Santana Lopez

Hi.
My name is Santana Lopez.
And I'm incredibly offended right now.



Please, tell me he's not serious. How DARE he ruin my most FAVOURITE song?

I'm suddenly appreciative of your personality, Kurt.

Am I the only one to be seriously offended by this?
Mercedes!?

I decided to wait to open the results of my career aptitude test until I got home. It was obviously going to be something like: "Champion Cheerleader" or like "The Next Shakira" so I , me being the nicest person in the entire fucking world, I brought it home so nobody would get jealous. I know. I'm considerate. Thoughtful. And I look good. (+ My ankle is better. Isn't that awesome? I no longer have to wear that godforsaken cast.)

I'm sorry. What kind of joke is this? Are you all fucking me right now, or is there another Santana Lopez at this school? This is stupid.
I doubt I would fit under God's holy wings anyway. Does God even have wings? What the fuck? Am I even religious?
Do I even care about all these holy things? No. No I don't think so. The closest thing I have ever read to a Bible is the Cheerio's Rule Book.
I DON'T EVEN  QUALIFY AS ONE OF THESE THINGS.
OH MY GOD.

So I'm pretty sure I only have three out of five siblings right now.
There is NOTHING in my fridge.
I. Have. Watched. ALL. Of. The. "Bring It All Series." In. One. Day.

I am so fucking pissed at the world.
I'm not even going to do this. Who the hell cares if it's part of our grade? I can spare a few percentages. THIS IS DISGUSTING.
IT IS EMBARASSING. I'M NOT DOING THIS. AND YOU WILL NEVER FIND OUT WHAT I GOT.

Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiii! ThIs iS AnIta! SaNtAna leFt tHis On BY aCCident! SHe's EaTiNG mY EaSy BaKe OveN RiGhT NoW!
I GeT to CaLL heR "SiStEr LoPez" NoW! SHe Is GoInG to GrOw uP and Be a NUN.

Roses are red.
Violets are blue.
Your ass is so big.
Sugar is sweet!
It's blocking my view.
And so are you!

I came home today and completely ignored all my siblings. I have never felt so accomplished in my life.
My mom came home and asked me how it went with Mrs. Pillsburry, and I told her it was nice.
Then she said it was good that I was trying to do something about my "behavior."
So like, yeah. She's super happy.

To let everyone know, I met with Mrs. Pillsburry.

I don't really know what I'm doing.

But I wanted to let you all know:
You don't look at ugly today. (:
And Kurt- you actually don't look like a total Fruit Loop when you're in your Cheerio's uniform.

ooc/ I legit have no idea how long this is going to last. Probably die out when I feel like it or get lazy. Won't be long. You'll have your bitchy Santana back. Lemme know if you are objected to this. Anyway it's amusing. My little brother took my favourite flavor of doughnut, and I'm incredibly angry. I swear I'm going loony. I have so much homework. And wait, this isn't even my blog. /Runs away.

I have like, a billion siblings. They are horrible. I hate them. They are ALL younger than me.
I am the oldest in my family, and my parents like, work all the time.
Which I use to my advantage.

Yesterday, one of them was running around and screaming. Then, another rat, naturally decided to join him.
How the hell am I supposed to do my daily jog on the treadmill with two brats running around? Not to mention, the other three were argueing over the fucking television remote.

I'm sorry, you mini-satan's, I thought I was the watching the television.

Anyway, I turned off my treadmill and ended up using the remote to hit nudge them on the head.
Yeah, so like, my Mama walked in as I did this?

And now she thinks I have anger issues.
Doesn't she freaking see she's the one with issues? Out of six kids, I'm the only normal, hot one.
My little brother picks his nose. It's gross.

Now I have to go "see" someone to talk about my problems?
'Cause my mom is too idiotic to talk to me herself.

Whatever. World. Whatever.

I went to the doctor's today.
Which meant I was touched and handled by this really unattractive old man with a beard. Like, what the hell? They didn't have the consideration to put me with a good looking doctor? Seriously? Anyway. That's besides the point.

I went to the doctor's, and I kinda zoned out. All I know is it isn't broken.
As much as I wanted to say that it was, just so Fabray get's shit for it.
Just because it isn't broken doesn't mean it doesn't hurt every freaking day.
It doesn't mean I can do Cheerios. Or Glee, either.
So you guys can send me flowers and "Get Well Soon" cards if you want. I don't care. I would prefer it if you didn't fake sympathy, because it pisses me off.

Anyway, back to the ankle. His hideousness was distracting me, but I picked up that I have a Grade III ankle sprain. What the hell are those three lines supposed to be? 

I'm in still in crutches.
My foot's in a huge ugly cast.

Apparently I'm supposed to use one of these things to like, let my feelings out?
Personally, I don't really care about doing that. I bet you all know, or don't really give a crap, about what I feel anyway, so why post it online?

I'm jealous. I'm torn. I'm pissed off. I'm sad. I'm confused. I'm pissed off. I'm pissed off. I'm pissed off. I'm pissed off.

Besides. I'm sure someone is already spreading news about Quinn Fabray and I throughout the entire freaking school.

So now my freaking ankle's like, broken. Or sprained. Or whatever.
I'm on crutches.
It's disgusting.
I'm a freaking cripple. They say it isn't bad enough to give me a wheelchair, but it hurts like a bitch, so I don't understand why. That Artie kid can't even feel his legs, and he gets the wheelchair, while I'm in pain. I mean- what the hell? What kind of fucked up conspiracy is this? Argh, whatever.

HBIC. Yes.
Back from a minor withdrawal solved with chocolate and bananas, Santana Lopez is back stronger than ever.

And she likes older men that are not teachers, not married, not fathers, or over thirty.
Preferably, someone in their graduate year or has already graduated. Bonus points for a good credit score.

YOU'RE. A . BITCH.

I want. To rip you. Apart.
It's called fair game, Little Bo Peepers.

I will toss your Holy Freaking Blond Head into the ocean, and hope you and your baby don't escape the clutches of a massive shark.

Oh wait! Maybe I should just shoot you, because you'd probably end up having too much fun with a shark, right Baby Mama?

Close your legs,

Santana Lopez.

I think this will become my favourite expression from now on. Seriously. I know it totally sounds like I'm whining, but these are what blogs are for.
They are for losers to complain and whine about their sad and sorry life. I'm not a loser.

Oh and for the record?
Old guys are officially not my type. They don't fall for my tricks. I mean- it's awesome you grew a brain and everything, and probably have better credit scores versus the guys' in High School, but wow. Just. Wow.

At the same time they stop you from doing something really, really stupid.

Oh, and Brittany. Where the hell are you!?
I can't freaking FIND you! Pick your cell phone and answer my damn text messages.

God.