26 February, 2007, 808 am
Filed under: Uncategorized

Today is Derek’s birthday.  Happy birthday.  For his birthday…I got him food and a Tamagotchi V4 and a Gotchi Gear carrier.  He’s set for life.  Or at least for the week.   Maybe.

Today was a problem-solving day.  I feel like I’ve gotten a large weight off my chest.  I made left turns at traffic lights.  I drove on Broad Street.  I gave Derek presents.  I got my hair cut.  I washed my face.  I put on makeup.  I sorted out pressing emotional issues–and not with any other girl!  I went to Derek.  I was able to go to him and confront him about something that turned out to be a misconception, I guess, although I still don’t completely understand, and I got the reassurance I needed, and I had an interested listener.  I felt bad asking something of him on his birthday, but I did give him the option, originally, of waiting until tomorrow.  And I felt needy, and I felt horrible for it, but he didn’t appear to mind.

When I was looking for presents, though, I felt like a little kid.  Or I felt like I was shopping for a little kid.   I know I’m going out of chronological order right now.  I don’t care.

I need to pee right now.  I also need to cry.  I’m not really sad so much as I am embarrassed, I guess.  Maybe I’m coming down from the high of anxious adrenaline.  I’ve been anxious all day long.  I’m glad I’m not depressed, and I’m glad I don’t have to deliver a speech of sorts that involves the hypothetical of being a replacement and the ultimatum of being dumped on the sidewalk.

I was asked to utilize my sleeping artistic abilities today, which I was pretty sure were dead or nonexistent, because I’ve convinced myself that my own artwork is creepy and that the only people who like it are my mom, my grandmother, and some select close friends.  I’m not sure if that’s true or not.  But it felt good to be able to draw whatever I wanted, as detailed as I wanted, even if it was in support of the troops, and even if it was slipshod and I set my expectations too high.  And then being applauded and appreciated for my efforts was a golden moment.  I was an example.  I made something out of myself for a second.

For a while, I thought I was having a bad day.  Bit by bit, though, it got better.  And whether or not it was a good day, I was able to make someone happy, and I accomplished a good deal within the limits of my own mind, got over some emotional humps, and released some anxiety bubbles, which I’m glad for.  I still have a few anxiety bubbles left, but now I know that I can pop them whenever I need to.

And now to return to that letter that I should have written a long time ago.  And next entry, I promise to write about something aside from my life.

25 February, 2007, 943 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized

I got an address and I am going to write a letter that I should have written a long time ago.

23 February, 2007, 542 am
Filed under: Uncategorized

Aujourd’hui, j’ai reçu un papier parce que l’année passé, j’ai réussi (j’ai PWN’D) à mon examen d’écriture, mon SOL d’écriture. Je pense que, en français, “sol” est “ground” en anglais, mais je dis “SOL” comme “S-O-L.” En anglais, Standard of Learning. Mais l’écriture est mon sol.

De le papier que j’ai reçu, je pense:

Je mens. Sort of. It’s actually an honour to have gotten a perfect writing SOL score, but the paper was a copied piece of dinosaur shit.

There was an assembly where we had to go up and shake hands with the superintendent and the principal. Sitting in my seat waiting to go up there, I nearly had a panic attack. I hate authority figures and I hate being recognized/honoured. Or rather, I’m scared of both. Afterward, though, there was a reception full of all teh goodies I gave up for Lent. I had two oatmeal raisin cookies. They were breakfast foods, pretty much. I really wanted a sugar cookie. Couldn’t have one.

While I was standing in a group silently eating my cookie, this random sophomore turned around and told my circle that we were all a circle of short people, which was an accurate observation, and I was okay with that. I am short. Derek tells me I’m short. I’m okay with that because it is the truth. It’s a neutral statement.

And if this kid hadn’t said anything more, I probably would have had a good day. I would not have been pissy or avoidant or holed up in the past all day. Everything (except for Derek being sick) would have been dandy. But no, this little bitch had to go and blather on another three seconds before turning his little happy bitch face around.

“I know that was random. Randomness is awesome. You can’t hate randomness.”

