"Fire at Will... Wait. Where's Will?"

The 2008 Season of the Maryland Renaissance Festival was this weekend. I work at MDRF; I'm an Archery Wench. The traditional system has 6 people assigned to Archery at the beginning of the season. The idea is that people tend to quit, or get fired, or leave however they may leave. I mean, there are certain times that six people are really needed, but a good 75% of the time we really only need three. Which makes it good for us when we need breaks, but usually no one is on break.

Last year at Archery, we started with 6. One person was moved to the Labyrinth game. A few weeks later, one person quit, one person was fired, and one person was moved to Soda all in the same day. Which left one other girl (Lucky Seven), me, and a floater. We had fun. This year, Lucky Seven and I are the only two Archery veterans. The other four are boys. Of these boys, one has worked at MDRF before and has been stationed at the Cannon game temporarily. One is eighteen and does the "chivalry" thing well, but his sincerity is questionable. One is a 14-year-old, who, well, acts the part of a 14-year-old. The last one is fifteen or sixteen, and seems to just blend in. All four have varying shades of blue eyes, all of which are quite lovely. The one thing about these boys, though, is that they do not listen. Lucky Seven left early Sunday because she was sick, and I was left to continue the informal training. Of course, they don't listen when I tell them that their actions are, technically, against the rules. They don't listen when I say that they can only take more/longer breaks after everyone else has gotten their needed breaks for the time being. They don't listen when I say "Don't put your back to the customers!" or "Can we please not have five transactons at once?" They don't listen, no matter how many times I tell them that what they are doing at the given moment is dangerous and will get at least one of us fired. They're sweet boys, don't get me wrong, but they don't listen enough. Although... those would be typical boys for you, wouldn't it?

I Bet My Cat Likes Lasagna

I love Garfield and his sarcastic, witty humor. And this picture? Is kind of awesome right now. Today has been "one of those days." But it relates to days past, so just kind bear with me.

So, the other day, I had AOL Instant Messenger (also known as AIM) open, and I was talking to Bubbles in one window and Teapot in another window. And I said something in my conversation with Bubbles about something "pointless, like a circle." And, thinking that the whole conversation was a little absurd in the way that Bubbles and I are absurd, I sent that excerpt to Teapot. Teapot then proceeded to poke fun at me because "Circles have more points than anything else!" Well, yes, a circle in geometry class might have more points than anything else, but your average circle is round, and therefore has no points. I just kinda shrugged this off; after all, I did just barely pass Geometry.

Today, however, I was talking to my friend Sushi, who pointed out that "Sew is only one letter away from screw." Again, thinking that this was kinda funny, I sent this to Teapot. Who then pointed out that it was, in fact, two letters away. I defended the claim of "one letter" because I didn't look closely enough. As soon as I sent my response, however, I noticed that it was indeed two letters. And then Teapot felt the need to laugh at my defense of my statement (yes, he did laugh, and did point out that it was because of my defense.). Teapot is supposed to be one of my closest friends, but I'm starting to wonder about that, since apparently he must think I'm stupid.

Oh, and did I mention that I'm majorly ticked at Teapot now?

Anyway. This morning I dyed a shirt for work. I thought it went well, until I remembered that I forgot to add salt and detergent to the dyebath. This kinda frustrated me, but fabric dye isn't expensive, so I can always do it again if something happens in the future.

Later in the day, a friend (who is mentally behind) told me that she was worried that I would fail out of high school my Senior year. I honestly don't know why she said this, since the year hasn't even started yet, and I'm not taking many hard classes. Way to make me feel like I'm smart enough to finish high school, let alone go to college.

While I was doing some sewing, my cat decided it would be fun to sneak up on the side of the couch and stick her claws into my arm and sewing project. This was a little annoying, but I just brushed her away and continued working.

