Monday, November 24, 2008

I'm friends with Supergirl!

One new friendship deserves another. This morning I was running up to Juice and Roachel outside on the street, shouting, “Watch me as I sing, fa la.” I had the most incredible gossip to spout.

“We’re too busy hitchhiking,” Roachel called back to me.

“That’s the only way guys will notice us,” Juice smirked.

“Omigosh!” I squealed, forgetting what I had run to tell them. “Juice, one of your eyes has a smaller iris than the other. What happened?”

“My puppy swallowed one of my eyes and I put one of his in as a substitute.”

“Well anyway, what did I run to tell you? Oh yes--on Friday I found this blond girl all alone out by the stadium right after we lost the game against Monument High, and she was crying. She was like, ‘People think I’m Supergirl because of my ears,’ cuz they were shaped like Ss and stuff. And I was like, ‘There, there,’ all soothing-like and ‘At least I can talk about you to Juice.’ Then she was like, ‘When I’m confused, my ears turn to question marks,’ and I was like, ‘All the more reason to be called Supergirl.’ And she was like protesting, ‘But I don’t want to be Supergirl! I have a sore throat and my mouth is all white and scaly inside!’ So I said, ‘Big deal, I get that way every time I watch a summer camp movie. Maybe you are Supergirl, though. If so, you’ll glow when you really have to go to the bathroom.’ So we sat right there on the steps of the stadium until we both really had to pee.”

I paused to catch my breath.

“So, is she Supergirl, Jolly?” Juice asked.

“Would my nose keep disappearing like this if she wasn’t, Juice?” I asked with a beaming smile. “I’ve discovered her secret, so she’s obviously put a curse on me.”

“Your nose is always disappearing,” said Roachel.

Suddenly my face froze up in that beaming-smile position. I couldn’t lower my eyebrows. I couldn’t stop smiling and my eyelids wouldn’t shut. My face wouldn’t budge even when I put my hand to it. “Omigosh, what’s happening to me?” I said behind my frozen face. “What’s going on?”
“Supergirl must have put a curse on you,” Juice smirked, slapping me on the back to keep my face from staying that way forever.

“I’m growing my bangs out,” said Roachel.

Monday, November 17, 2008

OMG, I cannot even describe the bittersweetness of this day. Oh wait....

If you thought my last blog post was tragic, HA! That was rumpunch compared to the latest disaster of my sophomore year. I was gradually awaking to the peace of my room this morning, minus my comforter, which my cat had peed on one too many times. I was beneath a fluffy pink blanket, smiling into my drool-bedewed pillow until Mom whispered, “Jolly, I’m sick of massaging your back. Wake up and do mine. I’m going to try to be a teenager today.”

“That’s nice,” I mumbled amidst the comfort of my warm drool. Then my drool was suddenly chilled and I sat up in bed. “What did you say?” I shrieked. “I thought you were just kidding about that! You can’t go back to school with me, Mom. You’ll embarrass me!”

“But I can be a cool babe,” Mom smirked a la Juice. “How many moms do you know that have bathed in a kiddie pool full of banana pudding?”

“I told you, that was a combination of commercial pus and bird poop,” I called after her as she waltzed away reciting the latest quotable punchlines from my favorite show, Comedy Something. I dressed hastily, thinking that if I was ready to leave before Mom was, Dad would just leave her behind. No such luck. The two were in cahoots against me.

Mom ran ahead of me once we reached school grounds. I had hoped she would hang around Dad, but since he was a teacher Mom insisted that would threaten her potential popularity. She ran around outside before school like that bratty puppy I tried to save from my caninivorous neighbor, except that Mom was introducing herself to everyone.

“Hi, Jolly’s mom,” Juice said with a wave. “Hi, Jolly.”

“Out of my way, Mom,” I said, shoving her to one side when she stopped to greet Juice, thus blocking my direct view of my best friend. Mom then ran off and caught her leg on the leg of some Asian girl exactly the same height as Juice and me. Mom’s leg seemed to be stuck. In fact, Mom’s leg, the Asian girl, the top half of Juice’s body, and my head all seemed to be frozen in time, just like in one of those coloring book versions of the cartoon movies where some cute little airplane with a heart of gold saves the world.

I forget how Mom freed herself. What matters is that she dropped out at the end of the day because student-teacher relationships were illegal and she would have cost Dad his prestigious, high-paying job. What matters even more is that Mom, of all people, led Juice and me into friendship with Roachel Sute, the aforementioned Asian girl.

“Mind if I stroke your sleeve?” Roachel asked Juice by way of introduction after being freed from Mom’s leg. “I love yellow polyester.”

“That’s just because she’s your mom.” said Juice. “No one else can stand her. She’s a tolerance teacher; what can you expect?”

I became entranced by Roachel’s long, delicate, carefully-manicured index finger as she stroked Juice’s sleeve. I hadn’t been so fascinated by anything since watching that documentary on the invention of concert tickets. “Wow!” I exclaimed. “Look at that finger. I must have it.”

“But this is the finger I pick my teeth with,” said Roachel, flipping her eyebrows as she gave us a free demonstration. “How can I bear to part with it?”

