I, me, mine

I went to Kids Helping Kids today for the first time this year and realized what a bitch I am. I was in the worst mood after school today because of my grades and the fact that I spent about four hours arguing with my parents about them last weekend. I even managed to get upset at Harry about nothing at all... it had to do with rollercoasters and scary movies and my fears of them. It was just plainly ridiculous. I even managed to slight Rie slightly, even though she's one of the people I admire most. Anyway, seeing the kids so cheerful with so little to be cheerful about threw the harsh realities of the world in my face like the metaphysical sack of bricks. Not so much because they were leading such horrible lives but because theirs are positively cute compared to so many other people and children around the world. I felt terribly egotistical and shallow.

Another thing I really admired about them was their ability (abilities? Help me here, Rach, you loveable grammar nazi) to show their feelings, let us know when they wanted attention and to accept love when they got it. I really don't show my feelings very well. When I'm happy, God knows, the whole world is made painfully aware of it, but when I'm upset I carefully hide the source of my anger, and I never have any idea of how to comfort people who are upset or accept compliments.

A brief detour: at the very beginning, about two months into our relationship, I actually considered dumping Bogo-San because I was too happy. I figured that getting so involved with someone would just give me more pain later in life. Happiness --> Pain; if I was enjoying myself too much, I'd suffer for it later. Better to nip the damn thing in the bud. What the hell kind of reasoning is that? I guess I really just don't really know how to sit back and be happy. Whenever I am truly happy, I feel like it's a rare privilege. Although these days, especially these last two months or so, I've been happy a LOT more frequently. (It's all your fault, dear readers. Aren't I obnoxious, adressing my readers? I love it. A whole webpage to contain my egocentricism.) Anyway, just when the dark-brooding-poetess side of me had almost won, Harry came over and said some incredibly romantic things and I gave up and decided to try to enjoy myself. I can't explain how glad I am that I didn't go through with it.

Even last week, when eating at Paquito's with Cornelius and AB, it took C. about ten minutes to convince me to let her buy me something as simple as a Snapple. "V.V., I love you and I want to buy your drink," she finally said, and I melted. How can you refuse that face, those words?

I guess I really am the embodiment of what Rie blogged against last week.

In a less self-centered vein, today was Elena the Magnificent's birthday. (I think Magnifico should be your new blog alias. Let's discuss.) Although I still haven't found the buddha earrings, I did manage to convince her dad to buy her a more expensive guitar (yay! humbuckers! rich white kids! jimi hendrix rip-offs!) and treat her to a heart-shaped cookie. I also managed to sing half of Paul McCartney's Birthday to her over the phone before I cracked up. I love you with all my heart, Elena, and I hope you had a really great day, despite your prior recount of its suckiness. And because it's your birthday I forgive you for scratching my boob. Why do I think you're going to leave a comment that's longer than this blog entry.... again?

God, there go my parents again. I can't fucking stand it.