please.

don't judge me for how I feel.

every breath stings

in the cold near-winter air.

congestion, too fun.

anachronistic tendencies.

99cent art in unusable formats.

a blanket, a warm drink.

clench tense shoulders, then relax.

transcend the stress.

rise in curls like the smoke from your incense.

listing is easier than writing.

What I love:
The Future Kings of Nowhere
88.1 WKNC (NC State)
sleep
venti iced mocha with whipped cream
classic Christmas music
Gateway computer
black leggings
comforter
hugs and kisses

What I hate:
Huck Finn
homework
the chorus guys
AP Environmental Science
girls who try to sing Mariah Carey
clunky heels
eggs
T-Pain
that 93.9 is going to stop playing Christmas music on Dec. 26

notations.

Christmas season started last week. I can't believe I said that. I don't get crazy over much, but this is one thing worth it. We might as well just go ahead and scratch that whole Jesus thing and focus completely on the shopping; no 12 days of Christmas, make it 30. Oh, and I mean 30 BEFORE, not after like it used to be. How ridiculous.

I want to get into Governor's School so bad it seems like it's almost real; yet, I keep pushing it out of my head because subconsciously I think/know that it won't happen. These are truly the trials and tribulations of the terrible teenage years (also, I'm fantastic at alliteration).

Those of the male persuasion suck. I've decided to stop caring. Why would I want to be in a relationship with a guy anyway? Since when do I need justification from one who is inferior to me?

Creationism is not science. Discuss.

hahahaha I win.

There's a whole post on my favorite teacher's blog based on a comment I left.
PWND N00BZ ^-^

untitled.

I will be 17 years old in two days.

I'm excited, don't get me wrong; I love my birthday, but this year it really got me thinking about the significance of years.

We spend the first 20 years of our lives wishing we were older, then the rest of our lives wishing we were younger. So far, for me, the only importance a birthday has is that it indicates more possibilities, more responsibilities, more that I can do. At 12, I got to paint my nails. At 14, I was allowed to wear makeup.

This birthday means that I can legally buy tickets to an R-rated movie. Woo. I can't enjoy it, because I know what next year means, and 17 just does not measure up. At 18 I can vote. I can buy cigarettes. I can legally separate myself as an independent entity from my family. I can enter television contests. I can go to clubs. I am, in the sense of the law, an adult.

And then what? Then I spend 3 years waiting for 21, when I can legally buy and consume alcohol.

And then what? I spend years longing for 17, when my only worries were homework and stupid boys and which R-rated movie to waste my money on.

Why don't we love our birthdays for what they are? Why not celebrate with the mindset that we have learned and grown and become wiser for a whole year more? and thank God for that?

today.

Today was better.

Today I: a) almost burned my hand off with Aluminum Something Iodide Thing and b) completely froze all my other extremities while doing water quality testing down at the Eno River for AP Environmental.

Today I learned that you can put too much pressure on the contents of a titrator and make the needle end shoot off into your bottle of extremely acidic waste water.

Today I cried from laughter. And hysteria. And possibly exposure.

Today I discovered by BSing an essay for Governor's School that I have a very modernistic outlook on life.

Today I realized that my birthday is in a little over a week.

Today I dressed in all black, put black goo gel in my hair, and hid my face behind a thick layer of black paste makeup which nicely contrasted my green eyes.

Today I made a small child dressed as Spiderman sob, run to his mother's open arms, and scream that he saw a monster.

Today I sang "O Thou That Tellest Good Tidings To Zion" from Messiah approximately 93274239487 times.

Today I didn't think about immature, insane, and intolerable people in my life.

Today I didn't think about yesterday.

Today was better.

things I hate about ***

He's a goddamn liar.

• Looking For: A Relationship
• We should definitely hang out more.
• I'm grounded.

He's arrogant as hell.

• I love being able to play the guitar.
• Forever fixing his hair.
• Struts like a rooster ("I'm so hot" mentality).

He uses people.

• "I miss the way you kissed me."
• Let's hang out so that I can lie to you to get something I want.
• I just told her that so she would leave me alone.

He is stupid.

• Do you really not realize you're messing with two girls who have been friends since elementary school? who talk EVERY DAY?
• Do you honestly think you can get away with this forever? with all these girls?
• Do you truly not comprehend that we could destroy you?

