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© 2004-2008 Linda Escaip
"I may be grumpy but I like you."
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It's true. Some people write in the loo.
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March 1, 2005
How does something or someone turn up missing? Is that similar to when the phone rings busy? All these mysteries...
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February 24, 2005
I remembered Marvinda the other day, a girl I sat next to in some dank, poorly-lit classroom in 10th grade. I don't remember the subject or why our class was being conducted in the photography room, which would have been better suited for a jungle expedition. The teacher looked exactly like a turtle. The girl's name was not Marvinda, but I'll call her that anyway.
Marvinda hit the sauce on a regular basis it seemed. Either that or she kept the school drug dealers in business. Some days she looked as if she had died and was just dragging her corpse around out of obligation; other days she resembled a disheveled hooker. Always, her clothing appeared to be melting away from her body, perhaps trying to escape.
Marvinda never left me alone in class and that is most likely the reason I don't remember the subject. If she wasn't grabbing at my pen in some slap-happy way, she was asking me how to spell every word under the moon. She had a peculiar spelling deficiency: it would come and go like the clammy breezes in the classroom. Some days she would get through one or more paragraphs without a hitch. Other days were not so simple.
"How do you spell the?"
"How did those other words get there on your paper?"
"I don't know."
I wonder what ol' Marvinda's up to these days. I wonder how was and the are treating her. The other day when I thought of her it was after I had needed assistance spelling the word full; I had typed fool a few times and thought I was losing my nugget. A little fog in the head'll do that to you. I have moments sometimes like "What's that thing you can put stuff in and it's decorative?" Then someone answers with "A basket," and I'm just so delighted to have the word again.
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February 23, 2005
I love that Deee-Lite tune "Groove is in the Heart" in a serious way. Every time I hear it, I am made to ask myself do I have a succotash wish? You know, I think I do. My succotash wish would be that everyone prone to lying would stop, or at least learn to lie better, because your sorry old stories are starting to reek.
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February 19, 2005
Who else thinks school candy drives are outstandingly tacky? Yeah, once per year your school whores you out to sell crap for them in the name of school spirit. And yet even when several kids far surpass the average sales, you're still served the same garbage in the cafeteria, the bathrooms still stink, your teacher goes on favouring certain kids over others (probably the kids who sold more candy), and the weeds continue to grow high through the cracks in the play yard's pavement. There are always a couple kids whose parents cannot bear to watch their children not excel, so they end up with these outrageous sales, making the rest of the kids with modest sales look like slackers. I say make the teachers, principals, and other employees sell the candy. Hey, since they're adults, they could sell more than candy, like lingerie and power tools, candles and Tupperware. They could really make a killing. Just keep the kids out of it.
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February 14, 2005
Is this that holiday where we cut out our hearts with butter knives and hide them in the garden for our lovers to find and bring back to us? I find it's always a good idea to be dating a heart surgeon this time of year. Don't you? One particular Valentine's Day I was dating a pro bowler, and that was a small disaster, but I lived to tell the story.
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February 12, 2005
I like to tear the wings off Kotex maxi pads. I hope that doesn't mean I'm going to grow up to be a serial killer.
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February 10, 2005
When one is in the loo with a pad of paper but no pen, one could always use a spare lipstick to write with, providing one has one to spare, and also providing the lipstick is an unpleasant colour one was not intending to wear on one's lips. One should note, however, that a lipstick is likely to use far more pages to express one's thoughts due to the much-larger-than-a-pen diameter of the writing tip. And one should definitely stop writing "one" this instant, as it is getting on one's nerves.
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February 8, 2005
I get a kick out of some weird things. Like when people type OMG, I enjoy this for some inexplicable reason. That, and when Bette Midler sings high notes. I also quite enjoy—again, without reason—wigs for cats.
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February 6, 2005
I don't know a single thing about wine, other than the red variety makes my teeth and lips turn purple, and it's hard to maintain the facade of coolness with a purple mouth. Oh, sure, you can try to maintain, but it will take more energy, which could be better used to make up wild and exciting stories about yourself at dinner parties. (I always picture red wine at dinner parties.)
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February 1, 2005
Happy first day of February! All across the globe people are getting together to celebrate this day, the day the Febs of the North crossed the sea and made that country. You know the one, it's shaped like a small hammer wearing a bonnet.*
Am I the only person who remembers the day they were introduced to witch hazel? Man, I love witch hazel. Good shit, that stuff. Why anyone would use an expensive toner is beyond me. Honk if this information has set you free.
* This information may or may not be true.
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January 26, 2005
Have you ever had the thought If only I had a different name my life would be better? Like, if your name were something else, nothing would bug you as much and you'd be totally cool? Today I would change my name to Margarita. I think Margaritas have more fun. When a Margarita walks into the room, people are like, "Wow, there's Margarita. She's always so cool." Next time I have to give my name at a restaurant, I'm going to say "Margarita." Let's just see what sort of awesome table I get.
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January 25, 2005
Man, you have to love those impersonal "this is what we've been up to this past year!" photocopied letters you sometimes receive along with holiday cards from certain family members and friends. They are often typed in one gigantic paragraph, filled with proof of how busy-busy-busy they and their family have been over the last 12 months. I read them aloud in a lilting, lily-fresh voice, sort of the way a very precious Snow White might read a letter of such succulence. And then I get out my big green pen and comment in the margins on things I find interesting. I might be inclined to write, "Wow, that must have been a real kick in the trouser seat!" in response to something like "Jerry spent three days home in front of the television with the flu in October, and boy did we wish for his speedy recovery because he can be such a whiner when he's not feeling up to par. You know our Jerr-Jerr!" And then I mail the letter back to the sender along with my copious green notes, so that it's more of an interactive experience.
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January 24, 2005
So far this year I have done pretty well with speaking my mind. I have wimped out on a few occasions, but I'm improving. And on that note, I will mention this: a man who befriends a woman under the guise of platonic friendship simply because he's interested in eventually screwing her, and who stops talking to her when he finds out she's already very much involved, should be ashamed for being such a gargantuan cad.
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January 23, 2005
We think we have contained time inside our clocks and watches, but that's as impossible as filling a spray bottle with an entire ocean. It's as if time is a wild horse and the clock is the illusion of a lasso. Five minutes. Nineteen hours. Thirty-seven years. We count too much. I count, scold myself, and count some more. "You did not do this inside this year!" and "You screwed up this day—this one right here," and "You could have done this or that, but you didn't, you idiot." So much scolding, so much counting. I wonder if I would come unglued if I just stood still inside the moment and let it all happen.
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January 22, 2005
I am in a slump, I guess. My life doesn't move fast enough for me not to feel it. So, here I am, all slumpy. I'm back to feeling as if I don't have anything to look forward to, like my life is a dead end. I'm trying to just feel it without resistance, hoping that will make it go away quicker.
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