Let's Screw this Playpen

*dedicated to the Rugrats, without whom I would have never been able to hold it in as a child. 
When I was a kid if I wanted a toy from the store I would ask my parents to buy it for me, and they would either say, “No,” and I would toss a tantrum, or they would say, “Sure, but get a new box, that one looks dented.” I guess I threw a tantrum either way because I never wanted to pick a new box. Those boxes, with that toy, was the box I chose, and if I put it down the toy would feel badly. And just think of how many other kids did the same thing! It is basically the Corduroy story. 
I actually still do that, but not to the same degree. I have learnt to let go. But I always feel bad for the box I leave behind.
The other day a coworker of mine said that conical hats are only appropriate when dressing as a unicorn. To that I said, NAY! Conical hats are only appropriate if one is trying to be a Princess. When I was a kid, I wanted nothing more than to be a Princess when I grew up. I wanted my vocation to be being a Princess. When we would go to Renaissance faires as kids, I would always buy a conical hat. And because I knew I could not be a princess, without marrying a prince (and how unlikely was that, living in New York City), I wore the hat everywhere to prove that I was a genuine Princess on the inside. And the conical hat was always to be worn at any kind of fair—a science fair for instance. So conical hats may just be Princess and fair exclusive, after all. 
If there is anything you need to know about me, it is this: I mostly always win at lottos. Just recently my parents submitted my name into a lotto for a studio apartment in Brooklyn. And I won! I mostly always win at lottos like that, anyway. Raffles. Drawing the name out of a hat. When I was a kid, I won a pink Corvette Barbie car in a raffle at a mall. Why? Because my parents put my name in.
Throughout my entire life my hair has never been longer than barley touching my shoulder blades. And of course that was all I wanted in life, long locks. I wanted to be a Princess after all, and they all, as far as I knew, had long luxurious hair (think Rapunzel length). So to simulate long hair, my sister and I would wear tights on our head. Our burglarized look was the only time we could wear our hair in a ponytail—the legs of the tights as the tail. And because we wanted to look like Ariel, the Little Mermaid, most of the time we wore red on our heads.
This picture just makes it look like I am wearing a do-rag. But you get the idea.

BONUS: 
In sixth grade we learnt about the Aztecs. One of our assignments was to make a symmetrical stencil drawing of one of the traditional Aztec masks. Through no fault of my own, unbeknownst to me, completely working on my subconscious, my stencil mask came out looking exactly like Angelica Pickles' worn-out Cynthia doll: 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

You Have to Draw the Line Somewhere

Image
Since when do people not know how to wait on line?             Imagine if you will: it is 7:30 in the morning, you are tired and cranky, and certainly not a morning person. You arrive at the bus stop where people appear to have forgotten the fundamentals, not to mention the common courtesy, of waiting patiently in an orderly place on line. No! Let’s do away with lines , I think they think as they cluster-fuck together in a clump (or a crowd as some people call it) so that there is no rhyme or reason­­— and just so I can piss the fuck out of all the other passenger-people . Maybe if you would wait on line you could be lucky enough to stand next to me and hear me bitch about how people do not know what a line is anymore. Here is a line:  Here is a line of people:  Here is a bus line:  Here is a clump (or a crowd—a clumpy crowd):  I am just short of snapping and holding a sit-in, or a stand-in—a strike more like it. But there is only so much I can d
Read more

Brain Boggle

Image
This is kind of like everything I have ever said (similar to my post about putting things in inappropriate places, or just where they do not belong— Tear Down That Bitch of a Bearing Wall ).  This kind of situation that I will talk about in a few sentences from now happens with words and sentences and idioms and things.  Perhaps this is how we have come to know some of our most ridiculous and popular phrases like white on rice or call a spade a spade or putting my foot in my mouth .  See, but if one is to do their research I am more than positive that there are reasons and explanations for those exact sayings.  But there may not be a reason at all for what I am about to explain.              You know those instances, where you just do not say what you want to and your brain takes over and that little guy inside manically laughing rewires the word choices of your brain so that there you are saying some barbarically asinine statement.   There are a few logical reas
Read more

The Big Book Theory

Image
It all started with someone’s status on Facebook being, “Nook or Kindle?” and me writing back, “Book.” The status writer cleverly or stupidly spat, “I think you spelt Nook wrong.  And anyway I am just looking to read, no fancy stuff.” So I remarked, “Like I said, Book!” Later I told my dad the story inserting, “I need to turn pages!” as my reasoning for a book being the victor of a very pointless competition.    “And if he wants to read to just read, why get a nook at all?” I continued.  “He can’t say he read a book then, he just looked at a screen.  That's worse than scanning a book.”  I told my dad, “It’s like when you were reading audio books; you didn’t read them, you had them read to you .  You listened to a book, but you certainly did not read one.” My dad said, “Screw you,” probably, and asked, “Then what would you say about a blind person reading a book?” “Oh, that’s easy," I said.  “They felt a book up!”
Read more

Dear David Hasselhoff

Image
Dear David Hasselhoff, I do not like you. You know how everyone has that one celebrity they cannot stand, who grids their gears, who irks them to the core—I am sure you have one too. Well, that one is you for me. I have no real reason to dislike you. I have never met you. Although a friend of mine worked for a major retail store, and as the story goes, this friend’s manager was serving you and your daughter and you tried to bargain down a thousand dollar coat and made a whole scene when you were denied. I have not even really familiarized myself with your work to make this judgment against you, but I have encountered just enough. This is not to say that I do not find you funny, I do. I found that video you made of Knight Rider funny, and some other appearances of yours, sure. But to be honest, I just cannot shake the distaste. And just like how I image it will be when I meet my future mate, I can pinpoint the exact moment this aversion arose.  Vocal 8: senior year of high scho
Read more

Beyond the Road

Image
*For Halloween, but mainly for Dan, without whom this story would never exist, because it happened to him (with a few of my artistic embellishments). Like I said, worked real hard on this. Hope I did the vision justice.                 A driver drives southbound-east in a car, shoving crusty chips in the corners of his cheeks. The bag of grease lounges on the passenger’s seat and the driver dips his hand in periodically, licking vinegar crystals off his fingers from the sea-salt snack. His other hand padlocks around the steering wheel, drives onward. His glasses fall to the point of his nose; eyes fixated on the pulsing potato chips and not the road ahead—those circular discs of caloric pleasure. The fatty deposits at his sides expand his smallish figure. The groan in his belly growls deeper. The radio dial flickers neon blue and reverberates off the lens of his frames onto the road before him. He watches as the light casts its image on the lane. Not a single c
Read more