He got me to give him a second chance.

I think that's what I hate most.

bad, bad road.

You know what the third-worst thing is?

The third-worst thing is when a close friend whom you love dearly and talk to all the time suddenly, for one reason or another, perhaps a fallout of sorts over romantic issues, stops talking to you, so you stop talking to them. The lines of communication are readily available, but neither person reaches out and soon, the entire friendship is in question as it deteriorates before you.

You know what the second-worst thing is?

The second-worst thing is having two friends like that.

You know what the worst thing is?

Realizing how much you miss them, but being unable to take that step.

things you learn by working in a cafe.

"Organic" does not necessarily stipulate that it's fresh.

Always always always brew the espresso into the water when making an Americano, not the other way around, because the one time you get lazy and do it the backwards way, Americano Guy will come up, bitch about how the crema's not right, get you to remake it, reject it again, then storm out (but not before hollering about how Starbucks can do it better).

Customers beg to be lied to. "Is the Mozzarella and Tomato sandwich good?" "Yes, of course." A better question is which is a more accurate reason why I said that:

a. I really don't care about your lunch.
b. I get paid when you buy things. Just buy the sandwich.
c. I actually really like the Mozz & Tom.

Who knows, it could be any or all of those answers. It's probably one of the first two, though.

A customer would have to be a freaking superhuman demigod(dess) to tell the difference when I give them whole milk instead of 2% (we don't have actual 2% milk; we have to mix whole and skim. I'm not just a bad person). They deserve those extra few calories, picky bastards.

Fat people always ask for skim milk.

Pregnant women are the most awful and obnoxious people ever. I honestly don't know or care if the asiago cheese is pasteurized. No, I can't find out. Because no one knows. Well, I'm sorry you can't eat any cheese that isn't pasteurized. You know, actually, I'm pretty sure it is pasteurized. Go ahead and eat it. Your child's probably going to be defective anyway, having your genes, so what's this little bit of spoiled curd gonna do?

Children are demons. They scream. They cry. They take the frosting off of their beautifully decorated cupcakes and draw mediocre sketches on the beige wall.

Apparently, only Hispanic people know how to cook or wash dishes. Hence, Spanish is the most useful language ever. "La basura" means "the trash." "Que es eso?" means "what is this?" "Seguro que si, mi amor" means "of course, my love." Other conversation between members of the BOH (back of house) staff is usually about your ass.

Don't trust iced coffee.

love's a weird thing.

"I love you" means a lot of things. It can be a casual remark to another person when they have done something pleasing or said something entertaining. It can be an assertion of friendship. It can also be romantic, which is, as all those pop songs shout through poorly worded lyrics, the ultimate kind of love.
So that should be easier to say. "I love you," in the purest and most perfect sense of the phrase.

It's not.

There's this nasty gap between friendship and romance that "I love you" just doesn't bridge. I told you that I loved you when we were "just friends," but now I can't say that anymore. It's not that I love you any less...but I know it would make you uncomfortable to talk about love when so recently we talked about Love.

Why is it such a big deal anyway? You can't define love. It's not the heart-pounding, butterflies in the stomach, symptomatic love that's stereotyped into meaninglessness. It's something indescribable. So why is it such a big deal to say to someone, "I love you"?
I love a lot of people in very different ways. Some I wish I didn't love. Some I'm not sure how I love. Overall, it's terribly confusing and if I didn't love love, then I would HATE it.

hi mom!

what's up.

I didn't know it was possible.

I have found something I hate more than the male gender.

Let me preface by saying that this is A BIG DEAL. I mean...c'mon.

This newly-realized hatred can be named with a very succinct acronym: DAMN.
Or otherwise Dickhead! AHH! Merge NOW!

So you're driving down an entrance ramp to the Durham Freeway. There is one car in front of you. Say an SUV, which any sane person would assume has good pickup and decent tires for driving over all that mountain terrain you see in the commercials. The freeway speed limit is 55 (which means that you drive, eh, about 70. Ish.) This genius in front of you is driving at FORTY MILES PER HOUR.
[Insert me making a very serious face.]
Now you tell me. How, exactly, does this person expect to merge onto this very busy highway?
Apparently he doesn't. The two of you poke along, closer and closer to the traffic zooming by, and you begin to worry for your life.
It's a miracle that you manage to find a small hole between cars to squeeze into, though while doing so you cause 20 people to slam on brakes to avoid your bumper. Oops.

