College

I am a senior in high school this year. It seems like just yesterday, I was a timid little Freshman sitting alone at lunch. Now I'm a silent Senior who might as well sit alone at lunch. I seem to have changed, although I wouldn't realize it if I didn't sit back and look at it.

Freshman year, I was new to the school. I knew maybe eight people total. I weighed about 150 pounds. My GPA was in the 3.1 range. I cared about school. I cared about guys. I was a normal teenager.

Sophomore year, I started to do worse in school. Sophomore year, as you may recall, is when I started cutting. I still cared about guys and school, just in a way that kind of made it seem like I was apathetic about the whole thing.

Junior year, I payed more attention to the fact that I am a little bit of a heavy girl. Stress levels rose, I continued cutting, and life was going downhill. I weighed in at about 210 pounds by the end of Junior year.

Now we're at Senior year, and only one month in. Right now, I am hating school. It makes me want to gouge my eyes out with an unsharpened pencil. I have gotten my weight down to about 177-ish. I.... stopped cutting for a while. I played with cigarettes. I... asked my crush to Homecoming. He said no, naturally, but hey, at least I asked.


Now they're trying to start me in on going to college. Lemme tell ya what I think about that. First, let's start with what classes are like now. When I'm bored in general, my mind wanders. I will think of anything but what I'm doing. When I'm in class, this tends towards death/suicide/Hell/afterlife/what have you. The only class this is actually appropriate in is Heaven and Hell. I'm not suicidal, though, don't worry. I just think about it. Especially when I'm doing school-related stuff. When I'm bored and I'm at work, I drift off into anything else. But, the bottom line is that school makes me want to scream. It also makes me.... well, we'll get into that some other time.

College is my next step, right? I went to the vist from St. Mary's College of Maryland. The guy standing at the front of the room said that the classes might be a bit longer, and a bit faster paced. That's what honors-college means. St. Mary's is also a small school. One the one hand, the size would be PERFECT. I can't stand large classes. But on the other hand... I can barely handle the 86 minutes of not-honors doom that make up one class. Multiply that by eight, the amout of classes I have total. That is about two days in my life. And lunch periods do not relieve it.

What am I going to do in college? I honestly, honestly believe that even the slightest mismatch between me and college may lead to me being locked into a mental hospital. But, on the flip side, maybe what I need is a change of pace, you know? I've been in the same place for a while, and it gets stale. Maybe that has something to do with it? Who knows.

All right, peace out peeps.

Rainy Days are Boring, Like My Life

One of the reasons I dislike Fall is that it rains. A lot. At least here in Maryland it does. Yesterday and today were no exception.

Yesterday was one of those typical rainy school days: Get up, trudge through schoolwork that seems endless because of a looming three-day-weekend, go home, do whatever. So I managed (barely) to get through school. Then I got in my car with a girl and her sister and took them home (which took twice as long as it should have because of the rain.) Then I ran out to the grocery store to buy cake mix and cake accessories for my friend's birthday. I picked up a box that said the cake recipe called for oil, so I called home to make sure we had oil. Then I picked up another box without thinking and put it in the basket. I continued on my way. I bought some candles that said "Happy Birthday" and some chocolate frosting and some blue icing. When I got to the checkout, I found the little impulse-buy refrigerator, and it had a new soda that I just had to try. It was Diet Sierra Mist with cranberry flavoring in it! And it was good!

So I went home to make the cake and get on my way. I took the box of mix out of the grocery bag and read the back. To my horror, I had picked up a box of Butter Recipe cake mix. As you can probably guess, this recipe calls for butter, not oil. I looked in the refrigerator, and to my horror, we only had half a stick of butter. And it was very hard butter indeed. I looked around some more. We had a margarine spread. I used that as a substitute, and stuck it and the half-stick of butter into the microwave to make them soft... not realizing, of course, that the spread would melt. As much as I hated that, it made the mix easier to stir and therefore easier to make. So the rest of the cake-making goes well, until I look around and find that we do not seem to own a cake transporter that is intact. In fact, the one we have is broken and takes rectangular cakes. My cake, naturally, was round, because round is a fun shape for cake. My mother suggested that I take the cakes on two separate plates and finish assembling the cake upon arrival. This plan seemed to work well, so I packed up the cake, threw some clothes in a bag, and headed off.

