Silver Sucks

Crying cat works.

Song works, too . . . I even heard it coming home. Okay, so maybe it really doesn't . . . but oh well . . . I like "Numb" . . . and it's in there . . .

So I went and played my ensemble. No one came, save Mr. Briddell. We got a Gold. Liz was pissed-off and in a generally bad mood; she said she didn't deserve her Gold for her solo. That sort of put a damper on the good part of my day; she didn't seem to care about our win at all.

Jessica and Tiffany finally showed up. I poked Jessica when she got there-- she looked right past me at the cello guy with the long hair and goes "*Gasp* He's got the Sirius hair! The cello player!" *Shakes head* Jessica, lol . . .

So then I went and watched Jessica's quartet with Tiffany; they did well, Gold, etc . . . Then we sat around and ate for a while; Mr. Bowers gave me some random pretzels he wasn't going to eat, and Mrs. Lent had a cookie she shared with us, and I got some weird baked barbecue chips. They were barbecue, so they were good, but they were weird . . .

Then I went and played my solo. Everyone came and watched: Tiffany, my mom (who I TOLD to come and watch my ensemble and she didn't), Mr. Briddell, my violin teacher, my old violin teacher, and even Tory through the window (and Jessica would have come, I think, if she hadn't have had something two minutes later). I messed up; I totally died on one section and kept messing up in little places all over. It was because I was nervous. I've played it so much better at so many other times . . . it's just that my hands seize up and then go floppy, and my vibrato gets huge and loopy and I just SHAKE . . .

Why couldn't they have gone to the ensemble, which was actually good?

Yet everyone was so nice about it. They said it was awesome, all of them, Mom, Tory, Mr. Briddell, my accompaniest, Tiffany, even my violin teacher who made me cry when she told me it was terrible last week. I guess I should have been suspicious; when people tell you you did awesome you should assume that you sucked. They're all liars. It sucked and they knew it.

My only consolation was that the girl in front of me, who played the same thing (her name was LeCount, lol . . . ), got a Silver, too. I wonder what Sarah got.

There were seriously like 6 people, in my room alone, that played the same song, and that's not even including Becky (Liz's sister).

So when I got the Silver, everyone was all comforting . . . it just made it worse. Tiffany tried to hug me when I went to pack up and I told her not to, because I knew it would be bad, but my accompaniest came up and hugged me and said that I had done awesome and I was just a perfectionist, and she's such a nice, sweet little lady that it just made me cry, completely . . . and then Tiffany went to get me some fudge, which was really, really nice of her . . . but made me feel sort of weak and pathetic.

Oh, well, I'm pathetic all the time anyway.

While I was waiting, I talked to Sarah and wished her good luck. I hope she does well, and I hope I'm not bitter about it tonight. That would be just utterly shitty on her 18th birthday-- and I don't want her to get a Silver, too, because it's her birthday, she probably worked harder on her piece than me, she needs it for an actual college audition, and that's just a shitty thing to wish, to wish that someone does worse than you.

I also talked to Mr. Hatfield who tried to make me feel better by saying that he didn't go to State when he was in high school, either. Then Tiffany came back with the fudge, and I gave him a piece because he really, really wanted some, and because it could totally work to my advantage one of these days.

The fudge then made me cry. It was really good; it was peanut butter fudge.

I am so unbelievably pathetic. I don't WANT all this attention when I'm upset. It just makes me cry, which makes people comfort me more . . . and then they all think I'm this big drama queen. I didn't ASK them to comfort me.

(That would be directed towards those that don't usually comfort me . . . those of you who do it without reserves, because you actually care and don't just feel obligated, I like you people . . . and that's not a request to leave me alone, or anything, lol . . . and I can tell when people actually do it because they mean it . . . )

I like that everyone has compassion . . . I just hate crying so much in public places. You'd think I'd have figured out how to stop it by now . . . but no. I don't even know how to make the tear stains go away. Cold water makes you blotchy; hot water makes you bright red.

