pretty crabby

Elementary

Five: One day when I am walking to school (from our house across the street) I see a cocoon on a tree and I break the branch off. When I get to school I say I found it and Mrs. K (my teacher with the long Greek name) puts it in a glass aquarium. On the day it breaks open, she and I go outside while the other kids stay in and we let the butterfly go, standing alone in the field.

Six: My teacher is my mom's good friend, Carol. For the first few weeks of school I can't stop calling her by her first name. Then when she comes over sometimes to have a beer with my mom on her porch, I get stuck again and keep calling her "Mrs. Madden".

Seven: Mrs. Collins is my teacher. We have two praying mantises in class and one day when we come in there is only one. She reads us James and the Giant Peach every day after lunch. We lie in a big mass on the floor, we're not afraid if our arms and legs touch. There is the sound of Velcro being ripped apart, over and over again.

Eight: We move to a new city, a new state, in the middle of fourth grade. I can't see the board, I can't see the teacher, so I squint until my head hurts and pretend it is just a new nervous tick I have. This obviously wins me a lot of friends. Some boy makes fun of me for licking my lips at lunch (where I sit alone). I resolve to never do that again. I have to get glasses, and my dad picks them out. A bright fuscia pair just for me.

Nine: Jeannette is my best friend until the night I have a sleepover with her and two other girls and she convinces them all to hate me and they lock me out of my bedroom. I start wearing makeup every day and my babysitter gives me all her old nailpolish and I paint every finger and toe a different color. Her boyfriend has a dog and they take me out with them to drive around in his fancy car. I decide the dog is mine, and whisper that in his ear, our secret. For my birthday they call me outside and give me a Cabbage Patch Kid. They both know this is a huge thing to do, but they act cool. As cool as teenagers need to act around a 9 year old who thinks they hung the moon.

Ten: We move again and I change schools and have a man for a teacher. My friends and I decide to be in the talent show and sing Walk Like an Egyptian by the Bangles. Jennifer writes the words out for us and we all practice singing along to it every day behind the school. One morning we are waiting to go inside when a rock flies out and hits Jennifer in the head. I look over and see blood and then teachers surrounding her. We have to drop out of the talent show, but I still know every word to that song, I can see her round handwriting in my head.

Eleven: We move back to Vermont and I hate my school. I start staying home when my mom leaves for work until one day no one can find me and they call the police. That night when I am back home, I sit in the bathtub and my mom and I talk. I don't pay close attention to what she says but I watch the water going over my feet, and I know I am just where I need to be.

Dear Britney

So.. girl. What is UP?

Okay, you're clearly a little crazy right now, what with the shaving of your head and the beating that car up with the umbrella. I think you probably have post-partum depression, along with you know, having no one reliable or influential (in a good way) in your life. Hanging out with Puffy and that scummy magician, well, you know, they probably aren't the best role models.

Did you ever notice how when people get famous they kind of freeze at the age they started at? Which means you are what? Still 16, I think. You still want to wear too many accessories and mid drift bearing shirts while most other gals your age are finishing grad school and sleeping with French guys named Philippe. You are out there falling down drunk and fighting with your mama.  And you know, I guess we have all been there and done that too. We just haven't had to do it in front of THE WORLD.

And now they are calling you flabby but I thought you looked pretty good. You are a 25 year old who has had two babies in two years. I know you wish they would give you a fucking break. I wish that too. You know all the people at home criticizing you are fat old men sitting around in their boxer shorts eating Cheeto's. Don't let them get you down. Don't cry about it. Because they will just make fun of you for that. Maybe you could give Justin a call? He seems like a nice guy. Maybe he could help you out. Or take you out for fried chicken. That would be fun right? Maybe you could work out with his new hot girlfriend, Jessica-what's her name?!

So, I was pulling for you. We all really wanted you to do well, I think. Except for the jerks, cause they never want anyone to do well. But then you came out to "sing" and you just looked half asleep. You seemed to not even know the words you were LIP SYNCING and you almost fell over more than once. I think your boots were too high for you. Don't wear boots when you are high, it's dangerous. I wanted to close my eyes and look away and then after that I wanted to give you a blanket to cover yourself up with and maybe some hot cocoa.

Seriously, honey, put your feet up. Take a bath. Comb your extensions. Hug your babies. Go to bed before 9. You'll like it, I promise. You'd feel SO MUCH BETTER.

And don't hang out with Paris. She's obviously bad news.

Your friend, Emily

Think about things. Like a walk in the park.

My mind feels like a garbage disposal. I have lots of ideas of things to write about but now they are so mashed up and mixed together, I am not sure where to begin. Perhaps a list will help!

1. We went to on our mini break and it was great. Arriving at the shabby motel on Friday afternoon, the pool was empty so ONE GUESS as to where I went first. It was cold and nice and I really really wish I had a pool. Swimming? I love it. Friday night we went into town and had dinner including unnecessary potato skins and then we went to the beach at sunset (how romantical!) and then we went to a Dairy Queen by the side of the road and had some VERY unnecessary (hey! I loved that cd!) milkshakes. I drank half of mine and then felt like I might throw up. YAY FOR VACATION! You can see some pictures of all the fun here if you like.

2. I got a new phone! This is my second new phone of the year because the first one was not so awesome. It did this weird progressive text thing with the text messages? Which wasn't so much progressive text as maybe some problem with super sensitive buttons? (DIRTY) So, anyway. Now I have this phone and it's so pretty. I don't know whether I should make calls on it or make out with it.

3. This week I bought tickets for me and that dude to go and see Elvis Costello and Bob Dylan in a few weeks. That should be fun. I have seen them both before but together is very cool. I think I've actually seen Elvis like four times? With my friend Alex who loves him. I even stood in an alley with her waiting for him once. That sounds like we were about to mug him, but I promise we didn't. I saw Bob Dylan in 1996. Maybe? Again with Alex and also with some other friends and my dad. I don't know if I got a contact high or what but I do not remember ANY of that show. It is a weird crazy blur. A long strange trip, if you will. But this time I will remember everything! And it will be great! Happy Birthday to the dude! 

4. I am thinking about writing something about the weird thing that has been happening since I moved in February, because I find it really interesting and odd. I guess you would call it racism? Although I am VERY reluctant to say that because it has been coming from my FRIENDS and people I love.

I moved to a neighborhood which is mainly black and I guess is on the EDGE of a part of town which can at times be sketchy, you know, I wouldn't walk around there by myself after midnight or anything. But primarily my street and the ones surrounding it are occupied by people who have lived there a long time, people who bought their houses and care about their neighborhood a lot. People who are kind and generous and have been so welcoming and great to me. I love being in the minority there, I think it is something everyone (especially those of us who are white and generally pretty privileged) should feel at some point. It is a hard thing to talk about sometimes, and that is interesting to me too.

My house, my landlords/friends and myself are pretty much the only white people on the block but I never even really think about it until someone who DOESN'T live there brings it up. I have had people ask me repeatedly how I "like the neighborhood" and had one woman who I have known and liked for years tell me out right, "oh, I know that street. It's a bad street." And I honestly had to stop and think, well, what makes it bad??