.

M and a few other people teased me and L about a "band couple waiting to happen" for the rest of the day, and I couldn’t hug L when I left because I knew M would spout off again. This close type of friendship with L that I have experienced with other people, regardless of gender, at CTY, may be impossible in my high school setting. It makes me sad.

OK, so I probably can’t march for the entire marching season because of my cyborg therapy and recovery time. But! I have thought up an epic idea that will keep me busy and maybe  even help get me into college, and it is called "Clockwork Butterflies," at least for now. I have started filming a documentary which may turn out to be a miniseries, or a miniseries that may turn out to be a documentary, about my Color Guard.

There are seventeen girls, including me, in color guard, so there is a diverse range of personalities, even with the ones who don’t like being interviewed. My captain is awesome, the guard instructor is a complete diva whose favorite line is "I’ll kill you, Luna, " and our show is amazing this year. It’ll definitely be finished and on the field by Giants Stadium competition (unlike last year. One word: disaster) All the girls are open to being acknowledged as Guard members in the documentary, so I won’t have to blur faces out. And I can do that now: I HAVE ADOBE PREMIERE PRO! o.0

This documentary also serves another purpose; it’ll stop my mother and father from pressuring me to outright quit color guard. Why do parents think that they know what’ll make their kids "happy?" I’m happiest with the Guard, holding my camera, or dancing (no matter that my parents don’t want me to dance), or having fun with the people I love.