Not-So-Sweet Sixteen

I turned 16 on Tuesday (the 31st of August, for those of you who aren't so good with dates).

I'm allowed to marry. I can drive in certain parts of the world. This isn't terribly useful, as I can already drive. 'Can' in the sense of 'am allowed to', not as in 'am capable of'. The last time I tried to drive I drove into the tree in our driveway. There is now a fetching dent in the front of our car. The tree, however, as I'm sure you will be glad to know, is fine.

I'm not all that certain being allowed to marry is useful either. Obviously, I was married before. Lala could tell you that. Also any of the fifty trillion people who now read this blog (well, it seems like that many. The word is spreading). But now, it's legal. I'll have to be careful of what I say unless I want to end up in breach of promise cases, bitter divorce court battles or even alimony payments. Still, it might be useful. If ever the urge takes me to marry someone suddenly, I will now be allowed to (don't hang on for it, though). With parental consent, of course.

The day itself was not noticeably different to normal days, except that every so often someone would sprint up to me, embrace me, yell 'Happy Birthday!' and run away again. So, not all that similar to regular days, really. Ariane was probably the best example of this, hugging me for a good two minutes before I managed to get into Physics classroom. Thank you, Ariane. Here is a picture for you. I found it ages ago and have been looking for an excuse to use it. 

Only three people actually remembered in the morning. Ness, Vyvyan, and Giuseppe. Giuseppe gave me a card she'd made the previous night. It was a blue piece of paper with a picture of me drawn on the front, and a caption saying 'HAPPY BIRTHDAY LESLIE M. HARPER'. On the inside it said:

'Dear Leslie M. Harper,

Joyous anniversary of your birthday. If it were not for you, we would not have an awesome blog to read, or numerous rants about Stephen Fry. Happy 16th ;)!

Love,

Giuseppe'

It's nice to be appreciated.

It did confuse me for a little, mostly as I hadn't realised the cartoon on the front was of me until Giuseppe pointed it out. I believe her very words were 'It's you. I made you look like John Travolta from Pulp Fiction. Anyway, happy birthday.'

Chinny didn't remember, but she's probably not to blame for this as I spent a good ten minutes trying to convince her she'd recently flown to the moon in a hot air balloon. It's hard enough remembering things without people attempting to convince you that you haven't seen them for a year (that being the length of time it takes to fly to the moon).

Word had spread by about recess time, so I wasn't sure who had remembered and who hadn't. Peanut informed me that she was going to make me a birthday cake. I thanked her and forgot about it. She actually turned up with the cake two days later. It was chocolate, and she'd decorated the top with fruit loops (as in, the cereal). She claimed they spelled out something. When none of us could see it, she pointed out, visible only to the trained eye, the words 'HAPPY LES' (yes, it didn't actually say that - my real name not being Leslie - but it would be quite pointless if I actually told you what my name is now. Almost everyone who reads this blog knows my real name, anyway).

Anyway, the actual day was quite ordinary. Media was quite exciting. And by exciting I mean excruciatingly painful. Let me set the scene:

Three Media students (myself and two others) are attempting to work on a group project with Drama students (six of them, including Peanut). It is a windy day. We are making a short film involving a balloon seller on the oval. Wide open space + wind + balloons = unsuccessful film. The balloons escaped nine separate times. Not counting when one of the sticks broke. Or when I accidentally let all of the air out of the crucial black balloon. I quickly took the role of Personnel manager, leaving the other two Media students to manage the camera.

STUDENT 1 (1): Look after this camera.

STUDENT 2 (2): OK.

Both students wander off. Camera falls over.

1: I told you to look after the camera!

2: I wasn't doing anything!

1: Well, you should have been looking after the camera! Go and hold the balloons.

Student 2 holds the balloons, then releases them to their freedom on the oval. Drama student runs and retrieves them.

2: Sorry about that. I'll hold them properly this time.

It happens again.

2: Well, I'll hold on to them properly now.

And again. Balloons are confiscated from student 2 and given to one of the drama students instead.

1: Well, you don't have the balloons any more. Can you please look after the camera while I talk to the Drama students?

A brief pause, then student 2 comes up and attempts to get student 1's attention.

1: What is it now?

2: Something's fallen out of the camera!

It didn't really improve after that. The only filming that occurred was the video one of the Drama students took on her phone, watching us fail in an epic manner.