Traffic, of course, was the horrible kind that comes with rainy rush-hour. So I took the back way to my friend's house (An important note: she lives two hours away). At this point, it is about six-thirty PM as I leave, and it is rainy, so it gets dark very quickly. So I have many tasks at this point: operate the car effectively and safely, read the directions, avoid getting lost, and make sure the cakes aren't sliding around on the back seat. The only tricky part was avoiding getting lost, but that was merely because I couldn't read the road signs very well in the dark rain. (Also, some of the numbers are missing off the signs. How do I know this? Because exits do not jump from number 69 to number 8. That just does not happen.) So I arrive safely, eat dinner, hang out with my friend, and go to bed.

The sleeping arrangements last night were a bit askew due to the fact that my friend's sister just moved to a college in Ohio and doesn't live at home anymore. This leaves her rather large room to just sit and be a haven for the family cats (of which there are twelve). The sister's bed is still in the room: a nice queensized bed. My friend decided that she wanted us to sleep in the same room, and that since her room barely fits what's in there, we should sleep in her sister's room (which is completely allowed.) So we go upstairs, and my friend tells me that I will be sleeping on the [rather defective] inflatable mattress. As much as I hate the inflatable matress, I go along with that because it's her birthday the next day. We inflated the mattress. She forgot to close the air plug thing. We put more air in the mattress, but apparently not enough, because at around 1 in the morning, I woke up and definitely felt the floor through the mattress. I dealt with it, though, because I was tired as crap.





I'm extremely tired. So I'm going to put part II of this saga up tomorrow.



Peace, love, and raincoats.

Heaven doesn't want me, and Hell's afraid I'm gonna take over.

I ran out of creative things to do with this blog. Post secrets all seem alike after a while. So now I'm bringing you something cool. POETRY!!! (Copyrighted, of course.)

The first one is called "This poem is crap." Yes, I realize that this is a sentence, not a title. That is what is written at the top of the page though, therefore making it a title.

It hasn't been the same without you
Living day to day
But I know it's my own fault
That I feel this way
I brought you here into my life
And then cast you aside
I told myself I didn't need you
Well, I guess I lied

It isn't that I cannot function
Because apparently I do
It's just that life has not been right
Since I quit myself of you
If I try replacing you
Maybe that would work
But we both know that, eventually,
You'll find me, and you'll smirk.

Again I tried to leave you
But this time, let you stay
If I want to live my life
You're the price I have to pay
Life was not the same without you
Without your painful touch
I found I couldn't live without you
I needed you too much.


This next two are similar. I had a concept in my head that I wanted to write about, but started this next one and couldn't go in the direction I'd intended, so I wrote the last one as a follow-up. Pardon my repetition of phrases and ideas. This one is "Confessions of a Good Girl."

She says I'm sweet, naive, innocent
An almost-grown baby girl
She'll swear she knows all about me
And so would they, and he, and you
If she and they and he and you
Would pay proper attention
You'd see I'm not the good girl
But I'll keep my secret
The good girl thinks a certain way
And knows that good is everything
I try to be good, I swear I do
But lately it's too hard.
Good girls go to Heaven, but I wonder
What about me? I've been told I will
because I am a "good girl"
But I know I won't
I don't act the part
Heaven has no smoking section
Heaven has no bars
And Heaven will not let me in
If Heaven sees my scars
Truly good girls go to Heaven
And damn if I won't try my best...



There must be a way to be good again.


This last one plays on the "good girl" theme. It has no title.

I'm the girl who lives two lives
I'm the girl who has two worlds
I'm the girl with many secrets
I'm the girl with many lies

In the world of books and learning
I'm the girl who does not speak
I'm the girl who breaks no rules
I'm the nerdy, goody-two-shoes
I'm the naive, innocent one
I'm the sullen, silent one.

In the world of other life
I'm the girl who needs to speak
I'm the girl who shuns the rules
I'm the bad girl, wild-child
I'm the one who tries to learn
I'm the almost-normal one

I sometimes wish the woulds would meet
So you could see both sides
But keeping separate is the way
To let me be myself.