Then, Teapot Instant Messaged me and complained about all of the summer AP work he had to do. This made me kind of angry, because all summer he's been "AP work this" and "AP work that." Okay, well, I didn't get selected to be in any AP classes for next year, and that still kind of hurts. So, I would now like ot point out that I have no sympathy for Teapot whatsoever. He and his backhanded bragging can go jump in a lake. But wait, this isn't the end of the day.

I was eating dinner, and I had my arm over the side of the couch like I usually do, and the cat started clawing my arm again. I then got up, because I had finished my dinner, and went into the kitchen to get some dessert. I returned to find the dog in my seat. I tried to move him, but he wouldn't go no matter how much I tried to push him down. Finally, he had to be bribed with food to get down. I sat down to eat dessert, and the cat started clawing my arm again. By now, my day was just kinda getting really bad. So I stood up, looked down where the cat was, and yelled at the cat. (Yes, I realize that she probably did not understand what I was saying.) And that, ladies and gentlemen, was my last nerve.

You are now free to move about the Internet.

Can I get a translation?

Math is my downfall. Here are 10 reasons I don't need math:

1. I am going to be a famous writer one day. I'll be able to hire people to do the math for me.
2. I am going to be a guidance counselor one day. I need to practice the answer not being set in stone. Math answers are set in stone.
3. I am a musician; the only math I will ever need is the ability to count.
4. Most colleges only require two or three credits of math, but four English credits. That means that colleges care more about English than math.
5. Math cannot keep my attention. If it cannot in any way be made interesting (which, so far, it has not), then clearly it is not worth my time.
6. The ability to do math without assistance has become obsolete. I do not feel the need to concern myself with obsolete abilities. Machines have been invented to add/subtract/multiply/divide for me.
7. Math is not able to be applied to the real world. Teachers can only ever come up with a few examples of "real-world math" because only a few examples exist.
8. Math makes me want to pull my hair out. Clearly, that is not healthy, which means that math is not healthy, which means I don't need to do it.
9. No one needs a constant reminder that little mistakes have a huge impact. In math, even the itsy-bitsiest little error will throw the problem off.
10. I only like cool teachers. I have never met a cool math teacher. English teachers and band directors are the only cool people on the planet.

That, children, is my post for the night.

Oh, and one more thing. 2+2=Fish.

The Internet is for...

It's about time I put a fun thing up here! This is one-hundred percent true about me: When I'm not doing anything (which is most of the time because my friends all actually have lives), I sit on the computer. As Teapot once said, it can pretty much be expected that my screenname will be on the AIM online list at any given moment. Yesterday, for example, I went to the dentist (he is evil as shit) and the doctor (who was a very nice lady). Then, because my plans for the night had fallen through, I sat on my couch using my computer for many many hours. And, in case you haven't noticed, I sit and write my blog at very strange late hours. My sister makes fun of me for sitting at the computer so much. But at the same time...

I don't have to actually talk to people if I'm at the computer. I love my friends to death, but I am much more comfortable when I'm not actually with them. I mean, sure, my conversations with Bubbles tend to just be smalltalk, and I can't use my usual humor with some people because sarcasm doesn't do well on the internet, but I really like talking via the Internet. It lets me do my own thing. I can look up pictures to send to people, verify my facts before saying something (even though people will try to make me sound stupid anyway), and multitask. It is much easier to multitask when everything is nice and organized into windows...

I may spend too much time on the computer, and some people may say that it's the reason I don't have a social life... but, in a way, it is my social life...

Peace, love, and bassoons.

I have nothing in common with PostSecrets, actually

So maybe this one is an exaggeration by a little bit. Because the girl in this picture is a little too thin. Just a little.

My weight has always been an issue for me. I'm not huge, but until a few weeks ago, I was "Clinically Obese I." Now, I'm just in the "Overweight" range. And sometimes I feel like my diet isn't working. Like today, for example, I went to a party at a friend's house. I am really glad that there were diet beverages other than water, because I probably consumed two days worth of calories over the course of the day.