That is what pissed me off. I wanted to punch that little bitch in the face. Why would such statements annoy me? Well, I used to BE that little bitch, spouting off bullshit about “randomness,” using the word “awesome” a disgusting amount of times in every sentence, and adding “ness” to every other word ’cause I thought it sounded “COOL”?!?!? Yes, I know those ???s were uncalled for, but what I thought was cool back then in my transition from grade eight to sophomore was extremely not cool. Randomness? Not cool. Even the word resembles something horrible to me. I hate “ness” with most of my heart now.

It’s ironic that we say that we hate things with all of our hearts sometimes.

It’s awful being reminded of the past daily, though. Sometimes I wish I wasn’t smart so I could take up other people’s space, be loud and not care, and just think ahead. Reluctantly, I showed Derek my school photos from middle school, which was before I lost my weight, and while I was at my peak weight and my peak depression. Those photos have made me a superficial little bitch; I focus on my own looks a lot, as hopeless as that may sound, and I focus on certain aspects of other people. I hate people who readily accept compliments on natural looks. I also hate kiss-asses.

22 February, 2007, 655 am
Filed under: Music, School

My mother would like for me to abruptly quit my oboe lessons because they cost too much too frequently.  I am getting technique and embouchure and scales and fingers down now.  I can’t say I want to quit.

21 February, 2007, 731 am
Filed under: Uncategorized

A reader recently brought up, via a comment, an issue that I never talk about and never acknowledge directly, except maybe when I write, “Oh my God,” which I suppose is somewhat blasphemous of me.  That subject would be religion, or more specifically, God.  If I recall correctly, I’ve touched on my religion, but I haven’t really discussed my religious beliefs, or my arguments with my religion.

It was on one of many winter entries about being sick.  This particular commenter suggested that I pray.  Now, my first thought was that it was rather embarrassing having someone pure enough to suggest prayer reading my blog, where I casually use the word “fuck” an average of three times per paragraph.  So I proofread my writing to make sure I wasn’t too naughty in that enrty.  I wasn’t, but I did complain a lot.  My second thought was that perhaps I was getting some Southern Baptist trying to convert me, utilizing a prayer suggestion first.  I got a little pissed, ’cause I already have a sturdy religion and to suggest that I convert is to suggest that my beliefs aren’t strong enough.  And I don’t like that.  I only assumed it wasn’t a Catholic because, well, do you ever see Catholics running around door to door, looking for converts?  No.  It’s almost like an elite club, being Catholic, where you’re normally just born in.  I’m not implying that Catholics are elite.  I’m just saying that’s what it’s like.  Simile.

Well, after I got past those, I thought of telling this person off, honestly.  But what would I tell them off for?  For suggesting prayer?  For suggesting that I look to God to help solve my problems instead of moping?  My determination dissolved, and really, I see this person as a godsend.  Whoever this is, he or she reminded me of my faith in a small and somewhat indirect way without any implications or bad intentions, just in time for Lent, the 40 days.  And who knows?  Maybe Jesus was feeling a little under the weather up there in Heaven and decided that this Conny needed a little caffiene shot of faith, without the awful crash, and maybe He knew I’d respond best if he left me a comment on my little old WordPress that would make me think, and that would keep me looking to solve a mystery.  I’m not an atheist or agnostic, kids.  I’m Catholic.  I’m not in your face or trying to convert you.  I’m trying to live my own life, but I’ll help you out too, indirectly, no strings attached.

It took me a while to figure out my Lent promise, because I wanted to go vegan, but I know we don’t have the food supplies for that in our house.  I thought about giving up sex, but then I remembered that I’m a virgin, and that the only reason I thought of that was because on Scrubs, Carla wanted to wait until her wedding night until she had sex again, which would be many months from her proposal of the proposition.  I didn’t want to give up MySpace because that’s such a lame thing to give up for Lent.  That’s not suffering.  That’s pulling out of laziness.  That’s the opposite of suffering.  I considered giving up my hair, as in, getting my head shaved, but Britney Spears already pulled that one last week.  I considered giving up this, but let’s be real.  Almost everything I thought of was lame or stupid or impossible (there are some things impossible to give up, trust me).  I was eating Skittles as I considered my options, and I felt the guilt at eating, and then I remembered what all this faith is about–purity.  And some people fast for Lent.  They stock up on junk on Mardi Gras, and then they stop eating for over a month, until Easter.  Well, purity for me wouldn’t be giving up TV or any of that shit–it would be getting rid of excess food, excess fat.  So I am going on a junk fast.   No drinks except water.  No candy.  No cookies.  No treats.  At the AIA competition on Saturday, it will be hard for me to find anything to eat, but I’ll manage somehow.  I thought it would be impossible to be vegetarian.  Well, this can’t be too much harder.