So then-- after I recovered-- I talked to a couple people, they all asked me how I did, some people thought a Silver was good, some knew it wasn't . . .

I want to demand that Mr. Briddell not release my scores to the announcements. People don't get that no one WANTS a Silver up there on the scrolling bar for everyone to see. I understand that half the world doesn't even know that a Silver is crappy, but still . . . those that do . . . I don't want it up there . . .

So then I tried to go to Tory's solo, but I lost Mom and Tory, and I never actually found them (I hope they realized that I left). I almost went in and watched Seth's solo; I was waiting with Robert and Alice but then I had to go use the bathroom, and, well, then I just left, because it was too late.

I don't have anything to give to Sarah for tonight. Maybe I'll go out and get her a card and some candy or something random. I feel like I should bring something, but not something huge, in case she's not expecting it, and since I don't really know what's going on.

Tiffany's hand massages feel good.

Silver Sucks

Crying cat works.

Song works, too . . . I even heard it coming home. Okay, so maybe it really doesn't . . . but oh well . . . I like "Numb" . . . and it's in there . . .

So I went and played my ensemble. No one came, save Mr. Briddell. We got a Gold. Liz was pissed-off and in a generally bad mood; she said she didn't deserve her Gold for her solo. That sort of put a damper on the good part of my day; she didn't seem to care about our win at all.

Jessica and Tiffany finally showed up. I poked Jessica when she got there-- she looked right past me at the cello guy with the long hair and goes "*Gasp* He's got the Sirius hair! The cello player!" *Shakes head* Jessica, lol . . .

So then I went and watched Jessica's quartet with Tiffany; they did well, Gold, etc . . . Then we sat around and ate for a while; Mr. Bowers gave me some random pretzels he wasn't going to eat, and Mrs. Lent had a cookie she shared with us, and I got some weird baked barbecue chips. They were barbecue, so they were good, but they were weird . . .

Then I went and played my solo. Everyone came and watched: Tiffany, my mom (who I TOLD to come and watch my ensemble and she didn't), Mr. Briddell, my violin teacher, my old violin teacher, and even Tory through the window (and Jessica would have come, I think, if she hadn't have had something two minutes later). I messed up; I totally died on one section and kept messing up in little places all over. It was because I was nervous. I've played it so much better at so many other times . . . it's just that my hands seize up and then go floppy, and my vibrato gets huge and loopy and I just SHAKE . . .

Why couldn't they have gone to the ensemble, which was actually good?

Yet everyone was so nice about it. They said it was awesome, all of them, Mom, Tory, Mr. Briddell, my accompaniest, Tiffany, even my violin teacher who made me cry when she told me it was terrible last week. I guess I should have been suspicious; when people tell you you did awesome you should assume that you sucked. They're all liars. It sucked and they knew it.

My only consolation was that the girl in front of me, who played the same thing (her name was LeCount, lol . . . ), got a Silver, too. I wonder what Sarah got.

There were seriously like 6 people, in my room alone, that played the same song, and that's not even including Becky (Liz's sister).

So when I got the Silver, everyone was all comforting . . . it just made it worse. Tiffany tried to hug me when I went to pack up and I told her not to, because I knew it would be bad, but my accompaniest came up and hugged me and said that I had done awesome and I was just a perfectionist, and she's such a nice, sweet little lady that it just made me cry, completely . . . and then Tiffany went to get me some fudge, which was really, really nice of her . . . but made me feel sort of weak and pathetic.

Oh, well, I'm pathetic all the time anyway.

While I was waiting, I talked to Sarah and wished her good luck. I hope she does well, and I hope I'm not bitter about it tonight. That would be just utterly shitty on her 18th birthday-- and I don't want her to get a Silver, too, because it's her birthday, she probably worked harder on her piece than me, she needs it for an actual college audition, and that's just a shitty thing to wish, to wish that someone does worse than you.

I also talked to Mr. Hatfield who tried to make me feel better by saying that he didn't go to State when he was in high school, either. Then Tiffany came back with the fudge, and I gave him a piece because he really, really wanted some, and because it could totally work to my advantage one of these days.

