Dear Lovely Friends and Readers,

Today is Wednesday, May 7, 2008.

This is Entry Number 48.

Well, my friends, the weather today is slightly sarcastic with a slight chance of A) indifference or B) dissinterest in what the critics say. Actually, it's just cloudy, but I'm listening to Panic at the Disco, and that is a part in one of their songs, and since I am a complete dork, I have been wanting to say that for years.

Anyway, wow, this is totally insane. I have so much to talk about, and so little time to talk about it! Liam stayed home from school today because he is "ill." Also known as "lazy" and "unwilling to go to school." Which means I don't get the house to myself for a few hours while Mother's out doing whatever mothers do after dropping their children (well, child, today) off at school.

So I suppose I'll start with a exciting part: my daddy is taking Lily and me to the Raconteurs concert at Riverbend in Ohio! Oh my God, you have no idea how totally and completely stoked I am! I want you to imagine that you are the most obsessive Jack White stalker in this whole entire world. Are you imagining it? Well, multiply it by a kabillion and you're about a kabillion miles behind me. To make a long story short, I WORSHIP JACK WHITE. And although I prefer the White Stripes (Jack White's other band of eleven years) to the Raconteurs, it's Jack White, people! You just can't go wrong. I guess Daddy knows someone up there in Ohio that he used to play music with like fifteen years ago when he was twenty. And (drum roll, please) PANIC AT THE FREAKING DISCO is going to be in Columbus, Ohio, around that time, so we're begging him to take us to that, as well. He would probably go to the Raconteurs show, anyway, whether he was taking Lily and me or not, so maybe PATD could count at the one he's taking us to, and we'll just tag along to the Raconteurs. Because I do have to say, although amazing cannot even come close to describing Jack White, Brendon Urie of PATD can kick Jack's ass live.

In other news I've been harassed by Colbie Whathislastname again. He does it to everybody and he's completely joking but it still makes me uncomfortable. I haven't told Bobbie yet but I'll bet you she'll march in there on Friday and threaten to kick his ass (she could do it, too) if he does it again. Anyway, Mr. Paige was out on Friday so the Improv teacher, Mr. Evans, subbed our class. Well, since he's abou as qualified as a teacher as this bowl of popcorn sitting next to me, we combined class with the P.E. class next door.

Yippie, right?

WRONG!

It was hell. Yet another Charlotte has come to SPA. Dammit, I used to be the only one named Charlotte and then Charlotte Hanna came along and now Charlotte Wite is attending. And I want you to imagine being locked in a room with the most annoying person you know. Well, you're not even close to knowing that sinking feeling of seeing Charlotte Wite just walking towards you. This girl is the mother of all of the seventy-pound preteens dressed like strippers running around that school. I swear to God, it's like mini-Mean Girls. (Hey, shut up, I've only seen that movie like once and vowed to never do it again!) I wish you could see it. They all weigh about ten pounds; they wear more make-up than I've ever seen in my entire life; they all have bleeched-blonde hair; they all dress like strippers; they are all "deeply in love" with their fifteen-year-old "boyfriends"; oh and the worst part: they all cannot stand each other. There's constantly some war going on between at least two of them: Olivia Seigel looked at Charlotte Wite's "boyfriend"'; Charlotte Wite screamed, "Get off of my boyfriend, bitch!" even though he's standing right next to Charlotte and Olivia simply glanced in their direction; Olivia screamed, "I'm not on your boyfriend, you whore!"; and then they start clawing at each other until a teacher comes over and breakes them up.

It.

Is.

Sickening.

And, to me, the most disgusting part of the whole situation to me is that some warped parent would let their daughter go around dressing and acting like that. I mean, if Charlotte Wite were my daughter, I would say, "You march right over here, young lady, and wipe off all that make-up, go tell your 'boyfriend,' who, by the way, is twenty-one years old, that you can't see him anymore, put on some sweatpants and eat some cake or someting! We're gonna fatten you up!" I swear to God, that's what I'd do.

Anyway, I've decided that I don't give a shit what Max does. I'm finished with him. I'm not going to shoot him dirty looks across the room; I'm not going to pretend not to hear him when he says hi to me; I'm going to treat him just like I did when we were just friends. Because I now see that, to a certain degree, I was just like Olivia Seigel and Charlotte Wite. Well, I wasn't. But it's sort of the same thing. It was just kind of fun at first to say, "Yeah, this is my boyfriend, Max." But I later realized that I think I was just too young to be in a real relationship. I mean, I was like eleven when that whole thing started! I mean, we didn't go out on dates or anything, but it was just a fun little thing. And then I realized that "relationships" (I feel so unbelievably stupid calling what Max and I had a "relationship") come with a price. I was envied, I was talked about, I was called names behind my back, I was called names to my face. I was hated. And I don't want that. Yet, at least. Maybe as I get older I'll change my mind and find some guy I am completely head-over-heels in love with.

But for right now I'm okay just having my friends. Now, let's say Seth Riley walks up to me on Friday and says, "Charlotte, you are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen in my entire life. Will you go out with me?" You think I'm going to turn him down? Hell, no, he called me beautiful! I'm just saying I'm not going to give this whole thing with Max another try. I was too young to make it work when it started.

That's all.

Charlotte