At this party, we were told to wear swimsuits because there would be a water balloon fight. Which there was. I was the only one who wore a swimsuit. And the rest of the guests were these skinny girls who kept giving me this look, like I shouldn't be allowed to wear a swim suit (even if it was a one-piece) because of all of the extra weight I have. And trust me, I was not being paranoid about the looks they were giving me.

I was truly disgusted at how much I ate today. Especially since I forced myself to eat. What I mean by that is that I felt sick as soon as I started eating, but ate anyway. I mean, I should kind of be proud of myself, because that's me making sure I don't starve myself to death... but... I'm also kind of angry at myself that I have to force myself to eat.

Sorry if this blog is starting to sound like the typical whining teenager.

It's probably why I have no friends.

The King of Geese is Scary

It didn't really happen the way the above image says it did. Teapot and I are good friends. He knew what I was doing to myself. He tried to understand. Then he had a bad day. He did what I did. He later confessed. Every day I try to forget that it is partially my fault that he did what he did. He probably knew other cutters. That does not change the fact that I told him about the "positives" that accompanied it. So, Teapot, I am sorry if I ruined what would have been left of your innocence.

I don't quite remember when Bubbles actually found out about my cutting. I honestly don't think I told her, but perhaps I've forgotten. After all, I can't even truly remember when I started. Just that I started, and that Bubbles found out. What I do remember, though, is that Bubbles and I were chatting about it one night online, and I asked (semi-rhetorically) what actually made me decide to start cutting. After all, I'd lived a pretty sheltered life and had been raised to believe that cutting was for nothing more than attention. Bubbles then said something to the effect of "Because I told you to." And I, of course, pointed out that she did not do any such thing. And then she pointed out that "Not directly, but by telling you my past with cutting, it may have affected you in some way." And as much as this is probably true... I don't think that's the actual reason I started cutting. And I wonder, sometimes, if she thinks about that conversation. And I wonder, sometimes, if she blames herself. And, Bubbles, if you do... don't. And if you don't think about it... then good for you. You've learned how to not dwell on every little detail. Yay.

That's my story. Well. More like their stories.

Selfishism

Each night, I can't quite decide what the general subject of my post will be. I turn to whatever friend I am talking to online at the time, and ask them what the topic should be. Tonight, Bubbles has suggested that I do one about her. This was a fair enough suggestion, so then the following conversation took place:

Me: Okay. I have two I can use. Pick one, A or B?

Bubbles: Hm... A.

Me: Okay.

So just to let you know, Bubbles, you picked this one.

Bubbles is an actress. She goes to school to be an actress. She has talent being an actress. But, of course, we don't live in an area that has a high demand for actresses. So Bubbles, being the forward-thinking girl she is, has decided that she wants to move to either Los Angeles or New York in search of (a) a continuing education and (b) a career. From what I gather from her, she's leaning towards Los Angeles. And, as I have explained previously, we live in Maryland.

Bubbles is my best friend. I may not necessarily be hers, but she is mine. And Bubbles and I have gone through a lot together, both with each other or using each other for support. And once, we had a fight that I thought was going to seriously discontinue our friendship. I was being totally paranoid, of course, like I usually am, but it started me thinking about what would happen if there was no more Bubbles in my life. It's kind of a scary thought. Well, except...

When Bubbles goes to Los Angeles, I will still be here. She will be off doing what she loves, in a place where she will be happy. I will be here, in the mundane sarcasm that my life has become. She will be in another time zone, another life, another world. She will be too busy to talk to me, or probably even to think of me. And I feel selfish for pointing it out. But at the same time, I think it's kinda true.

Bubbles is the one person I go to when I need someone to talk to (except, of course, when I feel like talking to her would not be entirely beneficial). Bubbles helped me get through probably the worst time of my life (and that may not have ended yet, I don't know). Bubbles has, essentially, saved me. She helped me stop cutting. She's shown me what problems eating disorders can cause. Unknowingly, she's kept me from suicide.

