a.) Hello. I just shot your neighbor's daughter and raped her bloody corpse, do you have any stain removal products I could borrow?
b.) Hello. I'm a pirate. I also have free Oreos. Would you like some?
I'd pick the second one, but this is all beside the point. What *I* mean to say is, hello, thank you for wasting your time reading this blog. Let's continue.
You see, "let's continue" implies that no more time should be wasted because there is an IMPORTANT POINT to get to. There isn't. I've been rearranging the blog sidestuffs a bit, deleting the people who never update their blogs and once again marveling at how I follow tons of blogs chronicling the lives of small children.
ANYWAY. . .
Speaking of children, here's an awkward conversation I'd like to preserve for future generations--if there *are* any. *rubs hands conspiratorially*
*End of a long, long car ride, inhabited by me, my close-enough-to-be-weird-and-somewhat-offensive-to friend and her aunt*
A: *breaking long silence* "Sooo, what do you girls want to be when you grow up?"
T: *quick and assured* "Forensic pathologist."
R: *it was hot. I was not going to bullshit through whatever sounded good, rather, I was dryly honest and thought it best to always finish with humor. Aunt is not familiar with my sense of humor* "Erm, something English-y. You know. I want to just stay in school for as long as I can, so I don't have to get an actual job. And then, like, become a starving poet-activist who lives off cookie dough and ramen noodles. Or travel. Travel is cool. . . I could go to Uganda undercover as a missionary and hack up babies for their limbs."
A & T: *stunned back into silence. T at least half-laughing internally. Probably.*
I'm not going to lie, I reveled in that silence. I like confusing and/or disturbing people. In truth, only the last sentence of that was purely facetious. Cookie dough and poetry = funtimez. Real work and responsibility and having to cook food = NOTFUNTIMEZ. Of course, I must deliberately acknowledge at this point that I'm writing this at 15, things change, I could very well morph into a responsible adult with a college degree and a clear plan for my life/how I'm going to make money, et cetera et cetera. . . Another conversation that gives more evidence to the "living in a shopping cart" future for me, same people:
*part of a discussion of hypothetical names for hypothetical children*
A: "Oh, I love the name Phoebe. Or Bianca. Or Lola."
R: "The last two are strippery. Depends on the middle name though."
T: "I'm going to name my daughter either Skylar or Kaylee."
R: "Ugh. Don't do that to a child, please. They don't sound like names, all "Y"-y and "Ee"-y. Too trendy."
T: "And you like?"
R: "Long, melodic names that sound Victorian English-y, or that start with vowels: Elizabeth, Violet, Lillian, Catherine, Abigail, Amelia... stuff like that."
T: "I don't know what I'd do if I had a son, boys' names aren't as pretty."
R: "This is assuming you ever have kids..." *adultlike restraint shown by using this ending instead of "if a guy ever knocks you up" in front of staunchly religious aunt*
A: *empathetic and firm* (read: scary) "You will. You both will."
This was the point where I wanted to stomp my feet in defiance. Or at least politely inform her that I do not want kids. Seriously. I mean, maybe, but committing it to a "will" freaks me out. Especially having that commitment verbalized by someone who is not me. It's not 1950, go childless females! And Ramen! But I (again, showing responsible, smart restraint) picked this as the time to shut up.
Anyway, instead of FIPOGI or anything at the end, just go here. Hilarious blog with crazy awesome drawings. Better than mine by far.