blog*spot

Saturday, January 10, 2004

how not to deliver a monologue
I’ve decided that I lack an adequate supply of escapes in my life.
There are these commercials where this kid is in a schoolyard, yelling out to his classmates everything he’s wanted to tell them but couldn’t. He then leaps over the brick wall, only to be forced to return to school the next day and have everyone laugh at him. The caption reads, “Someday you’ll really get away.”
I’m like that kid, except I don’t even have the brick wall to provide for a grand, if not brief, finale.
Or in the movies, where someone is talking about a subject that will define their very lives, they will suddenly remove themselves from the scene in a suave manner leaving the audience to think to themselves, “Wow, that was done in a suave manner. I should believe and accept everything they say.”
There are schedules and rules to follow, and they simply don’t allow for this dramatic, emotional exit stuff. Also, there is a desperate need for more fancy doors to walk through in this girl’s life, as well as more viable transportation options. And in real life, Ziggy Stardust is never heard playing softly in the background adding to the atmosphere of the heart-ripping occasion.
As a side note, when slivers of carrot are stuck betwixt one’s two front teeth, it sort of takes away from the whole experience.

Fresh squeezed by melly at 9:46 PM

Wednesday, January 07, 2004

clarification:
cute-ass skirt: a skirt that is cute or possesses beauty. see also: cute-ass shorts, cute-ass shoes, cute-ass earrings.
not to be confused with-- cute ass-skirt: a skirt that shows off one's ass-ets, often by being cut up shorter than one's crotch. Often not actually cute, just disturbing.
exception-- cute-ass underwear: underwear posessing extreme cuteness, but, as is the nature of underwear, also exposes one's behind.

Fresh squeezed by melly at 6:54 PM

Monday, January 05, 2004

my eyebrows itch
There is something about spending the entire day before school is to begin again in the bathtub, intoxicating oneself with the various scents of bubbles and salts and body rinses.
It must be encoded in that extra x chromosome that we have that compels girls to give each other quite the array of bath type things around the holiday season, all with scents like "Awapuhi-seaweed", or "Sun-kissed raspberry". No one in their right mind actually uses these things, but they look pretty in their bottles sitting on the countertop, full.
So I stepped into the warm water, letting the initial sting settle into my toes before I proceeded to sit down with a book in one hand and pouring French Vanilla bubble bath into the steady stream of water emerging from the faucet with the other.
After the Lemon Lime bath salts and Cinnamon bath beads have been tossed in and Cucumber-Melon soap and been frothed upon the extremeties and Sweet Almond exfoliating scrub has been rubbed into the face, one's nose and brain starts to lose track of the individual smells and can just pick up this big Smell in general, sweet, but smelling nonetheless.
I sat there not reading the words printed before me, but contemplating tomorrow (! a Jerry Springer show in itself, but with less bodyguards and more broken promises) and the days to come after that.
And somewhere amidst the apricot lotion, a mean-mad boiled up until I remembered that there were brownies to be consumed.
I shuffled out of the bathroom, slippers covering my pruny toes. My parents sit quietly in the library working on a three thousand piece puzzle that involves a boring scene of Amsterdam.
"Happy anniversary, and stuff." Only my mother heard me, and she rolled her eyes before continuing to piece together the sky.
The snow outside reflected off the walls in my room, making one much too dazzled to possibly bother with sleep.
My beloved Onion page-a-day calender had run out of witty things to say four days ago but it sat on my nightstand table, still. The portable phone's batteries blinked red and recharged.
So I sat, wondering about things I can't recall. I briefly wondered if my parents still have sex, and, grossed out, placed the headphones over my ears and closed my eyes.
/and i ended up the kind of kid who goes down chutes too narrow-the shins

Fresh squeezed by melly at 10:21 PM