Again, I know I sound selfish for saying this.

But I don't want her to leave.

Oh, where is my hairbrush?

(I can't remember the name he and I decided on, so now his name is Highway).

I have never met Highway in my life. In fact, we've only been talking online for like a month or so. He and I met through our friend Teapot, who has also never actually met Highway. And I don't know whether it's because he's just a good listener/advice giver, or whether it's just because he's a new person to talk to who is not judgemental, but I feel more comfortable talking to him than I do talking to Bubbles. [My entire friendship with Bubbles will be outlined in a future entry.] But anyway.

Highway and I have this kind of game where one of us will be an advice columnist and the other will come up with a situation that needs advising. For Highway, it's to practice/get inspired for his advice blog, which I will link you to at the end of this entry; for me, it's to practice for being a guidance counselor some day. And we were playing this game, and I sent him a situation that was actually really true, but I wasn't about to admit it to him or anyone else. But when I sent him the situation, it kind of... it felt really good. And the advice was good.

Another time, more recently, I was having a really bad night. And I was talking to Highway. And I mentioned that I was having this intense need to start up one of my not-so-good habits again. Highway, being the good advice giver he is, gave me all these reasons he could think of for me not to. And I really appreciated it because he let me sit there and try to argue against his logic, and he didn't yell about me putting up a fight. In the end, I didn't end up doing what I felt like doing after talking to him.

The PostSecret above really fits the whole situation. I mean, I barely know Highway at all, making him a stranger. And I've still told him things I'd never tell Bubbles (who is kinda my best friend.)


There's my entry. Deal with it folks.


The link to Highway's blog is http://whowewillbecome.blogspot.com

I'm Cheating a Little

So, I made this one myself. In case you can't read it it says, "I write letters to people and never send them. But sometimes I really wish they'd read them." I'll send this into PostSecret once I figure out how to put it on a postcard. So yeah, I've written letters that I haven't sent. I probably won't send them, either.

The first time I did this, it was the night I graduated from middle school. I was listening to that Vitamin C song "Graduation (Friends Forever)." It didn't make me cry. Then I put in my Avril Lavigne CD ("Under My Skin") and was listening to that. And that had been kind of my thing with my best friend: listening to that CD. That night, I realized that we were going to separate schools completely and would probably lose contact with each other (we have, actually). So that night, after I cried for about half an hour, I picked up a random notebook lying around and wrote a page and a half explaining how much she meant to me. I really miss her sometimes.

For a while, I didn't write any more letters. I mean, not ones I really meant as actual letters to people. (I wrote a goodbye-to-life note one day, but I don't know that I was one hundred percent serious about it.) Then I met this guy, we'll call him Smokey, and I kinda fell for him really hard. And then, in the true tradition of teenage life, he broke my heart. So I wrote him a few letters, that are still saved on my other computer. I honestly don't think I want him to read those letters, though, because he does not deserve the knowledge that would come with them.

Over Spring Break, I was staying overnight at Bubbles's dorm at college, and she was on her laptop, and her roommate was on her laptop, so I pulled out my laptop and opened a random word document. I didn't know what to type, so I write a little mini-poem at the top of the page. "Blank pages are no fun/So let us fill every one." After that, I answered some questions that I got out of a workbook that I bought at Borders. When I finished those, I decided that I would write a letter to my English teacher. It ended up being only a page typed, but it was really satisfying after I wrote it. I explained to him why knowing certain facts about him kind of disturbed me, and why I was doing so poorly in his class [I knew EXACTLY why...] And then I explained a few other things to him [things that I will explain in this blog at a later date.] Sometimes I wish I could send him this letter, to show him that we have something in common. Because sometimes, the thing we had in common is something I need a kindred to talk to about, someone who isn't as close to me as Bubbles is.

Those are my letters.

Peace Out, Y'all.