I had netball after school, so I hung around in the library and pretended to be working on my English essay, while reading Giuseppe's copy of the play she was studying. I had to stop this when she wrested it from my grasp and sat on it (so I'll never know what happens in the end), so I went to help Shoelace with some pages she was photocopying instead. MBD is afflicting even more people than before, possibly because I devoted a whole post to it. There are some good effects, some bad. The best example of this is the Hugh Laurie poster in the library. I pointed it out to Marie-Clare and Giuseppe as we were passing it yesterday. Giuseppe was disappointed; for some reason, she was convinced that I'd written about a poster of Stephen Fry. Please. Not everyone I write about is Stephen Fry. I doubt he appears in more than three-quarters of my posts. Anyway, Marie-Clare supported the showing-respect-to-the-poster campaign by kissing it. It was touching. And more than a little disturbing. Giuseppe was less respectful. She kindly enough narrated what she was doing, 'So you can write it on your blog. I'm extending a certain finger on one of my hands - and now the other hand - and now I'm moving both hands up and down repetitively at the poster. Take that, Hugh Laurie!'

I think her mind's going. I'm under the opinion that she did this in order to take revenge on me. Earlier, she'd been trying to read me a picture book (can't remember why. There probably wasn't a reason) and I'd interrupted. So she made me stand in the corner for fifteen minutes. It's only too likely that she may attempt this so-called punishment on others. And so, here is one of my handy Leslie M. Harper Survival Guides™:

The Leslie M. Harper Survival Guide™:

What To Do When You've Been Placed In A Corner By A Deranged 16-Year-Old Who Refuses To Let You Out

#1. The most important thing that you DO NOT PANIC. Firstly, assess your surroundings. As your attacker is likely affected by MBD, I will assume you are in a library. The first step is to attempt escape. If your captor has forgotten about you, this will be easy. In fact, people have probably been wondering exactly why you've been standing in a corner with no one else present. Stroll casually out of the library. If your captor is standing near you but you can see the exit, make a run for it. You may wish to cause a diversion at this point. How you do it is up to you. A casual sentence such as 'My goodness, is that a T-rex over there? It appears to be coming straight for this corner' works well. If you're unable to think of an appropriate verbal attention-grabber, a swift kick on the ankle and a sprint to the exit is just as effective. If this doesn't work, or, as it was in my case, you have been wedged into the corner facing the wall, move on to #2.

#2. If you are, as I have assumed, in a library, this means that you have been placed in a corner made by (a) a bookshelf and a wall, or (b) two walls. If the case is (a), move on to #3. If the case is (b), go straight to #4.

#3. If a bookshelf is within your reach, as it was in my case, you may want to pull a book from the shelf and attempt to hit your captor with it. This will either (a) defeat them or (b) enrage them. If (a) is the case, you're fine. Stroll casually out of the library (or run casually, depending on how hard you hit your former captor with the book), making sure to salute any posters on the way. If the case is (b), book-hitting is probably no longer an option. In this case, move on to #4.

#4. If no potential weapons are within your reach, now is the time to look for potential allies. Do not worry about embarrassing yourself. Face it. You're standing in a corner next to an enraged girl prodding you uncomfortably whenever you attempt to move. You have no dignity. Scream for help. If an ally - such as, in my case, Marie-Clare and Peanut - does appear, encourage them to use brute force to get you out. If they are able to pry you away from your captor, stroll towards the exit (casually. Always casually). Otherwise, move on to #5.

#5. If you are on this step, I will assume that either (a) brute force has failed but your allies are still present or (b) it has failed and your allies have disappeared or been incapacitated. If (a) is the case, move on to #6. If it is (b) move on to #7.

#6. Brute force has not worked. Cunning may. Get your ally to so annoy your captor they, too, are forced into a corner. When Marie-Clare had spent some time hitting Giuseppe with books (it's becoming rather a habit with her), Giuseppe pushed her into the corner opposite mine. If I'd taken the above-mentioned course of action, by strolling (casually) towards the exit, I expect I would have made it. As is, I attempted to sneak quietly into the next row of bookshelves. Giuseppe noticed and I was soon recaptured and shoved into a new corner, similar to the previous one insofar as it was just as hard to get out of. The only difference was that in the new corner, I was immediately next to a glass door, through which I could see my tutor chatting to a different teacher. Despite frenzied gestures, she completely ignored my plight. Call this pastoral care?