“You don’t have a choice,” I said. “Juice is in her tough girl phase.”

“That’s right, missies,” Juice grumbled in a low, Rockyesque voice. “If y’all don’t gimme no fingas, I’ll give you my fist.”

“Eek!” Roachel and I shrieked in harmony. “What would we do with an ugly fist like that?”

The bell rang for homeroom, so I grabbed the first opportunity for stalling that I could think of. I grabbed Juice’s ugly left fist with my right hand and we each put our remaining hand on one of Roachel’s shoulders.

“Let’s teach Roachel how to flip over frontwards so she can star in a martial arts movie,” I squealed.

“What’s martial arts?” Roachel asked with a smile.

“Don’t you ever stop asking questions?” I snapped.

She did stop asking questions, by the way, and I've learned so much from her already! namely the following:

Turtle power!

Go Joe!

Raise your hand if you’re sure

I’m half-human and half-pink-cow

Always keep Juice in a plastic container

Monday, November 10, 2008

Eyes suck!

I think my last blog post well illustrates how crappy my life had become. Not convinced? Here’s another example guaranteed to suck the pity out of anyone.

This weekend I sat at home alone with only a two-story house shielding me from raindrops of various sizes that were skiing healthily down our window panes. At first I had tried whiling away the time with exercise videos but got sick of the parts where the lady told me to try each one. Those moves were way to gymnasticky. So then once I finally found an alternative time-waster my mom came up to me and said, “Jolly, I wish you would stop reading wallpaper sample catalogs.”

“But they’re so easy,” I cried.

“The doctor says if you don’t give it up soon, you may choke because your allergy to dogs may be triggered by the smell of the samples.”

“Oh no! I’d better tell Juice to stop too.”

I dashed out of the house, thinking as I ran to Juice’s, “Maybe if I run fast enough the trees will stop throwing wet leaves at me. I hope it’s not too late!”

Juice met me at her front door in a purple sweatsuit. By that time the rain had stopped.

“Juice, we’ve got to stop reading wallpaper samples!” I panted.

“Just let me change clothes,” she said. “Meet me in the backyard. I want to swing while it’s still muddy outside.”

By the time I reached the backyard, Juice was already waiting for me on the tree swing. She was wearing red pants, a gray turtleneck, and a white leopard-print jacket.

“Why did you have to change your clothes, Juice?” I asked. “Sudden phase change?”

“No. My eyes leaked on the others.”

“Oh no!” I cried, kneeling beside her as she swung back and forth, nearly hitting me in the face with her right hip every swing. “The wallpaper samples have already struck! Is there anything I can do, my dear friend? Need a tissue?”

“It’s no use,” she sniffled as her eyes leaked black goo. “My doctor sent me a generic informational e-mail telling me I’ll have to have eye implants. My only comfort is sitting on this wet swing and pretending I’m being kissed.”

I watched as Juice’s leaking eye goo became clear. “If I were a boy, I’d kiss you, but I have a better idea,” I said. “I could give you my eyes. I’m sick of seeing my ugly face.”

“So am I.” Juice wept. “Plus I’ve always hated your eyes. They look like frogs. Still, I’d rather you be blind then me.”

“Thanks, Juice,” I said, stopping her swing and hugging her. “You can be my special seeing-eye dog, and I’ll give you a biscuit every time you roll over. Whoops!”

I had just realized that my eyes were leaking too.

Friday, November 7, 2008

Butt-stinky day

Today I’m writing this while my cat looks on and scoffs at me like everyone else always does. My new electric chalk, which I’ve been praising so much in previous entries, electrified everyone in geometry class, even me. That was especially strange since I hadn’t even brought the chalk to school; it simply appeared and began writing on the chalkboard by itself: “It’s brave to be nice, expensive to be warm, and cold to be free.” My chalk earned me a detention even though I had no control over what it wrote, because my geometry teacher said its statements were too much like truth, which is banned in Jiltin High because it’s considered to be a form of religion. Fortunately detention is also banned at my school because it hurt some kid’s feelings once.

To cheer myself up I put glue on my band leader’s right hand during practice since he’s always covering his eyes with that hand when he looks in my direction. That went well, but my new fashionable skirt was so tight my butt ripped all the way up to my ribs in self-esteem class. It felt like a zipper unzipping and only hurt a little, but Mrs. Renkin, who is still wearing that frowny-face pin on her shirt every day, was offended by my huge wedgie and blamed the whole class for conforming to such dangerous fashions. She made everyone pay me so I could buy a new butt and she gave me permission to leave school early for butt shopping, but as I was in the hallway getting all my stuff out of my locker two teachers caught up in the winds of socialization saw a red pebble pop out of my head and started calling me Pebbles. I was mortified and jogged unevenly out the door as fast as I could. Then, on my way out, I saw the boy I loved trying to steal another girl’s books. So much for Mort Mervin.

I settled for the cheapest butt I could find since Ope’s Ice Cream Shop had just come out with a new flavor, Snowball Supreme, and I had to try it. Tastes just like snow. Definitely worth every dollar.

Now I think I’ll lick my redyed purple comforter. I hope my cat won’t watch. Mm. Luscious starch.

My cat just told me it peed where I was licking.