Oh.  And the one thing I disagree with most in Catholicism is anti-homosexuality.  You hardcore conservatives can argue with me on that one all day and night, for 40 days and 40 nights if you want to.  Love is love.

21 February, 2007, 314 am
Filed under: Barrels of Fun

Oh. My God.

I signed into Yahoo today to see if I’d gotten a response to the letter I sent to Short Pump Town Center’s manager, and, in fact, there was a response sitting in my inbox. My heart pounded and my palms sweated as I anxiously awaited the letter. I don’t really know what I want from the mall, except maybe justice. The grounds on which they kicked us out were unfair, and extremely discriminatory, and actually proven. It just wasn’t fair. Maybe I want them to recognize that.

For all the trouble I went to to write that letter, I got this probably automated piece of shit response:


Thank you for sharing your experience with us. Rest assured, we have no discriminatory policies at the Town Center. Our Director of Security, Danny Blowe will investigate the matter and will be in touch once we have all the details.

Craig S. White
General Manager
Short Pump Town Center

My only question is…What kind of a stick does he have shoved up his ass? Is it one from an oak tree? Or an apple tree? Maybe a birch tree? Or maybe it’s a steel rod? I’m afraid I got such a crappy response because I did let on that I am a high school student. Still, what a son of a bitch.


And oh my God, this reminds me of something that happened last year. My friends and I were at lunch, having a jolly good time, and I suppose someone threw fries, and while myself and someone else who didn’t throw fries were sitting at our table alone, big old Mr. Edmunds came over and screamed at us to pick them up, and then accused me of giving him a “look” (I suppose like I was evil/better than him, which, if you know me, then you know I don’t do that) AND called over an administrator to make us pick up a mess we hadn’t made. I was scared shitless and really pissed off at the injustice, so I cried. The me inside my head would have screamed back at the janitor and probably cussed a lot, but the socially awkward me just took the blows.

And when I told my mom, she called the school angrily to tell them off for telling me off. And then, they called me to guidance the next day and made me tell my story to the administrator he’d tried to call over. Of course, I was still frightened, so I cried as I told the truth, although my social phobic self didn’t want to say anything, and the administration dismissed it as a misunderstanding, even though I’d been completely harassed and verbally abused. I was PISSED.  Even as I sat in the chair in the administrator’s office, I realized that she was just going to side with that damn custodian because he was a staff member, and they wouldn’t reprimand him or anything.  They were just going to let him go and dismiss me as a nutcase and an overly sensitive student because I’m mild-mannered.  As I walked back to class, I was laughing bitterly through bitter tears, because that trip had been a waste of life itself, and nothing about it was fair.

I just wanted them to admit that they had been wrong, but they told me to get new friends. What fuckers. I hate authority figures. They lie to make whatever they’re in charge of look good, even if they’re hypocritical in doing so.  And I think that’s part of why I’m vegetarian.  I don’t like authority, and I hate injustice.

20 February, 2007, 918 am
Filed under: Uncategorized

The more commitment I make, the less magnetism I feel between myself and my friends.  I would never let my commitment go.  I suppose I need friends.  And if you want to argue, then I’ll just say I need more friends.

When I say “friends,” I mean other people…like me.  Maybe other people with social phobia or with other anxiety disorders holding them back.  Maybe other indie kids, or sarcastic or clever people.  Maybe some people who know the pop culture references I know.  I just feel like I’m not clicking with anyone.  And I’m not.   And it’s not anyone’s fault.  I just want some meat for the conversations I need to have, not emptiness and “How-de-do, how was your day?”  And complaints.  I complain a lot, I know, but it’s damn hard not to complain when everyone you talk to just complains all day long.  It’s filler words.  I hate it.

And no, I am not talking about Derek there, and never would talk about him in that manner.  Meow.