Hope you enjoyed!

Rawr, I am an octopus that is scary and will stare at you with my huge eyes!

Lalalalalala. I am quite hyper today. I don't know why. I slept through math class. (Okay, well, so did everyone else. Including the uber-amazing guy who sits next to me. He is some kind of awesome.)

I got my copy of the music for Sweeney Todd today. I haven't looked through it yet. It majorly scares me, actually. Because from what it looks like, ST is a long-ass show. Like, no lie. I've never played music for that long before (although Carmina Burana and Caccia and Chorale last year kinda come close with the sheer intensity of it all.).

Anyway. It's been a long long long time since I've updated. So, over the week I was very stressed. And that carried over into the weekend. And I threw a temper-tantrum at work. And my coworker sent our other coworker to check on me. It was quite nice, actually, because he is a really sweet guy. Even if he is taken.

Hm... what else? Um... Saturday. We were pulling arrows at work, and usually when we enter the room we shout random nonsense to the customers to make them smile. My traditional statement is "Don't shoot me, I'm too cute to be a target!" Not quite true, but whatever. After maybe half the day of working, at some point I go in and say it in my cutesy-pie voice, and then turn my back to start pulling the arrows, and a guy shouts in "Yes, you are!" That pretty much made my day. But then later that night a drunk guy started harassing me. Thank God a guy from the AAFD was standing there to make sure I was all right. Thank you, random fire-department guy.

What else? Oh. Karma bit me in my rear end. Japan came and bitched me out. But I deserved it. But really, in the middle of a work day? (Karma's retaliation on her came when she was forced to go on break when I waved at her to say hi.) [And yes, even though you're not reading this, Japan, I do realize that you are a girl with a vagina. Usually, girls and vaginas go together. I didn't need that particular information reinforced. I don't want to think about those when I'm at work, thanks! LOL.]

Aaaaaand.... I'm starting bassoon lessons soon! Friday, I believe. With a student (I believe) at UMD! She sounds very nice from the email contact we've had. Which makes me happy. I don't want an older version of myself giving me lessons.

All right, I'm off to bed and whatnot. Check in with you laters.



Peace, love, and coconut-cream pie.

The Nonsense of Band

There is a music honor society. It is called Modern Music Masters, or Tri-M. To be in said honor society, you must apply. The application for my school's chapter is utterly ridiculous. It includes some of the following questions.

• What special talent would you be able to bring to Tri-M? .... Well. Let's see. I BSed this question, and said something about "quietness" but really... I'd bring the special awesomeness that comes with being a bassoon player.
• What do you hope to learn from being in Tri-M? .... WTF? I have to actually LEARN something? I can't just get a pink thingy for graduation?
• What non-school-related extracurriculars are you involved in? .... This question has little to do with music, in my opinion. Because other than work and summer theatre, I have nothing, actually.
• Why do you think you are a perfect candidate for Tri-M? ... Well. Because I'm a musician. And there is a dire lack of bassoon players in our chapter of Tri-M. In fact... right now I'd even say there are no bassoon players in our Tri-M.

Yeah. And you know? I should have put those down as my answers to the questions.

In other news. My cafeteria is a liar. Portabello mushroom sandwiches were supposed to be today. Not yesterday. Losers. So instead I had pudding and a cheeseburger. Woohoo. Now watch, my mother will tell me that we are having burgers tonight. Gotta love that.

Overall, today was a good day. I didn't burst into tears when a certain person's name was mentioned. And I actually talked and goofed off like a normal person. Geez, what has gotten into me?

Peace, love, and pink paper,

Catnip

... I guess I'm not one, then.

So I had this lovely post all written out. And then the Internet ate it! It is clearly not dinner time yet, so what the fuck? Anyway. If this isn't as heartfelt as I mean it to be, I blame Blogger.

(Oh, and just to let you know, Bubbles is going to be a princess some day. Just in case you were wondering or anything.

I'm going to steal the idea for this post from Bubbles's latest post. She listed all the stuff that's stressing her out and whatnot. Just to let you know, I love my Bubbles and wish her life didn't suck as much as it seems to. But here's my life.

