Drink the blue Slurpee, see how deep the rabbit hole goes

Me: (EXCITED GRIN)

Jack: What?

Me: (EXCITED GRIN)

Jack: What did you do?

ME: (EXCITED GRIN, EYES DART TO THE LEFT)

Jack: No. I'm not playing.

Me: Yes! Play! (HAPPY CLAPS) Best game ever!

Jack: Nope. (Walks around the kitchen making Nana lunch)

Me: Cold, cold, FREEZING, oh you're an ICICLE!! You're getting warmer, warmer, aaand colder, colder again...You're frozen again. Okay time out, maybe I should explain...when I say you're warmer, that means you're closer, see? And when I say you're getting colder, you don't want to keep going that same way! You don't want to be an icicle, get it? Ok, ready? Time in! Warm, cool, cold, colder, FREEZING BRRRRR!!!

(THUMP from inside the cupboard)

Jack: (Sigh)

Me: (EXCITED GRIN)

Jack: She's in the cupboard. Game over. Leave me alone.

Me: Maaaaaaybe, maaaaaaybe not. Go see!

Jack: Fine. (Opens cupboard)

Jack: oh my goodness. i can't believe it. dog in the cupboard. what a surprise. i was not expecting this outcome. There, you happy now?

Me: AHAHAHAHAAA!! YAY!! (runs in circles) HIDE JUANITA HIDE JUANITA HIDE JUANITA! (clapclapclap) HIDE JUANITA HIDE JUANITA HIDE JUANITA! (clapclapclap)

Jack: Poor Juanita.

Me: What are you talking about? She LOVES this game. I mean, look at her!

Juanita: AYAYAYAY!! ARRIBA ARRIBA!! (skittery run around the kitchen)

Me: AGAIN! AGAIN!

Jack: Nope, I'm leaving.

Juanita: HIDE ME! HIDE ME! (scrappety scrappety claws taking a sharp corner)

Me: Yes! One more round!

Jack: Not playing. I'll see you later, I'm heading out to...

Me: Okay, we're ready!! Open your eyes!

Jack: ...What do you mean, open my eyes? Becky, I was standing right here with my eyes open when you hid her. Two seconds ago. Right here. Eyes open. Saw it.

Me: No you didn't.

Jack: Um...yes. Yes I did. You took that empty box, and then you hid Juanita under it.

Me: No I didn't. She's somewhere else. Somewhere not under that box.

Jack: Are you feeling okay? Your eyes look a little...crazy right now.

Me: Ready...GO! HIDE JUANITA HIDE JUANITA HIDE JUANITA! (clapclapclap)!!

Jack: (points to box) I'm going to guess that she's under the box.

Me: You're getting warmer! Warmer!

Jack: What do you mean, warmer? She's under the fucking box, Becky!

Me: HIDE JUANITA HIDE JUANITA HIDE JUANITA! (Crosses arms over chest, Russian high kicks around the kitchen) Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi!

Jack: Oh my God. I think I know what this is. You had a Slurpee today, didn't you?

Me: Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi! (sticks out blue tongue) Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi!

Jack: Alright. This makes sense. I'm just gonna stick around and help you ride it out until you crash.

Me: (deep squats) Crash? Whatever. This is the REAL ME, Jack. (air punch, air punch) The sugar just lets me be ME! (walks like an Egyptian)

Jack: Right, settle down. Here, have a sandwich, maybe steady your blood sugar, okay?

Me: HIDE JUANITA HIDE JUANITA HIDE JUANITA! (clapclapclap!)

Jack: What? No, game's over, Becky. She's right over there licking her furgina.

Me: HIDE JUANITA HIDE JUANITA HIDE JUANITA! (Eyes dart toward sandwich, EXCITED GRIN)

Jack: What're you looking at...HOLY SHIT! How'd you do that?!

Me: *champion arms!*

Jack: Oh. Okay. I see what's going on here. You photoshopped her. This whole thing, this whole conversation...it's just a blog post, isn't it? I'm just a fucking character in your blog post again. You know what? This is bullshit. I don't even know what's real anymore. It's like we can't even have a genuine interaction anymore, everything's gotta end up as a post, I'm not your fucking puppet you know and...DON'T YOU DARE STRIKE THROUGH MY DIALOGUE! DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE!

