I was supposed to meet my Spanish group at the library so we could work on our skit together (It's called "Los Luchadores"--seriously), but they were supposed to be here forty minutes ago.  I guess it's possible we just missed each other, since I had to use a different library computer than the one I told them I'd be at.  So maybe I'm the tardy one.  Either way, though, we really needed the practice and it doesn't look like we're going to get it.  So, crap.  So until they (i.e. if they never) show up, I'll be blogging.

Toward the end of Rio Rita, Mr. Hargis said something kind of interesting to me.  As I recall, it was something along the lines of: "You'll go to college.  You'll meet new people.  Most of them will be lucky to get below one or two of your protective layers.  The peope you really like will be able to get down a few more.  And you'll still be about twenty layers away from letting anyone know who you really are, because that's just you."

I guess that's true.  I've met people here, and I have some people I would consider to be my friends.  But I don't tell them my life's story.  Why would I?  They don't want to hear it, and haven't done anything to earn it, and they wouldn't understand how much it means for me to tell them.  So I keep to myself mostly, and when someone enters my life that I think is a good fit for me, I let them become friends with me.  And obviously, because I'm an extremely picky person, this doesn't happen to everyone.

I mention this only because lately I've been coming under attack a lot for not being more social, being too uptight, not having fun.  And mostly, it's from people that I don't know all that well, or barely even at all.  One was from Tony (known to my friends as "Alluring Guy).  Another was from a guy that I'd only talked to a few times, about video games, named Calvin.  Tony insisted (and I almost laughed in his face when he said this) that I was being "selfish, keeping all the you to yourself."  No kidding, that's what he said.  And I want nothing more, though I never would, to say: "Who are you?  I don't know you.  I met you a few days ago.  You have no right to tell me how I should act.  You can't even tell me what my last name is, and frankly, I'll be surprised if you can remember my first.  Oh yeah, and don't touch me."

Despite absolutely no intention of this on my part, I've started a reputation for myself as a Mystery Woman.  Seriously.  Me.  My refusal to spill my guts to every stranger on the street is apparently an uncommon enough reaction that people are intrigued by it.  They see me as an enigma.  I can't explain to them, because they won't understand, that I simply prefer to know a person before I decide to trust them with myself.

In high and middle school, I was the Quiet One.  I'm not sure why that doesn't apply anymore.  Suddenly you can't just be "quiet."  Does it, like Florence King said, bother people because they see you as a threat?  Exclusion is elitist, and elitism implies that all people are not equal, and if all people aren't equal, then some are better than others, and that screams monarchy, a word that still makes Americans cringe.  I am all for elitism and people being accepted as better than others, as anyone who's discussed democracy with me knows, but that's not why I don't become best friends with every Tom, Dick and Harry who talks to me.

Why do Americans feel the constant, pressing need to befriend everyone?  I choose not to.  Is that so bad?  I don't automatically trust everyone I meet.  I don't tell people why I am the way I am unless they ask me, and maybe not then.  Don't ask me out on a date if this is the first time we've met.  Don't pretend that you understand me when probably nothing could be further from the truth.  Don't ask me if I have a boyfriend, stranger; that's not your place.

My group is still not here.  I hate not having a phone.  We are so screwed.

My birthday's coming up in about a month.  I didn't know what to tell my mom.  Everything I really want is expensive, especially the #1 item on my list: the iPod.  I've always wanted an iPod, and I know exactly the kind I want, too.  The iPod nano, in either white or black.  If I ever buy one I'll probably get the 4GB, since it's cheaper, but the 8GB would be nice to have.  Either way, it's too expensive for my family, so I asked her for a shirt that I saw at JCPenny instead.  It's a cute shirt, so that's nice.

My entire list comprises something like this so far (in no particular order):

iPod nano
Too Human (for 360)
Wrath of the Lich King (for PC)
Fable (for 360)
Fable II (for 360)
The Force Unleashed (for 360)
Mirror's Edge (for PC)

I saw Pineapple Express today.  It was a lot more violent than I thought it would be, but it was pretty darn funny.  And James Franco with his foot through a windshield was hilarious.  But yeah, tons of language, and pretty graphic violence.

My room is a mess.  College stuff everywhere.  Bah.

Yesterday, when I first awoke, seemed like it would be a pretty boring day, and it was - except for a somewhat disturbing, pretty unusual thirty-minute window.  I had been at the Hargis house all morning, until about 12:30 or so.  When I came home, the first thing my mom said to me was, "Did you see the deer outside?"

Apparently, one small deer (still spotted, so it was fairly young) had been hanging out with all his deer pals in our backyard, as deer tend to do.  But when our dog had spotted them and started his usual routine of barking and blustering, when all of the other deer left, this one stayed where it was.  Really, exactly where it was.  It found the only bit of shade in our backyard and it would not move.

Normally, Hunter doesn't actually do much when it comes to the deer that molest our house.  His bravery is limited to something like, "Get off my lawn or I'll bark at you!  No, I'm serious, I'll really bark at you.  I might even do some running, if you keep mouthing off.  Go on, eat grass, I dare you."  I mean, we're not raising a rottweiler here.  But for some reason, this deer got him really excited.  He refused to leave it alone, and then actually started attacking it and trying to bite it.  At this, my mom and brother dragged the dog into the mud room (the only part of the house in which he is tolerated), and considered the possibility that here was a very sick deer.  The poor thing didn't move the whole time that he was attacking it.

All this was before I got home.  As soon as my mom pointed the deer out to me, my tender, mothering heart went out to it.  Okay, I'll admit I'm not exactly PETA material, considering my diet and my advocacy of hunting for sport, but that doesn't mean that I like to see animals in pain for no reason.  So we discussed the situation, and decided that the best thing to do was to call someone from the sheriff's department to come over and put the deer out of its misery.  Ian would have done it, but he didn't think it could kill it with just a bow.

Oh, and before you say anything, this was definitely a miserable deer.  Ian took some pictures of it (I don't know why), and reported back to the rest of us who were watching from the air-conditioned house that the deer had blood running out of its eyes and nose.  We figured internal injuries, though my mom had thought rabies initially.  (My take on this: "If Ian gets bitten by a deer with rabies, I will die laughing.")

After about fifteen minutes, the Sheriff arrived.  Ian took one look at his rifle and started drooling.  Please don't ask me what kind it was, but it was a nice one, obviously.  Even I could tell that.  But we'd thought he would use  handgun, just walk up to it, stick the gun against its head, and put one in its brain.

He did not.  Instead, he fired from about thirty feet away three times, missed all three, then hit the deer the fourth time.  Did he finally accomplish his mission of mercy?  No.  He hit the poor thing on the side of the face.  THAT got it moving, but it obviously had no idea where to go or even where it was, because instead of running into the trees like any healthy deer would, it ran into the nine-foot-deep, completely-drained pool.  Seriously.

And it still wasn't dead!  I felt horrible for it, and I was pretty mad at the guy with the gun.  See, I had been under the impression that he was here to help, not stick a bullet up the deer's nose and chase it into a pool.  After I saw it wobbling around on the bottom of the pool, the sheriff and our neighbor trying to catch it, I'd seen enough.  I went to play WoW, and in about five minutes I heard a fifth shot from the side of the house.

The moral of the story, I guess, would be: If you're taken hostage by a man who's holding you right in front of him, and you've got a Dripping Springs sheriff trying to take aim at the terrorist/bomber/disgruntled employee - tell him not to shoot.

Oh, and what's really sad is that later that evening, the deer's mother was out there looking for him, sniffing around where he'd been lying.