1. School. School is kicking my butt already. My teachers are intimidating and mean. I don't understand the material. And, of course, while we're busy being seniors, we also have to think about college. Lemme tell you. I have no idea where I want to go to college. I have no idea what I want to do in college. I don't even know that I want to go to college. I mean, seriously, six more years of school? Does that sound appealing to anyone? *crickets* Didn't think so. And then I have my mom telling me "Oh, yeah, you're not getting into college." And then right after that "Apply to this college. You're not going to get in but it's where I want you to go."
2. Friends. Geez, this should really bulk up this post, right? Let's start off with saying that I have been treating my friends like crap. And even though I may say this too much, I really am sorry. I really don't deserve my friends. And I've been majorly just alienating them recently and it's been coming back to kind of hit me. I mean, for all I know, Bubbles hates me at this point. Highway Princess is probably ready to hit me. But I tend to hate myself more when my friends don't like me, and that makes a lot of things worse. And the fact that pretty much everyone is mad at me is a major problem right now. And the fact that I've been forgiven by Bubbles, or maybe I'm just being a little too presumptive in assuming that she indeed referred to me, but I really don't feel like it. Well. I'm sure you can understand.
3. Guys. Yeah. Typical teenage girl drama, yes? Well. Let's say you're at work and everyone around you is dating/mutually flirting with somone? And then a "friend" comes up to you and tells you that you need to "get laid." I can't even get a guy to LOOK at me, let alone have sex with me (not that I'd do that. I am saving myself for marriage.) It's hard, you know?
4. As you may have guessed, I have all kinds of emotional/mental issues. My mother is ignoring them, though. I've been told by a medical professional that I need to be seeing a therapist. My parent disagrees. And, of course, everyone is apparently convinced that I am a smoker/drinker/cutter/etc. Smoking a cigarette or two does not make me a smoker. A (small) drink occasionally does not make me a drinker. And cutting? Psh. Twice, maybe, in the past six months? That's not a big problem.

No one in my life is dying. I am not dying. Hell, my plants aren't even dying. But for some reason... everything just seems really out of whack.

In other news, my cat hunts and eats french fries. So all you lengthwise-sliced, oil-cooked potatoes out there, beware of Kitty.

On a lighter note.

E flat.

That's all.

Peace, love, and blog wars.

We All Die Eventually

I give up. School wins.

I realized, after reading Bubbles's blog that I am a majorly sucky person. Although in my defense, she doesn't have to be so passively mean to me. I apologized. What more does she want? This blog is not about Bubbles, though, so I will return to my actual topic. Which, as of this posting, corresponds with Bubbles's most recent blog post. I don't know who I am anymore.

No, I didn't hit my head. Yes, I know my name. I know basic things about myself. But who am I? I used to be a good girl, the sheltered kind that is naive and innocent and good. I used to abhor drinking, smoking, cutting, everything. I behaved. I didn't fight with people. I was happy. I don't know what changed.

I wrote a couple of poems during my study hall today. They dealt with the fact that I've lost myself. I think what I really need to do is identify who I've been recently.

I find that I identify myself using my friends. I will do that no more. I find that I identify myself as a cutter. Not like 'Hi, I'm Catnip, I cut myself.' but more like, it's part of who I am. I shouldn't do that anymore, but I probably will. I find that I identify myself as a musician, which clearly I am not. I play notes on a page, not music. I find that I identify myself as a writer, which of course is inaccurate because people only give me positive feedback because I tend to get defensive otherwise. That, and I am a sucky, sucky writer.

I hate myself most of the time. Which, as you probably would guess, causes me to be mean to myself. Highway/Fairy Princess/Whatever he wants to be called pointed out that, in a conversation with someone, I was a little selfish on my end of the conversation. Then he pointed out how. As if I didn't already know.

It seems like none of my outside-of-school friends can match the support I get at school. Even if the people at school don't really like me, they're at least there for me. I know that Highway Princess is just trying to help. But he could be a bit more gentle about it (yes, it's his turn to be blog-bitched).

Meh. I'm out of my mind with stress and exhaustion right now. Please argue with me so I don't do something drastic. But don't hold it against our friendship.