Late-night Posts are an Out-of-School Habit

So there's a piano in this one. I do play piano, yes, but it's not my main instrument, nor am I good at it. I play bassoon, and I kind of love it. I'm only just coming up on my fourth year of playing it, but it's really something that I would miss if it left my life. The above picture pretty much describes it (except "Playing makes me feel musical"..... no, really? I wouldn't have guessed!). But much more than anything, music makes me feel. There's a rush that comes from playing in a big, talented ensemble like the one I'm in. And more than that, there's an indescribable emotion that comes from playing music, an emotion that just listening to a piece, no matter how fantastic, can never match. And I feel like it's not just any particular type of song, but all of the songs I've ever played. Even if I hated it, I know I had that emotion present with it.

Our final concert this past year ('07-'08) was kind of hard for me, because for the first time, I actually knew the Seniors we were wishing a fond farewell to. I loved them. And sometimes I just can't get some of the songs we played out of my head, because they were just so beautiful. I was told that people cried when they heard us play certain songs, but sometimes it felt like we were going to cry during certain songs. I remember how we all kind of hated this one piece called Caccia and Chorale, but how we all kind of loved it as well. It had all the great aspects of a masterpiece: The driving force during the caccia, the feel of the chase (even if those runs were a bitch to play), the precise rhythm that accompanied the Morse code section, and the passion of the slow death during the chorale.

We always followed Caccia and Chorale with a piece called Carmina Burana. You're probably familiar with it, even if you don't know the actual name of the piece. It's originally about 27 movements for opera, and was cut down to 13 for band. Of that, we played seven movements. I always kinda referred to it in my head as the mood-swing piece, because it would go from driving, forceful, and dangerous to kinda spooky, to playful, to romantic, and then back to driving, forceful, and dangerous. As amazing as the piece is, I always hated most of it.

One that we didn't include in the final concert but should have was Antithigram. At first, I thought it was an ugly, ugly song that should never have been written. As I became more familiar with it, I started to love it. It had angry, ugly moments that were gorgeous, and it had spooky, sad, dreamlike movements that were beautiful.

My absolute favorite song, however, was called An American Elegy. It's a beautiful, long piece written in memory of the Columbine shooting. It even incorporates the Columbine alma mater. Recently, I've been finding that this song gets stuck in my head because of how beautiful it is. There is not a single part that I hate. Even though I am not a big fan of the upper clarinet/flute sound, the really high, rather quiet parts of the song just give a surreal, angelic feel to the song that words cannot accurately describe. It is a beautiful sound and it is the best musical portrayal of that achingly beautiful, lonely mourning that people feel after a great loss. At the same time, though, it's a sound of hope. I wish my computer wasn't being weird, because I really want to listen to the mp3 on the publishing company's website. You really must listen to this song.

Really.

The website is http://www.manhattanbeachmusic.com/html/mp3.html Scroll down, it's in alphabetical order. You may wish to turn up your volume through the computer, not through the speakers, for best sound quality. Or, you could be like me, and stick a set of earbuds into your computer/speakers for the best effect. It's An American Elegy by Frank Ticheli. While you're there, check out Antithigram by Jack Stamp.

YouTube has a slideshow of many American tragedies set to the music of An American Elegy. It's truly awesome, I highly recommend it if you get the chance to see it. If it doesn't move you to tears, well, there is little hope for you. I mean that in the most loving way possible, of course.

