  My guidance counselor is awful; I think the only thing she knows about me is my name... though even that is pronounced wrong ("On-nah Zee-mance") It's more complicated than interesting, so I will spare the details. In the end, my awesome tutoring-administrator (also the senior English department head) wrote her an email requesting my desired schedule changes be made... I don't know if anything good will come out of this, but let's hope. Our theory for summer extravaganza; road trip. Dave Matthews Band comes to the Gorge practically every summer (for the last many years or so, at least) and it would be the perfect summer trip. Lauren is a hardcore DMB fan, I am a mild one... well, we all listen to their stuff, we all like it.
This is saying a lot since some people (Leigh) still listen to their Save the Last Dance soundtracks from seventh grade, and others listen to Green Day (Adrienne) Our musical tastes are so varied, Dave Matthews is about the only thing we can agree on. A road trip to George, Washington (the place, not the dead president) to see a senic-surrounded amphitheatre would be perfect for us. My only reservation is who, exactly, would drive. Not Leigh . We might never reach the concert.
Joey drove me home today, as I was feeling too sick to go to sixth (ok; basically I was not in the mood for yet another nature film... plus, Rambo remembers to take attendance so my presence mattered little) He was smoking something that was, surprisingly, not pot! " Here. " he said, handing over the brown cigarette-looking thing to me. [I looked at him questioningly] "It's like a cigar . " And, though I swore off cigarettes after discovering first-hand that they make you smell like cigarette smoke (who knew? ) I inhaled. I was surprised because I didn't cough. I was proud. Maybe there is hope for me yet as a chain-smoking, neurotic, tortured writer. Affectionately... Anna 