People like that should be banned from driving. Or maybe from even looking at a car. Or from thinking about looking at a car.

what is a "bad" person?

I feel like I fit the definition, whatever it may be.
I'm not a great friend. Most of the time I don't answer when people call me. About half the time I'm not too busy to answer.
I say hateful things sometimes.
I'm kinda bitchy to people I care about for no reason.
I may have led someone on who is very dear to me and I don't want to hurt him, but I'm probably going to.

Am I a bad person? Or am I just flawed?

Helsinki Complaints Choir

criminal insufficiency.

Last night was one of the more interesting experiences I have had.
I went with some cool kids (T, C, and A) to a show our friend E was playing. She was up first and we left after she got off stage, even though she had urged us to stay for the other two acts...oh well. The guy after her, though talented, was older and visually unappealing. But I digress.
There's not much to do at 10 PM when you're 16 and no one you know is having a party. We got some Mexican food at Cosmic, then drove around in C's car for a while, blasting Say Anything and Regina Spektor out of the windows. I suggested we go play on the swings at my church's playground.
We drove to my church and screwed around for a while on the swings. (It was actually really fun. I haven't acted like a little kid in a long time.) After about 10 minutes, T and C mentioned they needed to use the bathroom, so I volunteered to let them into the church...after all, I know the keypad code.
What I forgot was that security systems go off even if you know the code.
Basically, I did a B&E on my own church.
The alarm system started freaking out. ("Oh, shit!") I tried to disarm it but a) didn't have any idea how and b) accidentally pressed the FIRE button, at which point I turned around and said, "Oookay, let's get out of here." We sprinted to C's car, piled in, and sped away.
The whole experience made me think of Dane Cook. Also about criminal psychology, and whether or not an accidental break-and-enter could be a trigger for deviant behavior. Maybe I'm paranoid. Maybe I'm an idiot. Either way, I'd be a terrible criminal.

a love song for the insufficiently educated.

one more week? seriously?

Seven days has never seemed like a longer period of time.

Grey's Anatomy Season 4 premieres next Thursday, as you should know. I will continue to be a rabid fan on these conditions:

1. Cristina doesn't pull an Izzy and curl up in silence for three episodes.
2. George makes up his mind. Izzy? Callie? The suspense is killing me.
3. Callie does not have a baby. God, what a waste of time.
4. Derek stops being McDouchebag to Meredith.
5. Oh, and he can't hook up with girl-at-the-bar half-sister Lexie.

things that don't make sense: part one.

1) Public Education
I had a mini-revelation yesterday and came to the realization that my classes are NOT educating me. The entire point of my classes, especially now that I have AP's to deal with, is to teach me how to pass the test.
This is so convoluted and twisted and wrong! Testing should be a measure of how successfully a student is learning, not an end goal! I'm not going to remember when the hell the Stamp Act Congress was brought together (1774? maybe.) for any reason other than it might be brought up in the DBQ (Documents-Based Question) on the AP US History test in May.

2) Legalese
Apparently, the phrase "to hold harmless" is actually acceptable and widely used in legally binding documents. It's supposed to mean something along the lines of "to consider blameless" or "to not hold accountable for." How can people spend so much time in institutions of higher learning and yet manage to utterly butcher the English language?

3) Handel's Messiah
Have you seen some of those runs?! Three 6/8 measures of 16th notes oscillating between B below middle C and A, all on the word "glory." It's awesome, but seriously? Seriously?

Cat

I open with a question:

Why?
Why a blog, when I know it won't be read, and I have the Notes application on Facebook at my disposal?
I'm not exactly sure. It may be the excitement, the rush that comes with every online account opened. I got the same rush with xanga, with myspace, with Facebook, with hotmail, with gmail...and now with you, oh blogspot.
I suppose I could just write these things in a journal or keep them in my head (HAH!), but this is more enticing. I mean, I have a URL now! All of my thoughts are available to anyone with an Internet connection! Faaaaantastic. :]
That's a tad conceited. Meh.
More later.
Cat