Peace, love, and maroon polo shirts,

Catnip

Only When I'm on Fire

I don't want to say I actually started smoking. Because when I'm not at work, I don't have access to cigarettes. But I smoked one yesterday, and one today. I think that I'm just using it as a stress outlet; cutting isn't doing it for me anymore. I've been given a stipulation by Smoky (my friend from Archery) that as long as I don't get addicted, he will provide me with cigarettes on occasion.

Let me tell you about smoking. First off, if you're going to start, start around someone who knows what they're doing. Because you're really not supposed to inhale it the way you might think. You're supposed to suck it in like you're using a straw. And, yes, that will get the drugginess into your system without making you cough (right away, at least).

Another thing. I don't know much about this, but apparently Marlboros are not the best brand to get. That is what Smoky uses, though, so I don't know. I've never tried anything different.

Saturday was my first time. I was stressed because... well, I'm pretty much always stressed. So Smoky gave me a cigarette when I asked for one, and then Cannon (aka the girl who ran the Cannon game up until yesterday) asked me to walk out to the car with her. We went, and as soon as we were out of the gate, she lit the cigarette and handed it to me. I, of course, didn't actually know how to smoke, so I asked her and she explained it. So I did it right. And we stood there. And I felt a little rebellious. And a bit like a little girl who was trying to prove that she is, indeed, not a little girl. Of course, Cannon recognized that I am not a little girl, and we talked about why I was smoking. She pointed out that there is a difference between someone who smokes for the hell of it and someone who smokes because at the given moment they have no alcohol or antidepressants at their fingertips. She said she understood that I fell into this second grouping.

Today I went out to the parking lot with Smoky. He and I sat under a tree in the shade (because it was a freaking OVEN outside) and we smoked together. It was nice, being able to talk to someone about serious stuff and have him be supportive rather than passive. I told him about the mindset that I have: If I could quit cutting, I can probably quit smoking. I mean, they don't make quit-cutting patches and gum. They make quit-smoking patches and gum. He said that even if I did start cutting again (which I have, but not really), I quit cutting for longer than he's ever quit smoking. Which was kind of encouraging, in a way.

All right. Back to work.

Peace, love, and colored lighters.

It's Fricking DEGRASSI. But a bright, 7th-Heaven-esque Ending

As always, I am not actually trying to make excuses, I'm trying to provide understanding. And, it's not that I fight with people because I'm not happy. I've noticed that there are times where I am fighting with pretty much every person in my life, including myself. And I've kind of spotted a pattern. In this general order, the following occurs:

1. I have a panic attack, to varying degrees of severity. Usually they're no big deal.
2. I have a mental-breakdown, more commonly called a "cry day."
3. I have very very very bad thoughts.
4. I have little personality or energy or words.
5. I stop feeling, both physically and emotionally.
6. I start fighting with people. (This may be a subconscious "make-me-feel-something" thing)
7. I fight with almost anyone.
8. I feel... (insert adjective/feeling/noun here)
9. I try to patch things up
10. I try to get things back to normal

And from there, the cycle continues. Right now, I am at both Stage Three and Stage Nine. How I'm doing both, I have no fucking clue. What I do know, however, is that it's not very fun. But at least I can identify that I'm at Stage Three and just be very careful. Sometims I can manage to stay in Stage Four long enough for the cycle to ride itself out without progressing.

There are a few things I've noticed when I'm in Cycle Mode.

• It's usually during the school year
• I'm usually NOT on my period
• It's usually when it's rainy/cloudy/dark outside
• It's usually when I have recieved new band music (or, if something big for Band is coming up)
• It's usually when I am also having my insecurities shoved into my face.

This is the first time I've gone into Cycle Mode this early into the school year, but maybe that's just me being a psycho.

ON THE BRIGHT SIDE OF THINGS! It has been brought to my attention that someone at that huge place I work cares about me enough to send a rose. Speculation has been made that the sender is a male, however, we have no proof of such a claim. I have narrowed it down to either a guy Bubbles works with, a guy at the Slide, or someone I don't even know. Yeah, I know that there's a possibility that someone lied to me, and I'm very naive and am frequently lied to. However, I do not think that anyone at work lied to me. I'm kinda hoping it's Bubbles's co-worker. He's kinda cute! But Bubbles tells me that he might not put much thought into such things. I think that it might be safe to assume that he is a possibility. Of course, it's just as likely that it's not him, but oh well. I kinda hope it's not the guy from Slide that I'm thinking of that sent it. Because he's a little bit of a loser.