Me: Kinda rambly, Jack. You're bringing everyone down.

Jack: It's just kind of disrespectful when... I mean, I feel like I'm being exploited... Oh Jesus, you know what? Forget it. You are SO RUDE.

Me: I know what would make you feel better. How about a nice hot cup of...HIDE JUANITA!

Jack: I think you're off the rails. I don't think you should ever Slurpee and blog again. I think you're just confusing your readers now.

Me: That's interesting. You know what I think? I think HIDE JUANITA!

Jack: Wow. PacMan. Way to be relevant, you fucking whacko. Can I go now?

Me: Okay, okay! Wait! The Juanita Von Trapps would like to say goodbye. (Blows Captain's whistle) Children! Children! Jack is leaving the blog post! Come bid him adieu!

Jack: (rubs temples)

Me: Haha! Dog heads, it's funny because of the dogs heads, haha all the same outfits, Liesl and Kurt, knee socks, (yawn) my head feels funny. Do you hear static? This doesn't feel like my usual tongue, mnyuh, mnyuh. Knyow wha Jack? I think this is... (head roll)... this is the best post I've ever...(head roll)... riders of Rohan... (drool)... what say you... Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...

Jack: That'll do, Becky. That'll do. (hits "publish post")

Fin.

Psst, hey. Do you want to see more Hide Juanita? Click on my secret Hitler video portal on the sidebar. -->

Awesomely Bad High School Diary, Vol 1

Dolphinhead Seizuredog's up to her old tricks again, that attention whore. All seizey and mouth-foamy and me!me!me! and seriously though, I can't focus on anything because she's breaking my heart with this slow dying business.

So, for the next few days, or maybe just for today, who knows, because I bore easily and fear commitment, I'll be transcribing and posting embarrassing excerpts and awesomely bad poetry from my high school diaries, which I just found in my "memory trunk" (shut up, I'm sentimental). If I decide I just don't care anymore, or if I get drunk or eat too many Kit-Kats again and start making bad decisions, I may post accompanying awkward high school photos.

My commentary in red.

Here we go:

Ode to Brad. (and/or Andy) Parentheses added months later, when I decided I felt similarly about Andy and was too lazy to write a new poem. This is the "Candle in the Wind" of bad high school poetry.

When we were together

I couldn't remember life w/o you,

Now it's like it was before

And I still forget sometimes

that if I died you wouldn't cry.

How could you just stop loving me,

I never did.

I loved you then and I love you now.

We're too young for commitment (Love poem fail)

You were my first (tongue kiss, FYI), and it would be sad

if you were my only,

because there were many before me,

and I felt like your first,

but I was just another fish in your tank.(awesome metaphor)

We are too young now,

but maybe later we won't be.(Maybe. Who knows.)

I'd rather stay young w/o you.(I had an imaginary haggling game going with God regarding not growing older. I usually lost.)

In your eyes, I see your past,

and the fish to come, (I saw fish in his eyes.)

but my boat has sailed on. (YES! Nailed it! I didn't think that fish metaphor could get any better.)

TO ANYONE WHO READS THIS!!!! I DON'T LIKE BRAD!!!! THIS IS HOW I FELT TWO MONTHS AGO!!! OK???? BRAD IS A GEEK!!!

TO ANYONE WHO READ THIS: I AM NOT THE SAPPY EMOTIONAL BASKETCASE THIS POEM SAYS I AM. I WAS JUST BORED AND FEELING INSPIRED!!!

We went to a play last night and Melissa and Emily were pushing me towards Andy to say goodbye and he gave me a picture he drew of a flaming skull chewing an eyeball. He's so sweet. I really like him now. I wouldn't get back together with Brad now if someone paid me $200,000. He had white slime in the corners of his mouth. It was gross. I can't believe I ever went out with him, he's such a geek. It makes me angry what a geek he is.

We went into the village with Damien and Eric and Beth yesterday. Damien was nice at the beginning but then he started slapping me on the face and he almost broke my fingers playing mercy, and he also looked up my shorts. I think he's really cute. I think he likes Beth though. Beth is SUCH A FAKE, but she has good intentions.

