The other day I was going through some overstuffed drawers of mine–that is, getting rid of all the crap–and I found a journal-type thing from my two one-week stays at the Girl Scout Camp Lakota. My journal entries were kind of, um…half-assed and stupid, but the postcards my parents pre-wrote that were given to me throughout those weeks are very amusing. Therefore, I will reproduce the text here. The signatures are omitted.
Monday [front shows some weird modern art type thing with heads...and hands...and a parrot...and some guy with a top hat]
“Constance,
We hope this note finds you in great comfort. Please read it with an accent.
‘IT’”
Tuesday I’m going to skip this one because it was less amusing than the others.
Wednesday [front shows an Edward Gorey (probably) drawing of someone, possibly a nun (?), sitting on a pole somewhere in the ocean or a bay or something wet]
Front of postcard:
“I’m sending you this card today
Because I’ve nothing else to say.”
Back of postcard:
“Dear Constance,
I’m (we’re) sure you have lots to say, because I (we) know you’ve been busy and you’re having lots of fun.
I (we) can’t wait to hear about all your adventures.
You’ll have to tell me (us) all about it when you (they) get home.”
Thursday [front shows a capital A, lowercase a and capital B with arms and legs dancing or jumping or something, with a cat sitting in a cupboard]
Front of postcard:
“Great A, little a,
Bouncing B;
The cat’s in the cupboard,
And she can’t see.”
Back of postcard:
“Today, Tinka masters the alphabet. Tomorrow, the World!
___________
Constance,
We’re having a fine time running and hiding from the cats. Thinking of you, [signatures]“
Friday [front shows a reproduction of a "Sierra Sue" poster]
“Howdy, Pardner!
How are you enjoying the view from the top of a horse?
Too bad we can’t fit one in our apartment. Spike [our dog] is as close as we get.”
I’m going to save the rest of the postcards for another day, but there’s lots of other amusing stuff in here. For example, at one point we were all given a booklet of blank pages with headings at the top, and filled them in during a lecture. Being lazy, I only did the drawing parts, which were taped into the journal. Of course, so were the headings of the other three empty pages, resulting in this:
“Horse Safety
Brushing My Horse Constance did learn about these things, but was too lame to write any of it down.
-Mommy
My Camp Lakota Memories ^Also failed to fill out this page.“
Stay tuned for more random crap out of the madness that passes for sanity in my family!
If you’re wondering where I’ve been for the past…uh…let’s call it “time”–I decided at some point that I wasn’t going to make another blog post until another one of the Beatles died. Obviously, this is not really practical or sane.
However, the fact is I don’t have much to say. But! I do have a new website to host all my random writering. Click the link below and bookmark and stuff.
But you know the really annoying thing about Across the Universe was that there was a character named Maxwell, and he had a silver hammer, and he never killed anyone with it.
Does your depravity know no bounds?
No. And don’t quote movies at me.
…Insert Donovan here.
Happiness runs in a circular motion
Thought is like a little boat upon the sea
Everybody is a part of everything anyway
You can have everything if you let yourself be
Happiness runs, happiness runs
So, I could say that I just didn’t have anything to post about and I totally knew this existed, but that would be a lie. The fact is, I have nothing to post about that I can think of at the moment…so please enjoy this, courtesy of the Failblog.
I remember, at some point last year after I met Susan, I came to school wearing my orange pants (as I often do). I was standing outside Ms. Hsu’s classroom with Susan, waiting to be let in, and we were talking about–something, I don’t know. This one eighth-grader who was in my Algebra class, henceforth referred to as K, suddenly said to me, “Why are you wearing orange pants? Who wears orange pants?”
“Um…I do?” I replied. He looked bemused for a few moments, then said, fairly quietly, “Well, of course you would, Constance, because…you’re weird…” And I swear I could hear him thinking, Damn you, you ruined my insult.
K has not been the only person to do this. The other day in Core, the person next to me, henceforth referred to as M, said, “Only nerds like to read.”