Peace, love, and Pre-Calculus homework.

Catnip.

Just for you

If you click on it, it maximizes to a fully readable size. I've had it tested.

The blog is hereby cancelled. It does more harm than good, both to me and to you, the readers.

To answer your concerns...

Maybe that last blog post didn't come out right. Breaking up with one's best friend should not occur in a blog post. Except, of course, that I'm pretty sure there are very few people who read this blog anyway.

To clear things up: I didn't say that stuff because I don't want to be friends with Bubbles anymore. It's more, I want to give Bubbles the option to not be weighed down by me anymore. I can't stand the way I've been treating her.

I had a dream last night that I'd killed myself, and then I saw Bubbles screaming. When I woke up, I assumed that the two images were somehow related. That dream is probably what kept me from doing a number of things today.

I don't know if Bubbles is still speaking to me. But if she is, I hopes that she reads this and doesn't resent me as much. If she's not, well, I understand that completely.

Peace, love, and melted chocolate ice cream that will make Bubbles sneeze.

Two posts in one night is uncharacteristic of me, but there's something I've gotta say. I may always get stuff wrong. I may go about approaching things in the wrong way. And I may make my best friend hate me, even though she'd never admit it to me. And I fear that this time I've gone too far. This is part two of the apology post.

Bubbles is my best friend and I love her to death. She's beautiful, and she's kind, and she cares about everyone, even if she doesn't know them well. And she's pretty much stuck with me even when I'm everyone's least favorite person. And sometimes I kinda treat her like shit. She deserves better than that. She deserves better than me. And, Bubbles, I don't think we can be friends anymore because I don't want to cause you any more trouble than I already have. I think that if you are going to have any kind of pleasant, normal life, I need to not be part of it.

I'm sorry.

An explanation you won't like.

It's time to talk about the dreaded Tuesdy. Last Tuesday, in case your brain has gone stale. Last Tuesday was the first day of my senior year of high school. And it did not go well. But first, the backstory.

Last school year, junior year, was difficult. Towards the end, it was all I could do to not throw myself in front of a moving bus/train/komodo dragon. Summer came, and there were times where I wanted to jump out of the car, while it was going at highway speed. Everyone's got thoughts like that, I guess.

Now onto Tuesday. I got to school. I had Math first period. I am completely stupid as a whole, but in math I think I'm downright retarded. I just kinda shrugged it off, though, because Math sucks. After that was Band, which of course is a nightmare because I cannot play any of the music I am given. I shrugged that off, too, because I guessed that I just needed to get back into the swing of things before I'd play better. Next was Honors British Literature *shudders*. My teacher is also one of our Disciplinary Deans. He gave us a test on our summer reading, which I hadn't had a chance to finish. I failed that test. The penalty for failing the test is that we would be kicked out of the class. It worried me greatly. The only decent thing about the day was that the last class of the day, Global Studies, is taught by my favorite teacher. Of course, the class is filled with a bunch of loud people that are disrespectful. I really can't stand that.

So I went on my merry way, drove home and whatnot. I thought about driving my car into a pole. But I didn't want to cause traffic on the Beltway. I came to a stop sign and didn't stop where I was supposed to and almost got hit by a car, and stopped and thought, "Damn it, I missed my chance." Then, I felt bad because if I'd not stopped, the people in the other car would've been dead, as well as me, and that wouldn't be cool. So then I went home. I had a headache. I poured maybe fifteen pills into my hand. I only took three of them. I went up to my room and cried very hard for the rest of the night. Then I took a shower. And pulled out my trusty friend, Mr. Razor. And well, you can kind of guess how things went from there.