The fudge then made me cry. It was really good; it was peanut butter fudge.

I am so unbelievably pathetic. I don't WANT all this attention when I'm upset. It just makes me cry, which makes people comfort me more . . . and then they all think I'm this big drama queen. I didn't ASK them to comfort me.

(That would be directed towards those that don't usually comfort me . . . those of you who do it without reserves, because you actually care and don't just feel obligated, I like you people . . . and that's not a request to leave me alone, or anything, lol . . . and I can tell when people actually do it because they mean it . . . )

I like that everyone has compassion . . . I just hate crying so much in public places. You'd think I'd have figured out how to stop it by now . . . but no. I don't even know how to make the tear stains go away. Cold water makes you blotchy; hot water makes you bright red.

So then-- after I recovered-- I talked to a couple people, they all asked me how I did, some people thought a Silver was good, some knew it wasn't . . .

I want to demand that Mr. Briddell not release my scores to the announcements. People don't get that no one WANTS a Silver up there on the scrolling bar for everyone to see. I understand that half the world doesn't even know that a Silver is crappy, but still . . . those that do . . . I don't want it up there . . .

So then I tried to go to Tory's solo, but I lost Mom and Tory, and I never actually found them (I hope they realized that I left). I almost went in and watched Seth's solo; I was waiting with Robert and Alice but then I had to go use the bathroom, and, well, then I just left, because it was too late.

I don't have anything to give to Sarah for tonight. Maybe I'll go out and get her a card and some candy or something random. I feel like I should bring something, but not something huge, in case she's not expecting it, and since I don't really know what's going on.

Tiffany's hand massages feel good.

Sarah's Party and Feeling Better and Compromise

Why does the little guy who shrieks with laughter in the beginning of "Wipeout" by The Beach Boys remind me of Mrs. Corey? I don't know; that's just really odd . . . I've never actually seen what he actually looks like, but he sounds like Mrs. Corey . . . for some reason . . .

I wrote my entry from earlier today and pretty much went to sleep. I woke up with just enough time to make it to Sarah's party.

Well, would have, if I hadn't gotten completely, utterly, and totally lost, lol . . . I had to drive back home, and call her, and show up about a half-hour late, lol . . .

Sarah's party was fun. It was a nice party; we ate lots of food and played Spoons and sat around and played Mafia for a long time, and we even played with Legos for a little while, lol . . .

I was the longest-lasting Mafia member, except for maybe Brian; I think I tied with him. The strong, silent types, lol . . .

"Just because you pick your foot up off of a squished bug doesn't mean it un-squishes." -Me, lol . . . after Robert and Alice leaned back on top of me and squished me and then told me that I should be fine after they get back off of me, lol . . .

It's so retarded; I feel so happy getting little reviews for my like three stories on Fanfiction.net (which, unlike a disturbing majority, are not slash, sexual, or even relationship-themed, lol). It's silly, really, but I like being told how well I'm doing.

I think that's why I sucked today. I was hoping so badly to be able to play well, and show my violin teacher that I could do it, that I really was worth First Division even though she didn't think I was. I've always wanted to be able to prove people wrong.

I've never been able to do it.

I can't show up boys to flirt with them (unless I'm SERIOUSLY good at something, and then even God requires that I be modest about it, otherwise it doesn't work), I can't prove teachers wrong, I can't prove obnoxious people wrong. I require to thrive off of the energy of others' support and approval. I can do things, and do things well, when people tell me they are confidant in me. I do it because I love to please people. I care about it too much. It's an oldest/first child thing. I just need to please people; I want everyone to like me, to approve of me. It makes me a great compromiser, too concerned with my reputation to become truly passionate and let my ideas out there.

I mean, look at me: I apologize for every rant I ever make, sidestepping around my insane liberal-ness for fear of offending my Republican friends; I try to compromise everything and see the value in everything even when I know it's wrong and I completely and totally hate it-- which then makes me appear and weak and makes everyone think that they've won-- and I even excuse everything so that no one appears evil.

