To The Batmobile, Sporks And All!
August 26, 2004 ... 11:32 p.m.
Oscar: “Aww, Eibby -- we go together like peas and carrots or ...”
Eibisch: “Peanut butter and jelly?”
Oscar: “The moon and stars!”
Eibisch: “Turtles and cheese!”
So, okay, here’s the thing: I need to run away from home.
Is anyone interested in harboring a runaway? I cook, I clean ... in fact I’m a lot like Martha Stewart. If Martha Stewart were cute and nice and sweet and, you know, not a felon. Because I’m not. A felon. Yet.
I also promise not to implement my plan for total world domination from your basement.
I’m sure you have a nearby public high school well suited for that kind of anarchy. As an added bonus, it will be easy to round up some disaffected youth to be my
lackeys flunkies patsies minions ... assistants. Yes. Assistants.
See, my family is trying to kill me. No, really. They’re trying to break my spirit.
Help! Help! I’m being oppressed!
I now have no car (looong story), so I had to cut back on my classes. People! I will NEVER finish college, NEVER get a degree, NEVER get a job and NEVER escape!!
And even if my plan to tunnel out of my room armed only with pink sporks (which I just picked up at the dollar store and are totally cute) succeeds, my mother informed me that she plans to follow me “if [I] ever move out”.
You can hear my brain synapses exploding right now, can’t you?
If? IF? IF???
I am thisclose to an aneurysm.
I have to find someplace she would hate, nothing within driving distance. The only thing worse than actually living with my mom when I’m 42 would be surprise weekend/month long visits. On the bright side, when I’m 42, Mom will be 69. Maybe she’ll be legally blind and unable to drive.
I don’t think so, either. And, even with legal blindness, there are cabs. So I have to go somewhere she’d hate.
Ulaan Bator, Mongolia it is.
And just when I thought things couldn’t get any better, my writing teacher gives us a list of required reading. First up --Nine Stories by J.D. Salinger
Ah, cruel fate, how I despise thee.
Next is Kafka’s Metamorphosis. I’ve read it, I own it, I like it--however, the incestuous undertones are a bit ... disconcerting to examine during class.
Then Slaughterhouse 5 by Kurt Vonnegut. I’m not really a fan, but I love this book.
Next, we have Lord of the Flies by William Gerald Golding. I actually read this in 4th grade, my very own anarchy cookbook. I was totally for Jack, Ralph was a damn weenie. I was an odd child.
Then, Camus’ The Stranger.
Hahahaha! I shall lose my mind!
But the kicker, oh the kicker! The kicker is Catcher in the Rye by Salinger.
HATE! YOU! SO! MUCH! TEETH! HURT!
And, I swear by all that‘s holy, if the damn radio station doesn‘t stop playing Switchfoot every other song, I WILL do the djs great bodily harm. Seriously, Z.Three words: blunt. force. trauma.
Think it over. Carefully. I’m a woman on the edge!!
Note to Norah Jones:
Norah, I thought we had an understanding. I would tolerate, if not accept, and ignore your existence and total lack of talent and you would go on hoodwinking those with dubious musical taste into believing your overhyped and blasé attempts at singing and songwriting are nothing short of multi-Grammy worthy, grandiose musical achievement.
We both know better. And that, dear Norah, is why we had the agreement.
But you have gone too far this time. Too far! “Are You Lonesome Tonight?” was one thing--Elvis tribute and all. Plus, I’m not particularly enamored of that song. “Can’t Help Falling in Love” had you on thin ice but, let’s face it, you weren’t getting a hit from that one. Nice to dream, though isn’t it? But “Love Me Tender”? Have you no decency, butcher?
The truce is off. OFF! Once my time machine is finished, I will do away with you immediately after I dispatch Misters Camus and Salinger.
You are #12 on my Enemy For Life List. Before peas. Peas, Norah--that’s how serious I am.
P.S. If you touch “Don’t”, I will beat you. Possibly with a brick.
Currently Reading: The Last Juror by John Grisham