I didn't take that as a sign that quitting my habit would never happen. I took it as a slight relapse that could easily be overcome. I kept going with my life. The weekend came, and I went to work. Saturday was just a big rainy mess, which was fine with me because no one showed up. Sunday was busy and I just kinda snapped. I took a small break, and went into the back closet. I needed something sharp very badly. All I had was a safety pin. It sufficed. I thought about asking a co-worker for a cigarette. I don't smoke, but God knows that I probably would if I was stressed enough. I didn't ask him for one right then, but I decided that if next weekend was really bad, I would ask him for one at that time.

Today is proving to be a repeat of Tuesday. Bubbles is being very short with me. Although judging from the fact that she probably read that post I did about her (And again, I'm sorry), she has every right to be. I just wish she'd yell and get angry instead of being short. I can take long flows of words. I can't stand one-word answers. And school was, naturally, a nightmare. So we'll see how tonight goes. I've already had a good serving or so of alcohol, which lasted maybe an hour this afternoon, so I don't know how the rest of the evening will go.

Peace, love, and gin.

Catnip

Biscuits and Gravy

Cookies rule the world. Yes they do. Recently, Bubbles was promised a cookie for updating her blog. And hasn't gotten that cookie. Shame on you, person who promised Bubbles a cookie. Let me share a fun story about cookies.

When I was in a production of a popular Disney musical last summer, we did a Secret Santa exchange for Christmas in July. I drew the name out of a hat. and lo and behold, it was Bubbles. Now, as close as I'd like to think Bubbles and I are, I didn't know much about what to get her. I mean, I couldn't just get her what any other teenage girl would want, because frankly, I know nothing about teenage girls, even if I am one. So what did I do? I found a shoe box, lined it with tissue paper, and filled it with homemade chocolate chip cookies, because I know Bubbles loves cookies. I mean, if her name wasn't Bubbles in this blog, it would be Cookie, probably.

The above little cartoon thing is right: The cookies were, at the time, what I thought was our last hope. Because, as usual, Bubbles and I were fighting. (Although people were attacking me telling me to be nice to Bubbles when I couldn't see that I'd done anything wrong...). But anyway. Bubbles figured out that I'd had her name for Secret Santa, and everything was good. Because, of course, cookies fix everything.

Short post tonight, I know, but I have a shitload of homework and I have to work tomorrow.

Peace, love, and marshmallow cookies.

A public apology

*I had this nice heartfelt apology all written, but then my Internet died in my face. Gee, thanks, IE*

I would like to apologize to Bubbles and whoever else may be feeling my psycho-ice-bitch wrath right now. There is a reason, albeit not a very good one, and a story too, behind my psycho-ice-bitchiness. However, you reader people might not exactly fully understand said story at this time, so I will save it for the next post, whenever that may be.

Again, I'm sorry.

~ Catnip

Bow for the King.

Ignore that small script at the bottom. I don't feel that that's relevant to this picture. And I'm not exactly incorrect in thinking this. I know they talk about me. Because according to Japan the other day, Bubbles told her all about a disagreement we had. And about a panic attack I had. And, you know, Bubbles would never have told me about anything that would happen with a mutual friend. Bubbles never talks to me about anything. Yes, this is a bitch-rant. Fucking deal with it.

I always feel like I'm bugging Bubbles when I talk to her about something... and when I had a panic attack the other day, I felt like I was hugely inconveniencing her. And I probably was. And when we talk, she always always always makes me feel stupid... although I'm sure she doesn't mean to. Japan does the same thing, but Japan does it in a way that makes her come of as being a little bit of an ass. The way Bubbles does it, though, it particularly hurts...

Have you ever had one of those days where you thought everything was crashing down on you all at once, after it had all just piled up for the past few days? I had that yesterday. The Bubbles/Japan thing, school, everything. What was the big thing? Bubbles talking down to me about school. Not just because of how she said it, but because she was wrong. And, of course, probably wouldn't care at all about anything that happened yesterday. She even said it herself once. She's only still friends with me because she knows that without her, I'd be absolutely alone. And yes, I do have that saved somewhere.

Don't let me poison you against her though. She's my best friend. I love her like a sister. (I love her more than I love my actual sister.) But sometimes... I question how she views our friendship [I don't question it to her, though, because that makes me look like the stupid, immature thing that I am...]

Bitch-rant over. Please return to your regularly scheduled Internet browsing.