MPA Is to Blame

Yes, on Day Two I failed to write a blog.
Do not rub it in.
But, I had a good reason!

On Friday night from the moment the final school bell rang throughout the barren high school halls until 11:30 p.m., I happened to be situated at Herritage High School with fellow choristers, observing the national "holiday" of MPA. What is MPA, you ask? Well, MPA stands for Music Performance Assessment. It is basically a choir competition that is not competitive (no feelings are allowed to be hurt. otherwise the "men" would cry). Half the time I was portraying the role of supportive audience member whose job was to ignore a snotty child dropping glitter on the floor every two minutes as if she had terretts behind me, while the other half of the time I could be found standing against light green walls that smelt like butt. Mixed with sweat. Walls emitting an odor which probably could be found at Home Depot called "Butt Sweat Green". They have a name for every color. Guess what? The color "white" paint does not exist. And now, back to my excuse for why I failed on the seccond day of my quest to write one blog/day.

Three days prior to the competition I was forcasting a "Good" rating with a 40% chance of "Excellent" blowing into town for our choir. Mrs. Baldino either bribed the judges with tuna salad sandwiches or we lip-synched to our program unknowingly, but we managed to pull out two Superior ratings and one Excellent (which rounds up to a Superior, in case your mathematical mind is deficient). But in all fairness, Mrs. Baldino deserves to see the fruits of her labor be commended. However, the sightreading room equated to a complete and total trainwreck. Mrs. Baldino had the *yucky* face to wipe away any doubt that we had fooled the judge even before critiques were given. Friends who are reading this, please do not sing any random pitches while sightreading just to make it seem like you are adding to our choral sound. Just don't. Don't. Thank you very much.

Then, the icing on the cake to my MPA experience was being locked out of Heritage High School with my pal Mariah while a man on the phone whom we made eye contact with walked slower than the dead, surely teasing us in his mind that he was warm and we were, well, not. This little game carried on until someone swung open the door in my face (she will not be named nor described, for her stoic characteristics and rigid personality would surely compromise her identity). Oh dear, I've said too much.

Now you see why I could not come home to write a blog post.
While dealing with an earache (Otitis Media - I self diagnosed myself in Chemistry earlier Friday afternoon), a room smelling like sweaty butt, and two trips to two different Wendys (no I am not a fast food pig. I just decided that I wanted a frosty after I was done with my chili. Preferably unmelted.) I managed to maintain acting like a normally functioning human being while in public. All my creative effort was used up by the time I got home at 11:30 p.m. So this is why I failed my mission for one blog/night.

But at least you could relive this experience with me.
And that is what counts.