Oh, I forgot. On the 10th of June I had my first kiss with Andy. He doesn't know what he's doing and he was nervous because it was his first. I liked it because I got all shivery because I love him. We kissed on "Stairway to Heaven". Then "Forever Young" by Alphaville started playing and it was kind of ironic because I don't want to grow up. If I had one wish, I'd stop time and keep this summer forever. I just kind of realized that everything dies and the world still goes on. I would break up with Andy if God would let me stay this age forever.

Ode to Andy.

You seem so innocent

It was hard for you to try to lose

this image.

But you did

and everything's different now

better.

Now you're leaving for camp

Please don't scam on me

Because I don't think my heart

could take it

again.

CLICK HERE TO CONTINUE TO VOLUME 2

I, Pigeon. (Alt Title: Why does my crotch smell so facey?)

Sitting alone at the coffee shop early this morning, I watched a pigeon get struck by a trolley car. Or a trolley car get struck by a pigeon. I don't know, I guess whoever started it doesn't really matter, the point is that the pigeon lost. The trolley will cut a pigeon. 

The pigeon was dead, but only on its left side. The right side was determined to fly away, or perhaps its right side believed it was flying, because it continued to flap awkwardly as cars drove by. In between sips of latte, I watched and made those teeth clenched sucking in noises each time a car's tires would send more feathers flying. 

The bird wouldn't die, even despite its being dead. Such optimism in the face of adversity. 

I am that bird.

No, I am the road.

An old Chinese trash collector man walked into the street and swept the bird into his dustpan and dumped it into his rolling trash bin. "Not dead yet! Not trash yet!" I murmured, quietly angered by the indignity. 

I am that trash collector.

No wait, I am the broom.

I pulled my finger out of my ear to inspect whatever my pinky had been rooting around for this entire time, and wondered why nothing deep ever happens to me. I never get to be a metaphor. It's not fair, and frankly I think this blog suffers because of it. It would've been nice if that whole "I am that bird" thing back there had worked out, that sounded deep. 

Hold on. It's coming together now. If the trolley is vodka cranberry, and the bird trying to fly while half dead is anything like me trying to steal a room service cart full of grilled cheese and french fries and bring it in the elevator down to my hotel room last night, then maybe I am that bird. 

Are you following me on this? I have a crazy hangover, so I might be off on this, but bear with me.

If bachelorette party weekends are the coffee shop, and I am the bird, then the eternal struggle between life and death is the floor lamp I wrestled last night and broke, then put in the elevator with my cart of grilled cheese to take to my room so the hotel would never find out. And the people who witnessed the bird get hit by the trolley are a metaphor for the hotel manager who saw the bride-to-be and I dragging hotel property down the hall and into the elevator on the security camera and came looking for us.

This is getting good. Really deep shit. 

And the room service guy who I trusted enough to open my closet and show him the lamp and ask his advice for how to proceed in the matter would be the trash man, because well, I don't know if that trash man is a tattletale, but this guy definitely was. It's a good metaphor though because they both sweep up things that aren't dead yet and/or have a trusty kind of face but are extremely disloyal.

Then there's the elevator mechanic. I might need help with this one.

My friend swiped the wrench out of his tool belt on our ride up in the elevator, and when he discovered it missing, he called our room to accuse us of stealing it. 

"One of you turkeys stole my wrench," he said. 

"Gobble gobble," friend replied. 

So he turned off our suite's electricity. Wait, ok I remember now, that's when I started the fight with the lamp. I was confused about why the lights had gone out. But anyway, our room went dark and quiet as revenge for stealing his wrench. So we threw it back in the elevator and pressed the down button. That mechanic is God, taking and giving life/electricity all willy nilly, and also all-powerful/has no sense of humor.

And in an unexpected twist, God (real life God, not metaphor God who was played by the mechanic) is me (coffee shop me, not vodka me) because I watched the whole bird scene play out and God watches my whole life scene play out, and God probably makes those sucking air in through clenched teeth noises at me too. 

Oh, and my friend Ani is the road, because I sat on her face last night.