I know what the word "traditional" means. I can spell it. I can even use it in a sentence. I have a really hard time relating to it sometimes, though.
I don't bake cookies, for example. Well, I mean, why would I when the stores and bakeries are full of them? Wouldn't that be redundant? I don't cook, either, much to my mother's dismay. To her, a woman's inherent worth is based in large part on her ability to cook. Listen, my kids survived childhood without starving to death. Granted, I never was all that good at it, but now that they're grown and cooking for themselves, why on earth should I cook? My mother has a green thumb, too, and can make anything grow and thrive. She makes a finger crucifix whenever I, Our Lady of Dead Black Leaves, go near her plants.
I'm pretty sure I was responsible for a lot of the premature gray in my mother's hair. She wanted big-haired debutantes. Instead, she got me, the hippie chick who ironed her hair and refused to go to the prom. She wanted me to date the upstart neighbor's dorky son who was in my class. Instead, I was partial to college boys. She wanted a prim and proper daughter. She got me, the girl who ran the gamut from Mary Quant miniskirts to faded blue jeans. She also wanted a reasonably intelligent daughter. I did do a passable job of that, I guess; she still talks about my GPA to people who have no interest whatsoever in that ancient history.
She wanted a daughter who would begin a career young and stick with it for the pension. She got a restless daughter who's reinvented careers several times, who's run a couple of businesses of her own before getting bored with them, who now works for an impoverished boss at slave wages. And loves it. What she got was a daughter who was much more interested in reading, writing, painting, causes, and ... dogs. I never told her about some of my other interests. I'd hate to make her faint any more than she already has on my account. I don't think her heart could withstand it.
She expected a daughter who at least pretended a polite interest in religion, politics, and ... ladies' clubs. When I try to tell her about the things I AM interested in, her eyes glaze over. I know she hates it that I refuse to follow in her footsteps to the DAR, but it is just Not Going To Happen. Stiff-lipped, straight-laced, blue-haired old ladies scare me.
On one occasion when I saw my mom recently, she asked me, "What's wrong with you?"
"What?" I asked, thinking I looked pretty darn healthy.
"Look at you," she demanded. I looked. I saw nothing wrong with my leggings, sparkly top, clogs, and ponytail with a spangled scrunchie.
"Don't you know how old you are?" she said. "Because I do. Do you have Peter Pan Syndrome or something? How long are you going to keep running around dressed like a kid?"
"For as long as I can get away with it," I said, quite reasonably in my opinion. "Ma, this is me. I am who I am. Maybe I'll start acting my age when I'm your age and your age when I'm about 90. In the meantime, this suits me just fine. Got an extra pain pill?"
Man who run in front of car get tired.
Man who run behind car get exhausted.
- Chinese proverbs
Notes for The Prom Squad
Here's who's revved up and ready to go so far:
- Rubber Corndog
- TFG, our date
- Pug says he's bought me a corsage, so I guess he's in.
Okay, so we don't have a whole lot of dates yet, with the exception of TFG and Pug who have graciously assented to escort us. What, no more boys brave enough to buy us corsages and take these girls to the prom?
We'll keep a running commentary on who's going, what they're wearing, who's got wheels, who's the designated driver, who's got fake ID, who's got curfew, yada-yada.
It's true that I like pink. A lot. But jiminy christmas, a pink prom dress would be just too foufou for words. I don't want to go looking like Little Bunny Foo-Foo. I'm going with black. That'll look good with my Doc Martens. What are the rest of you wearing?
Morman church - The chapel where it's raining men.
I new here - Not no more, you ain't. You in good company now.
bizzare - The sound made by strange bees.
Cheif - When Che Guevara cooks.
Attached for you're conslideration is my finished manuskrip of a very sweet and timely childrens book, The Little Hellicopter That Could. I have alreaady edited it to perfection so it won't not be necessary for you to do any editing and I would like to have it fast tracked assuming of course that you except it which of course I am hoping you will because it is a very good storie.I look forward to hereing back from you at your earlyest convienence about this exciting projector.
Dear Asspiring Author:
I regret to inform you that we have met our quota for the day. As your writing is something we feel will resonate with our childish readers, I'd like to invite you to resubmit your manuscript in one week's time. After your book is published, I will extend another invitation to you -- an invitation to purchase as many of your books as will fit in the trunk of your car. You will need them to take them from bookstore to bookstore, flea market to flea market, etc., so you can sell them in order to make a fraction of the money you spent when you bought them.I don't, however, wish to hear about how no one wanted your 25 page children's book priced at the low, low price of $14.95. I also don't want to hear how upset you are because you do not get the standard discount most Putrid authors get -- your book contains full color art -- therefore, we cannot give your a discount. You will be required to pay full price.If I do hear from you, chances are I will send you one last invitation -- an invitation to go fuck yourself.
I look forward to your resubmission, and all the crap I'll have to put up from you just to get a few lousy bucks!
Dear Quota Girl,
Tomorrow, huh? Bummer. But that's all righty roo, I'll send it back off first thing in the AM. Oh I forgot to say it's not 25 pages its 5 pages. How much will it cost then? If they ain't over $5 I will buy sum. Only -- only how comes I can't get the discount? What did I ever do to you? Pleaze give me the discount Miss Quota Girl. Because if you donut, I might could only by 10 instead of 5 see what I mean?Oh! Oh! You said the F-word to me! I'm telling the BBB up there in Freddrik. You will have to pay DOUBLE dues before they give you a excellunt raiting again. What do you think of them apples?
Pissing My Ass(piring author) Off
I have just learned that I was incompetent when I signed my contract with your company. Apparently, I still am. At least, that's what the cop who arrested me last night said, backed up by the staff in the Psych ward.
So, could you apply your new returnability policy to my contract and return it to me? I'm told I'm capable of some weird affect and inappropriately bizarre behavior if you don't. Wow, fire is really pretty. And those covers of yours produce some really far-out colors when they burn.
Nuts and Loving It
|You Are a Mai Tai|
You aren't a big drinker, but you'll drink if the atmosphere is festive.
And when you're drunk, watch out! You're easily carried away.