“And?” I said.
“And…you like to read.”
“So?”
“So…you’re a nerd.”
“And?”
“You’re…a nerd?”
“Was that supposed to be an insult?”
M, who was beginning to look very uncomfortable, muttered “No, no” very quickly and returned to what he was doing.
I love ruining people’s insults. It’s so satisfying.
As gratified as I am that Beatles Rock Band has finally come out, I am disgusted by the number of people who are suddenly Beatles fans. Hey, guys? [whistles] Over here! I was a Beatles fan before they were cool in this decade!
If I become cool for liking them, the Apocalypse is coming.
I bet you’re wondering why this bothers me so much. I mean, I love the Beatles. Why should I protest if everyone else does too? Two reasons:
1) I don’t want to become mainstream, although this is less important.
2) You know they only like the Beatles because they’ve suddenly become new and exciting again. In two months they’ll be back with–whatever teenagers listen to now. I am a real Beatles fan. All these other people are just joining in because it’s something new. Kind of like in Ankh-Morpork.
What do you think? Tell me your opinions on this not-particularly-phenomenal phenomenon.
I have recently completed many tasks on my warped mental To Do list, which is my terrible excuse for the recent lack of posts. Let’s review, shall we?
Brainwash Susan with the Beatles ?
Finally finish the third chapter of my book ?
Go to the library ?
Survive the first week of school ?
Finally buy A Hard Day’s Night (squee) ?
Aaaand here’s what I still have to do.
Remember to watch Yellow Submarine, dammit
Forget I ever watched Across the Universe
Talk to my dad about a schedule for guitar lessons
Think of a title for my book
Learn to draw a decent picture of a dragon-gryphon hybrid (long story)
I really don’t have anything else interesting to say, so in closing, here’s a funny picture.
No one seems to read this anymore. Thusly, I can address my mental goings-on without fear of…something.
I’m going to explain part of something very complicated. I have this little version of myself in my head which is sort of me how I’d like to be. And I wander around through various worlds from books and movies and my own demented thinking. Generally I single out a few characters and stalk them, at least in the beginning. This would explain by Beatles issues to some extent.
Anyway, the other me likes to bug people. One person in particular. So much that I climb in his window at five in the morning just because it bothers him. And I make fun of him a lot, because I know he won’t hit me. (This isn’t because I have control over what he does in my head. I like to stay true to character.) And no, it’s not Paul. That’s a whole ‘nother…thing that’s whole.
Ahem. Anyway, just because I enjoy bugging people doesn’t mean I don’t like them. What I want to know is, can an idiot not be stupid? This question has been presented to me in various situations by a certain talking dog. I’ve stopped making assorted comments because of it. So…answers?
Also, my sanity is severely disrupted by the nosreps. “Nosrep” is “person” backwards. They’re exact opposites of existing people, and a plot device that I made up because I was running out of ideas for ways to—never mind. Well, they aren’t exact opposites in all ways, just in most aspects of personality. Most people never meet theirs, which is good, because it could start a huge war. You should have seen—never mind. But they’ve kind of taken on a life of their own. I reconciled with my nosrep, Ecnatsnoc, a while ago, and we met in an alley while she was hunting a nosrep called Tsiom. Um. So you can see my problem.
Just because I said I’d stop with the random posts doesn’t mean I can’t do this.
I have been getting a LOT of spam lately. They’re really stupid, too. On that one post about the argument with my dad, I got a spam comment that said this:
Pretty nice post. I just came by your site and wanted to say
that I have really enjoyed browsing your posts. In any case
I’ll be subscribing to your feed and I hope you post again soon!
Er. I repeat: This was a post about my dad. Being mad at me. And telling me I had to buy my own food. “Pretty nice post”, huh?
Yeah. Therefore I have installed the SPAM-Be-Gone™! This odd-looking computer-art cannon in the sidebar will eliminate all spam from my site.
