Wild Things, writing things, angry things.

"There were some buildings. They were these really tall buildings, and they could walk. Then there were some vampires. One of the vampires bit the tallest building, and his fangs broke off. Then all his other teeth fell out. Then he started crying. And then all the other vampires said, 'Why are you crying? Aren't those just your baby teeth?' And he said, 'No. Those are my grown-up teeth.' And the vampires knew that he couldn't be a vampire anymore. So they left him. The end."

The Where the Wild Things Are DVD came out today, and I got it.

I really like this movie. And the vampire story is one of the saddest stories ever.

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Mr Neil linked these lists on his blog. I read them instead of doing my drawing homework.

Well, I'm doing my drawing homework now. But I put it off.

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If I were ever to write an autobiography (lol, the greatest form of vanity must be the belief that millions of people will want to know your life's story), the subtitle would be "The Unfinished Story of Nobody Special (Who You Probably Don't Know Anyways)". Or maybe the parenthetical would be "(So Why Are You Reading This Book?)".

Yeah. Self-confidence. Whoo.

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Okay. So. Jen thinks I stole her baking sheet. It's true that I was the last one to use it; I used it for my failed experiment two weeks ago, and left it on my window sill hoping the weird cookies would cool faster, and then when it fucked up I waited too long to clean them up. I wanted to wait until the sink was empty, so I could scrape them off and wash it. I kept the sheet with the stuck, weird cookies in one of my desk drawers, because I didn't want my grandparents to see it when they visited. I forgot about it. Then last weekend, when I got back, I cleaned it off and put it in the drying rack.

That weekend, when Jen came into my room to close my window, apparently she also went through my drawers, because yesterday when she mentioned that she was missing her baking sheet and I said I didn't have it, she yelled that she'd seen it in my desk. She'd claimed it had been open when she'd been in my room, a baldfaced lie that I'm sure she justified to herself because she thought I'd stolen it.

Alright. For one thing, it would be completely illogical for me to steal a fucking baking sheet. I'm still living here for two more months; why would I need to keep it from her when it's in the kitchen for everyone's use? I have my own, too; it's not like I need to take hers. Even if I was tempted to take it (and I really don't see why), it would just be stupid while I'm still living here. It's not like it's money or food.

I left her a note explaining why it had been in my drawer, even going so far as to invite her to search my room - after all, I said, I knew she had already. I told her that although I had not stolen the baking sheet, and would have no reason to anyways, I would help her pay for a new one. I am only doing this because I don't want to go two more months hiding in my room from the three girls who share this suite, even more than I do already. I feel a slight responsibility, too, having been the last one to see the damned thing. Now I think that my offer to replace it reads more like a confession, which annoys me.

She responded with a note of her own, under my door, containing several 'fuckings' and a request that I do buy her a new one, because 'it's not her fault that it's gone'.

That's right, Olivia. Respond to anger with calm. Logic and level heads trump eventually. If people want to live without reason, wait until they're out of your lives.

In the meantime, get upset in your blog, or to your friends. Only.

I'm glad I'm going home on Thursday. I need a week away from the city and the people.

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(Sure I'm angry. I'm upset for this false accusation, and the swiftness of Jen's jumping to a rather irrational conclusion. But I'm going to sail past it as best I can without lashing out at her, because that's just another thing that will make me the bad guy in her eyes.)

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Wrote a long section about the angry internet air around Amanda Palmer right now, but it felt kind of weird in this post. I separated it into the next.

We're off to the Met for drawing class again tomorrow. Nothing like six hours in an art museum for class credit.

That's it. Good night.

Olivia