I had to eat that part, honey

to spare you. It's for the good of your health

Dialogue Bits

NaomiWhat color ARE your eyes?" She smiles. "They change." right, like the water of the keys...that s what gets hime that and Do you camp? I love camping. There might not be an outlet for your hairdryer I'm not attached to my hairdryer There may not be toilets. I don't mean there may not be flush toilets, or there may not be indoor toilets or there may not be a hole in the floor or a bucket to piss in Or a window to toss it out of? Guys do have that advantage You have to sit eventually nope. Squat. I'm not afraid to shit in the woods. If it's good enough for the pope... Mundy laughed. It was a new face for him. At least Naomi had never seen it. His face turned like the masks, from tragic to comic in a twinkle, and a powerful joy surged through her that scared her in its intensity. It wasn't love, not love like she'd known. Every romantic cliche poured into her brain and she searched wildly about for a trepanning tool to drill those dead clever and dead wrong ideas out of what was left of the female fluff her mother and grandmother tried to stuff into her stubborn brain. Like the pincurls her mother tortured onto her head. Dozens and dozens of metallic pin curls, every night, in that professional sink she had for grown-ups that made her 3-year-old neck scream in pain as her mother chirped: You must suffer to be beautiful (dedication like Barbara Kingsolvers: thanks to mommy who was not like this raging maniac) she sand songs whilst torturing me at least. Lemmings I smell lemmings. She wanted me to look like Shirley Temple...Naomi decided to tell him the story to try to make him laugh again. Once he stopped laughing it was as if he retreated even further into some deep dark tunnel in his head only a nuclear blast or a cry of alarm from one of his stupid cats could bring him out of. Like the effort of coming out long enough to listen to another human being was so exhausting it set him back. Of course it did. But why? Being with friends made her feel better. When things were really bad it was the only thing. She had her solitary comforts: the tiny herb garden in the kitchen that never did well: there just wasn't enough sunlight in Ithaca to go around. Maybe he had SADD. They covered that last year. She was sure she had a touch of it and dipped into her trust fund to get a super-delux sun-simulating mirror when she learned, after accepting admission to Cornell rather than Duke, that Ithaca only saw 3 days of sun per winter. It was an acceptably interesting place to her; she liked the heavy stone solidity, she liked snow, reveled in finding a new little waterfall rushing down a narrow gorge along a woody paths everyhere just off the campus, which was built high above Lake Cayuga's sparkling waters. How could Mundy not see she wasn't a girly-girl like the others? That they amused but ultimately bored her? Well, the girls didn't seem to get it either. They thought she loved them as much as they loved one another, and, oddly, alarmingly, miraculously, her. She felt incapable of loving them back and felt guilty as hell. Oh, she cared deeply and would do anything to help any of her friends. Except spend time talking to them. Why blame yourself because most people can't keep up with you in a conversation? You have extra time while they catch up to figure out the meta-motives. That's it! I don't CARE about meta motives. I should not care. It's rude. It's none of my business. It's manipulative. And you call yourself a writer?

Butterfly frum cocoon

, hopefully, filled with hope, without making an ASS OF U and ME... twit. because you have three heads! *Smacks foreheads* I keep forgetting. They come in haandddyy! If I have 3 heads, I'll have 3 noses, so I'll need an extra hand to scratch my nose. Done. The butterfly book...to sell at butterfy conservatory

Childhood I am

He notes the color of her eyes: or doesn' Or they are with a group playing a game: do you know each roommate's eye color? Naomi's eyes are blue, Denny ASSERTS. Naomi sighs and shrugs a little, a mild affirmative. Not an exact agreement but nothing worth contradicting Denny over when the evening was progressing so affably. [anna, don't stress the voice--aha! that's why you were looking up punk singers, former. Stop screaming or you'll lose your voice altogether. or you'll lose your voice last time for that one 'k? little one giggling in the corner you needs long ok short nap I won't let U miss anything, No one will look at FB till they are on their planes back to home anyway.' Meet the meat. It's rough. Take tenderizer. Not Adolf's. No, we don't want to have to Godwin a life, pull a Hitler live ten thousand lives as a dung beetle waking every morning believing he's King Shit on a Silver Platter only to glance at the hairy dark strange appendage appending (first and last use LO) from his pajama sleeve and realizes he is Teh Fly and has to have his sister feed him milksop till the family walls him up in his castle for 3 years till he dies because of all those virgins he killed to bathe in their blood and stay young forever and I swear it was NOT two but only ONE virgin's blood and she was on her menses.--Erszhbet Bathory Must I undo all the darkness that was planted in and flourished in my dark, dark, childhood. To be fair, my older brother shared my childhood, and ike the Salinger kids, we saw through different glasses. Maybe because of our shared femaleness, maybe shared DSM IV dx's we saw through mirrors fsr more darkly than our brothers did. Maybe the world just treated boys a lot better back then. It was never said, but my brother was also the only boy child of a vast generation of cousins. (my father was youngest of 12. They called him "Junior" until the day he died. I kid you not. The family was upset because the funeral announcement had Junior in quotation marks--like a nickname! As if. (My mother and her side, the Polish side, never called him anything but Joe, but on his side, the Italian side, he was Junior or "J" or "Uncle Junior") There was some distressing confusion because my brother is a turd (just once I had to say it) a third, but he doesn't use it (we aren't decended from royalty, nobility perhaps, I've been told of a vast land of vines and a proper castle...who knows? On the Polish side, it's strange because although my Babci was vehemently radically deliciously Polish, when I saw her Christening certificate (or was it a passport?) it said she was born in Austria. I know borders were changing with all those wars going on back then (huh. back then. where is Checoslovakia? in Amadaues. which of course was set in Vienna (Austria, for us geographically-challanged 'merkins) Her family name was Kristula. It means crystal. I love that just love it. Either we were a family laden with jewels and crystal or crystal workers or we were miners, just like my grandparents, both, became when they came to America. Bless them. I don't get verklempt about America--I'm more the commiepinkoqueertraitorfeedthepeoplejanefonda-loving c*nt (the most beautiful word in the world)-type. But I have authentic respect and gratitude for my ancestors OPENING SCENE: Dziadziu's funeral. All grown cousins gathred. God, we look older. Dawns on youngest: we accomplished his dream. And he got to see it. All of us, every one except one who voluntarily opted out (twin oooo and that would give aunt elenor something to do...be good girl karma) Like Dervel. Gods you are cold, Anna. You hate the woman. Have sworn never to darken her doorstep nor give a rats ass when she departs the planet, yet give you a fiction hook and you're running with scissors. Chillaxxx she'll be DEAD soon. ok marya. I deserve to be a little manic, don't I? Not if it means wacko swing back sick. As long as I'm awake I should be doing something poductive. You are. shut up. trust the process. shut the fuck up and let me sleep or I'll rip both your heads off and feed them to you. how will I eat them if you've ripped off my heads. If you've ripped off my heads, I'm assuming, hopefully, filled with hope, without making an ASS OF U and ME... twit. because you have three heads! *Smacks foreheads* I keep forgetting. They come in haandddyy! If I have 3 heads, I'll have 3 noses, so I'll need an extra hand to scratch my nose. Done. The butterfly book...to sell at butterfy conservatory