(no subject)
I know it's super uncool to update Livejournal nowadays, but honestly, there's nowhere else I feel like writing this. I certainly don't want to write it on Facebook or MySpace where everyone in the entire world can read it. And (I'm not sure how to make this sentence make sense, but I'm just gonna put it out there) I don't really want to write it in what I call my "private journal" because it would be a very typical journal entry and I try to make my "journal" as non-journalish as possible. I can't really explain. It's my attempt at being abstract. Or like, putting my brain on paper without worrying over anyone else reading it. I dunno. Maybe I just try too hard to be who I think I am. Sometimes I ask myself if I do the things I do because I'm me or because I'm trying to be who I want "me" to be. There's not really an answer, and it probably doesn't matter. It's Beach Friday, and I do what I want. But that's completely off-topic.
What I was going to say.
Last night. I'm cleaning up my room, and I decide to plan my attire for Tacky Day. Mostly I just really wanted to dress-up and laugh at myself. So I did, and then I go downstairs because if I had looked like that and not shown anyone I would have cause to truely worry about my sanity. (Plus, there were cookies downstairs, and I didn't feel like changing before I went to eat some.) Anyways, my dad was like, "You wanna go meet Wayne at the airport like that?" Of course, I agreed. Even though it was 9:00 and I hadn't started my homework. So the whole way there my dad starts to act like this reporter who would supposedly be at the airport that night and see me and decide to interview me. He was asking me all these questions in his best Walter Cronkite voice and I was responding in this nasaly voice under the persona of one "Cynthia Brown." So then we got into it and turned into an all-out news cast with "Don" as the Sports Guy and "Martha" on the weather and "Julie" with breaking news straight from the Pentagon. My dad was all the girls, and he used the same exact old-southern-proper Scarlett O'Hara voice for every single one. And it felt like when I was little and he used to play Barbies with me. Like the way we have the same brain and the same sense of humor and how we always know where to go with a story and stuff. Like, we play-off of whatever either of us says and everything just flows without thinking because we are completely on the same wavelink all of them time. Blah blah so then we get to the airport and everyone stares at me and I give Dad a feather boa to wear around his neck and it's the funniest thing I've ever seen in my life cause he's Lt. Colonel Langley with the pick-up truck and the holes in his t-shirt and he's wearing a feather boa around his neck. So Wayne walks up and he's like "What the hell is wrong with you guys? What are you doing?" And we laugh and try to embarass him but he doesn't get embarassed. Then we stand around waiting for luggage and this famous preacher (Joel Olsteen?) that was on Wayne's plane points at us and mouths "assholes" to his buddies. Apparently Wayne had made fun of them for paying for first class when it was exactly the same as coach. ("Woooah look at me I'm in the front of the plane and you have to sit all the way in the BACK. I'm so special I paid for this seat so that if we crash, I'll die FIRST.") So typical. Nobody will be offended by anything you say, Wayne, because YOU know that you're just joking. And of course it had to be a rich prick famous Bible-beater sort who he unassumingly decides to target.
Wayne. He smelled like cigarettes and faintly of beer and his lips were chapped and the skin around them was stained yellow. He was unshaven and his shirt was stained and his pants were coming unraveled at the bottom and the soles of his tennis shoes were coming unglued. He had gotten a haircut and lost some weight and he looked good. Really good. Like home.
On the way back, they ignore me and crack all kinds of sexist and perverted jokes and I wonder how much and what kind of phsychological damage they are causing to me. I am jealous of their relationship- I won't lie. A father loves his "little girl" but there's nobody to compete with his only son.
And at home. Wayne's voice across the hall. Familiar and strange. Makes me wonder if I'm lonely all the time and I don't even notice it because I'm always lonely. He picks one line of the most obnoxious country western song he knows and sings it over and over at the top of his lungs. Pretends that he thinks I can't hear him. Pretends like he's not just trying to annoy me. I want to go in his room and talk and joke and watch Law and Order and stay up all night. I want to tell him everything and maybe order a midnight all-toppings pizza. But I do my homework and go to bed. It's been three years since this guy has felt like a sibling. My big brother who always wants someone to be picking on me so that he can beat them up. I let him sing that one line of the country western song, over and over, I do my homework, and I go to bed. Neither of us says "goodnight."
What I was going to say.
Last night. I'm cleaning up my room, and I decide to plan my attire for Tacky Day. Mostly I just really wanted to dress-up and laugh at myself. So I did, and then I go downstairs because if I had looked like that and not shown anyone I would have cause to truely worry about my sanity. (Plus, there were cookies downstairs, and I didn't feel like changing before I went to eat some.) Anyways, my dad was like, "You wanna go meet Wayne at the airport like that?" Of course, I agreed. Even though it was 9:00 and I hadn't started my homework. So the whole way there my dad starts to act like this reporter who would supposedly be at the airport that night and see me and decide to interview me. He was asking me all these questions in his best Walter Cronkite voice and I was responding in this nasaly voice under the persona of one "Cynthia Brown." So then we got into it and turned into an all-out news cast with "Don" as the Sports Guy and "Martha" on the weather and "Julie" with breaking news straight from the Pentagon. My dad was all the girls, and he used the same exact old-southern-proper Scarlett O'Hara voice for every single one. And it felt like when I was little and he used to play Barbies with me. Like the way we have the same brain and the same sense of humor and how we always know where to go with a story and stuff. Like, we play-off of whatever either of us says and everything just flows without thinking because we are completely on the same wavelink all of them time. Blah blah so then we get to the airport and everyone stares at me and I give Dad a feather boa to wear around his neck and it's the funniest thing I've ever seen in my life cause he's Lt. Colonel Langley with the pick-up truck and the holes in his t-shirt and he's wearing a feather boa around his neck. So Wayne walks up and he's like "What the hell is wrong with you guys? What are you doing?" And we laugh and try to embarass him but he doesn't get embarassed. Then we stand around waiting for luggage and this famous preacher (Joel Olsteen?) that was on Wayne's plane points at us and mouths "assholes" to his buddies. Apparently Wayne had made fun of them for paying for first class when it was exactly the same as coach. ("Woooah look at me I'm in the front of the plane and you have to sit all the way in the BACK. I'm so special I paid for this seat so that if we crash, I'll die FIRST.") So typical. Nobody will be offended by anything you say, Wayne, because YOU know that you're just joking. And of course it had to be a rich prick famous Bible-beater sort who he unassumingly decides to target.
Wayne. He smelled like cigarettes and faintly of beer and his lips were chapped and the skin around them was stained yellow. He was unshaven and his shirt was stained and his pants were coming unraveled at the bottom and the soles of his tennis shoes were coming unglued. He had gotten a haircut and lost some weight and he looked good. Really good. Like home.
On the way back, they ignore me and crack all kinds of sexist and perverted jokes and I wonder how much and what kind of phsychological damage they are causing to me. I am jealous of their relationship- I won't lie. A father loves his "little girl" but there's nobody to compete with his only son.
And at home. Wayne's voice across the hall. Familiar and strange. Makes me wonder if I'm lonely all the time and I don't even notice it because I'm always lonely. He picks one line of the most obnoxious country western song he knows and sings it over and over at the top of his lungs. Pretends that he thinks I can't hear him. Pretends like he's not just trying to annoy me. I want to go in his room and talk and joke and watch Law and Order and stay up all night. I want to tell him everything and maybe order a midnight all-toppings pizza. But I do my homework and go to bed. It's been three years since this guy has felt like a sibling. My big brother who always wants someone to be picking on me so that he can beat them up. I let him sing that one line of the country western song, over and over, I do my homework, and I go to bed. Neither of us says "goodnight."