Is it philosophy or is it bending to fulfill everyone?

I guess I've turned it into a philosophy. It's not a bad one, so much.

After all, I did see all 15 rocks at Ryouanji; therefore, I received enlightment, and they told me that the key to enlightment was compromise.

Just don't compare me to Henry Clay. He was "The Great Compromiser," but, oh my God, I disagreed with everything he ever said. He was in Congress for about 150 years, too (yeah, he and Eugene V. Debs and William Jennings Bryan-- only they never actually did anything . . . )-- AND THAT'S AN AWFULLY LONG TIME TO BE COMING UP WITH IDEAS THAT I UTTERLY HATE, lol . . .

AS fitting with my compromisingish nature, I love everyone, all of you all, and I bid you all good night . . .

Good night. I love you all ^_^

Sarah's Party and Feeling Better and Compromise

Why does the little guy who shrieks with laughter in the beginning of "Wipeout" by The Beach Boys remind me of Mrs. Corey? I don't know; that's just really odd . . . I've never actually seen what he actually looks like, but he sounds like Mrs. Corey . . . for some reason . . .

I wrote my entry from earlier today and pretty much went to sleep. I woke up with just enough time to make it to Sarah's party.

Well, would have, if I hadn't gotten completely, utterly, and totally lost, lol . . . I had to drive back home, and call her, and show up about a half-hour late, lol . . .

Sarah's party was fun. It was a nice party; we ate lots of food and played Spoons and sat around and played Mafia for a long time, and we even played with Legos for a little while, lol . . .

I was the longest-lasting Mafia member, except for maybe Brian; I think I tied with him. The strong, silent types, lol . . .

"Just because you pick your foot up off of a squished bug doesn't mean it un-squishes." -Me, lol . . . after Robert and Alice leaned back on top of me and squished me and then told me that I should be fine after they get back off of me, lol . . .

It's so retarded; I feel so happy getting little reviews for my like three stories on Fanfiction.net (which, unlike a disturbing majority, are not slash, sexual, or even relationship-themed, lol). It's silly, really, but I like being told how well I'm doing.

I think that's why I sucked today. I was hoping so badly to be able to play well, and show my violin teacher that I could do it, that I really was worth First Division even though she didn't think I was. I've always wanted to be able to prove people wrong.

I've never been able to do it.

I can't show up boys to flirt with them (unless I'm SERIOUSLY good at something, and then even God requires that I be modest about it, otherwise it doesn't work), I can't prove teachers wrong, I can't prove obnoxious people wrong. I require to thrive off of the energy of others' support and approval. I can do things, and do things well, when people tell me they are confidant in me. I do it because I love to please people. I care about it too much. It's an oldest/first child thing. I just need to please people; I want everyone to like me, to approve of me. It makes me a great compromiser, too concerned with my reputation to become truly passionate and let my ideas out there.

I mean, look at me: I apologize for every rant I ever make, sidestepping around my insane liberal-ness for fear of offending my Republican friends; I try to compromise everything and see the value in everything even when I know it's wrong and I completely and totally hate it-- which then makes me appear and weak and makes everyone think that they've won-- and I even excuse everything so that no one appears evil.

Is it philosophy or is it bending to fulfill everyone?

I guess I've turned it into a philosophy. It's not a bad one, so much.

After all, I did see all 15 rocks at Ryouanji; therefore, I received enlightment, and they told me that the key to enlightment was compromise.

Just don't compare me to Henry Clay. He was "The Great Compromiser," but, oh my God, I disagreed with everything he ever said. He was in Congress for about 150 years, too (yeah, he and Eugene V. Debs and William Jennings Bryan-- only they never actually did anything . . . )-- AND THAT'S AN AWFULLY LONG TIME TO BE COMING UP WITH IDEAS THAT I UTTERLY HATE, lol . . .

AS fitting with my compromisingish nature, I love everyone, all of you all, and I bid you all good night . . .

Good night. I love you all ^_^