#7. Your allies have been incapacitated. Marie-Clare's attempt to save me had failed. Peanut had collapsed to the floor laughing some time previously. Note to those who are in this situation: Peanut cannot be counted on as an ally. She is of no more practical use in desperate situations than a piece of scenery. At this point, your escape attempts have all failed. In the interests of preventing serious harm from coming to yourself - also, by this time there are likely only five minutes until the time of your release, the end-of-lunch bell - it may be sensible to simply wait. Do not converse with your captor. They're unlikely to be moved by your pleading, and you may accidentally impart some crucial information. I'm not sure what kind of crucial information you're hoping to conceal, but it's unlikely you want your captor to find it out, no matter what it is. If your captor does not attempt to engage you in conversation, fine. Simply wait for your release, at which point you will stroll casually towards the exit, or until hostage negotiations are opened. If they are attempting to talk to you, move on to #8.

#8. Things are urgent. Do not, under any circumstance, be moved into having a conversation with your captor. They have you trapped in a corner. Whenever they try to converse with you, simply state 'I can't hear you. I'm in a corner'. If they become so irritated with this they release you, congratulations! You have succeeded. Stroll casually and unconcernedly towards the exit, looking as if this type of thing is part of your every-day routine. At any rate, the bell will shortly go. Simply stand in your corner and pretend you don't know your captor. This may preserve some of your dignity. It's unlikely to, though. If you are at this stage, move on to #9.

#9. The bell has gone. You are released. Stroll casually past your captor to the exit.

I hope the guide is of use to you. I do apologise for that phenomenal, completely unrelated tangent I just tripped happily off on. Back to my birthday. I discovered Shoelace photocopying several pages from an art book. This may be a case of MBD, or it may just be Shoelace's natural vagueness. But somehow, when it asked her how many copies she wanted, instead of '1' or '2', she typed '447'. I found her at about copy #12, frantically trying to stop the machine. With Marie-Clare's help, we managed to stop the machine and restore normality. We disposed of the extra copies. I was still concerned about the photocopier - it's not every day it's asked to print out nearly 500 copies - so I tried photocopying something myself, when Marie-Clare had gone. I tried to find a book with a picture of Richard Hammond on the front, on the basis that if the photocopier did break, and printed out the remaining 435 copies, I could always give the pictures to Marie-Clare. Richard Hammond is one of her numerous loves. Giuseppe and I recently tried to act out their potential marriage ceremony. I was being Richard Hammond. Marie-Clare was unimpressed to find me kneeling down, claiming that this would make me closer to his actual height. What can I say, Marie-Clare? The man's short. I'm fairly sure he's already married, as well. And he's about three times your age.

Anyway, I couldn't find a book by Richard Hammond, so I grabbed the closest book and photocopied that instead. It turned out to be a large picture of Hitler. And this would have been fine had the photocopier not done as I'd predicted it would, and tried to finish its enormous photocopying load with my Hitler picture. We managed to make it stop after it had produced ten copies. We were forced to dispose of these in the recycling bin. There are few things in life as disconcerting as opening a recycling bin and seeing ten pairs of Hitler-eyes, staring up at you, as I discovered several minutes later when, having forgotten about them, I went to throw something away.

The rest of my birthday passed passably. It took me about three tries to blow out the candles on my cake. What can I say? Sixteen candles! What happened to the good old days when there were ten or less? And my dad was convinced that the generic 'Happy Birthday' tune was no longer appropriate, and played a completely different song on the guitar while everyone else was trying to sing normally. For my birthday I got:

1. An iPod. Whenever I tell people this, they always go 'Really? What kind is it?'

To which I reply: 'It's blue.'

They normally respond by saying 'Yeah, you're funny. Really, what type is it?'

Well, I DON'T KNOW. I'm sorry. I'm not a technological person. It's blue. That's all I know.

Also, people, here's a heads-up. I'm not funny in person. I don't know how I occasionally manage to make people laugh by writing things, and it's great that happens, but really. If you think I'm making a joke when you're talking to me, no. I'm just ignorant.

2. One heck of a lot of Stephen Fry books. I'll be quoting from them for the next year.

3. BBC radio comedy. Wahay! So far, the only thing I've used my iPod for is to listen to 'That Mitchell & Webb Sound', series 1. Is that a waste? Probably.

4. Anchovies. No, Giuseppe, not capsicums. I really like anchovies. I really, really like them. Can there be more joy in life than eating anchovies on toast while reading Stephen Fry and listening to Mitchell & Webb on a blue iPod? I think not.

Although if you disagree, I'd be grateful for your suggestions. I'm fully aware of how sad my life is.

All I need now is Andrew Hansen, preferably carrying some form of confectionary, to complete the list of ideal gifts. There's a gift suggestion for my next birthday. Only four more birthdays, and I'll be half his age. Wahay! I think it's time to finish with some gratuitous photos. There can be no better way to conclude a 16th birthday. And yes, my actual birthday was several days ago. But that's no reason to ruin this golden finishing technique.