078. Let’s give ’em something to talk about.


My SATs are done. I wrote the sappiest, most secretly sarcastic essay in my life. I’m fucking proud of that bitch. I am swearing in triumph, sitting on my bed in comfy clothes, craving chocolate and wanting to be stupid and giddy and free. I am finished. I possibly bombed the math, but hey. Don’t you get points for putting your name on the test?

I’m happy, in a savage way. Blame the hormones. Whatever. I have a prom dress. I have only minimal drama to worry about, and then it’s all oral presentation and cold war papers, and yanno? That’s not a terribly frightening prospect. There’s college and camp and life to look forward to.

I may die tomorrow in a car crash. She could face scary shit in surgery. He could get shot. She might drink herself to death. My mom might get hit by that bus that the Irish nanny is driving, or whatever the old joke is. I will weep and be sad but life is continuous and occasionally totally fucking worth it.

It’s rainy and beautiful and tomorrow will be scary and sad and no fun, but then again maybe we’ll laugh through our tears and it will all work out.

Mitch at the prom shop was the most hilariously gay man I’ve ever met. He was also insanely fun, with his “I’m not supposed to be doing this” and creative use of ribbon, and if he didn’t break out in a rash at vagina I might have his babies, in hopes that they’d be as fabulous as him. Alas, it doesn’t work that way. Straight people give birth to gay babies, and vica versa, and I’m just so wiped out from emotional crap that I don’t want to be correct, I want to swear and make terrible jokes and laugh and why not, have sex in public places. While doing drugs. And, um. What else is ‘taboo’? Mm, listening to rock and roll in front of a elderly center as kinky shit goes on atop an old-fashioned gas-guzzler, a mobile show, why not? Feathers and handcuffs, all the way. We will dance and anyone with piercing and tattoos and alternate clothing is encourage to flaunt that jazz, flaunt anything anyone has ever told you to be ashamed of, and we’ll all hold hands and hit on each other and girls kissing girls, boys kissing boys, girls kissing boys, all kissing in public and goddamnit, why do we hide our lives? Why do we pander? We should be safe, but we should love, and live and love our fucking lives.

I’m a teenager. It’s high time I tried rebellion. Maybe I’ll calm down and remember the bad things and maybe I’ll savagely beat them back down, and maybe I’ll laugh at how ridiculous some of the things I’m saying are. I won’t regret saying them.


4 Responses to “078. Let’s give ’em something to talk about.”

  1. 1 raalla

    A. You should read Please Don’t Kill the Freshman by Zoe Trope. You remind me of her, sometimes, in your writing, in your thoughts, in my memories of you.

    B. Another taboo and also stereotype: getting drunk in a field, almost fucking your best friend in said field and in her bed, peeing on trees in the dark and the rain, and almost losing your phone, your shoes, your sweatshirt. Screaming and laughing.

    I tried rebellion. It was a hell of a lot of fun (even if I did puke). [btw I am writing madly and will post about my ridiculousness soon]

  2. 2 bylandl

    I love you.

  3. 3 bylandl

    Edit and addition:
    I also love Bonnie Raitt.

  4. 4 katling

    *does a hand ‘devil’s horns’*

    Go you!

    *pulls out her pinky*

    Ow! Guess I’ll be doing my rebellion in converse and random dancing in school hallways…:)

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