Kornerupine.

I don't know what it is, either.

Today I sold Girl Scout cookies. This is because I am a Girl Scout. It would be more than a little strange if I wasn't a Girl Scout but I was selling their cookies. Our cookie booth was really not that exciting. We sold about four cases, which is forty-something boxes, and we ran out of a couple kinds. We also had to keep explaining to people about how we switched bakers and that's why the names are different and everything tastes nasty. At least there weren't rival scouts at Kroger again. Last time there were these random other chicks who actually had signs and uniforms. Unlike us; we had a sign Zoe and I made in five minutes and none of us have uniforms.

Liss was wearing shorts and flip-flops like she hadn't noticed it's still March. Or mars, as they say in la belle France. As we were walking to the store, Mother said, "There's a wrongness to that." She meant Liss's outfit.

After selling, we partied in my basement and then went to a writing workshop. I was kind of nervous about going. I mean, I wasn't too worried about the writing part of it. Obviously I write, and obviously I write stuff that other people read. It was the whole there are going to be people I've never met and possibly people I have met thing that worried me. I am not a people person. I am a what are these people doing in my bubble? person.

The person-in-charge had us stand in a circle and introduce ourselves. Then, after stating our name and business ("I am Libby. I am at this place because I am.") we told a melodramatic story about something that had happened that week. I talked about my freezing up in front of the entire class, sadly, not very melodramatically. I'm not repeating that story because I wrote it all down two days ago. Also, it's such a scarring memory that I prefer not to bring it up. Okay, no.

She told us all about what melodrama is. It seems to be pretty much a style of drama where there's a damsel in distress, a slimy-looking villain (sometimes with a hunchbacked, idiot henchman), and a heroic hero (sometimes with an idiot best friend for comic relief). It makes no sense at all, and the characters all talk funny. I did not sign up for this class, by the way. I wanted to do the journalism one.

She warned us (in a whisper, I have no idea why) that it can be kind of sexist, and also that since we were all girls, some of us would end up acting out male roles. Liss said (not in a whisper) that I was a man.

Do you know how many times a day I have to tell people that I'm not a man? At least once. They all find it incredibly amusing to call me a man. It's not, people. I am not a man! I don't even look like a man. I really don't.

We ended up writing and performing a short sketch. I ended up playing a man. But I was a very fabulous man named Bivouac de Blacktop, and I totally didn't get stage fright and puke in the corner. I barely even entertained the possibility for more than a minute. You can go read our script on Liss's blog, which I think I have a link to in the corner. I will just mention that we ended with a unison "FOR ENGLAND!" and put our fists in the air, for absolutely no reason. It was my idea.

Our cat, Cassee, doesn't like to eat people food. We've (my family, trying to find food she likes to eat) tried feeding her cream cheese, cooked eggs, milk, cheese, tuna, and chicken, but she won't eat it. I've ( me being an idiot) tried feeding her veggie sausage, cereal, string, cookies, and ice cream. She won't eat those, either. I was wandering the house with a half-eaten, cold pancake dangling out of my mouth, and I suddenly decided to feed it to the cat. I broke off a little piece, put it on my hand, and held it out to her.

She ate it. I have a pancake-eating cat. I'm so happy!

Two days ago, I said that I suspect the child is a rebel sympathizer. I now have proof, even more than just his refusal to disclose the location of the rebel base. He wouldn't let me have the good sword (there are two foam swords in the house, one that sucks and one that doesn't). I asked how I was supposed to crush rebels without a sword. He said he didn't want me to defeat rebels. Rebel sympathizer! His friend, the vamp, didn't believe me, but it's true.

The lottery for Commie High is tomorrow. Commie High is really called Community High, but I like to affectionately call it Commie. Liss was very surprised that I wanted to go there, as I had spent all of math class once making fun of it. It's the funky school here. Only a quarter of the people who want to go there get to because it's so small, so they have a random lottery system. I really, really want to get in, but I might not. So. Panic central. Oh well. My life will go on if I don't get to go to school with the commies.

Maybe.

I will live a sad, miserable existance, but I will live. I am strong!

Except not really.