Because I live in Maryland

So, I live about half an hour away from D.C. We have no Sonic. So I've convinced my best friend, who you know as Bubbles, that we are going to drive to Sonic one day. I really like this (it's from the PS Facebook group) because it sums up what our eventual trip will be like: Three hours of two crazy girls driving to either Delaware or Virginia just to go to a fast-food place. And the small little text in the corner says "Esp because i get to go with YOU!" I love going places with this girl. Let me tell you why.
I've known Bubbles for about three years now. She is truly my best friend. She is there when I need her... and she understands pretty much everything I'm going through because she's already gone through it. We have fights, sure, but that kinda makes us closer. We fight to keep each other in check; it's a balance thing. And yeah, a lot of people think we are a strange match to be friends, but that's what makes us the crazy chicks we are.
Bubbles and I can pretty much tell each other everything... not that we do, I'm sure... but that is for another entry. Usually, we can give each other sound advice, but sometimes we just don't know what to do.
There will be more entries about Bubbles, but let me tell you about what I think our trip will be:

• 10% listening to her favorite band.
• 20% her telling me about said band
• 10% us making fun of each other
• 30% us talking about random stuff
• 10% us being deep
• 20% mooing at cows

Yeah. That's us.

And so it begins...

I like writing. In fact, the first thing most people will tell you about me is that I am a writer. Some people will actually tell you that I'm a good writer, but usually it's just "Oh, her? She's a writer." Writing is what I want to do with my life. Except, of course, everyone tells me that I'm a good writer. Sometimes I think they're just humoring me. I mean, yeah, I believe that I'm a better writer than a lot of people. But does that make me good at writing? Or does that just make my dream of being published a hair more feasible? The thing I like about this image (which may not be from PostSecret, but it's from the PostSecret Facebook group) is that it kinda sums me up. I'm not good at math, I'm not good at singing, I'm not even good at driving. But I kinda pride myself on my writing. Yeah, my poetry may be emo crap, and I may totally suck at writing essays... but writing brings some kind of relief into my life.

Supposedly, blogging and journaling are good ways to strengthen writing. I tend to disagree though, because blogs are usually about ideas not necessarily skill at writing and journals are usually private. My belief is that you need reinforcement and critiquing to better yourself at wordcraft. I prefer to think of blogging as practicing the skills, or practicing a different kind of writing. I mean, yeah, you can make a blog for other people to critique you, but then you risk your stuff being pirated and whatnot.

I didn't truly believe that I was a writer until just recently. I mean, yeah, I may've called myself a writer, but that doesn't mean that I actually was one. I mean, being a writer is more than just writing. Being a writer is making others believe that you're a writer. About a month ago, my friend, we'll call her Bubbles, and I were in the back of a car on the way to rehearsal for the musical theatre production we had been in at the time. We were separated by a boy in our carpool, and the two of them were talking about writing. [It may be helpful for me to note here that Bubbles is obsessed with a certain band and writes FanFictions about the members of this band.] The boy in our carpool was talking about... a book, perhaps? Something he was writing. And the driver of the car, we'll call her Mini, had found a bit of a lull in her conversation with the girl next to her to ask what the back of the car was talking about. I was not actually part of the conversation, being the withdrawn being that I am. But when the boy said "Oh, we're talking about writing. Bubbles and I are both writers," it just kind of struck me in a weird way, because he said it in such a way that made me cringe. And then my friend says, "So is Catnip." Catnip, of course, being me. And that kinda made me feel good, because no one had ever actually called me a writer before. I'd been told that I would be a writer, but I'd never actually been called one. And it felt really nice.

The Title

So, this blog won't be one of those popular ones, because there's nothing special about it. It's not creative, really, and it's not useful. It won't be updated in any kind of predictable fashion, and you'll never know my name. This blog is the kind of thing that you could find entertaining if you're up at 2 o'clock in the morning and have nothing really to do.

So what is this blog? Is it a diary, or more of a tell-it-like-I-see-it? It's neither of those. It's more of my autobiography in short bursts. It's not done in the traditional way, though. Are you familiar with PostSecret? If not, Google it, but if you are, you know how awesome PostSecret can be. I'm going to start out with PostSecret pictures, and once I run out of those, random other pictures/sayings/etc. What exactly will I be doing with them? Relating them to my life. Or my friends' lives, if such be the case.

So, enjoy. Or don't. Doesn't matter to me, I'm just writing this.