Pre-Emptive Goodbyes

*looks up*

Sounds like I'm going to die, doesn't it? Ha. Well, I'm not dying, I'm merely disappearing into thin air (and we do mean thin air) to the Musical Theatre Camp of D00M. Or at least, I will be doing so Sunday. I thought I'd warn y'all so you can get used to being without my sparkling personality.

Oh - and while it's on my mind, wasn't Abe in Facial Fax, not Flora Fatal? Or did Facial Fax break up when some of the members graduated? All I know about the guy is that he has big hair and wore ruffled cuffs to the Performing Arts banquet. (Of course, I wore a jingle bell around my neck and a Ulla secretary dress except in black, so who am I to talk.)

I suppose end of the school year shout outs are in order. I did do them last year, after all.

Gabe: OMGWTFALITTLEPRIESTWHYDIDN'TYOUTELLME.

Mickey: Aheeeem. So basically, pretty sweet? SUUUSAN!

SP: I occasionally feel as though if the world were to blow up, I'd have to call several people. You, Kevin B., and Stephen Sondheim.

Ben: When all is said and done, all I really have to say is: And now for something. . .

Max: Here, have a canoli.

Spencer: Thank you for inspiring me to rent Spinal Tap. It may have changed my life forever.

Quote of the Day

"Kathlyn, are you allowed to be doing that?"

". . .No."

- Kat and Parental Unit. At least I'm honest.

And One for Mahler

For old sake's sake, anyone who finds the reference in the title gets a muffin. One catch - Google's cheating. I will allow you one clue. "Stritch."

The school library is completely and totally silent. It's a weird feeling, like I'm sinking in a noise vaccuum. I didn't spell that right. It doesn't matter, either, because there isn't any audience here in the library. I could make something, right now, and call it art. I could say that this year is my art, my piece of art, my masterpiece. Life is an art, I could say.

However, I am fourteen now. Now we are fourteen as the Winnie the Pooh guy would say.

I realize that I've done some stupid things in the past year. (The best part about this bit is that every one of you thinks it's about you, while in fact it isn't. No, not even you. Or you. Or you, sir, I know exactly what you're thinking because that's what I do.) Then again, so have you all. (Don't bother denying it, you're all idiots and jerks and insensitive and all that lovely stuff and I love you madly anyway although not in the way I may have previously ALL YOUR CONVOLUTED SENTENCES ARE BELONG TO US) So I would like to excuse my more bizarre actions by quoting the Pooh guy. Again.

"'I don't see much sense in that,'" said Rabbit.

"'No,'" said Pooh humbly, "'there isn't. But there was going to be when I began it. It's just that something happened to it along the way.'"

That's the story of Kat's life as a bear of very little brain.

But in short. You know, at the Webby awards the acceptance speeches can only be five words long? True fact, word sideways, frontways, backways, anyways you like. (Johnny Depp Sweeney oh yes.) So, five words. In short.

And Now, On With Life.

Quote of the Day

"Owning multiple accesories is a very life affirming thing, and I wanted you to have that experience."

- Tick. . .Tick. . .BOOM!

Non Sequiter Time!

And now for a public service announcement from the Demon Barber of the High School.

MICHAEL'S GOT A HEAD LIKE A PING PONG BALL!
MICHAEL'S GOT A HEAD LIKE A PING PONG BALL!
MICHAEL'S GOT A HEAD LIKE A PING PONG BALL!
MICHAEL'S GOT A HEAD LIKE A PING PONG BALL!
MICHAEL'S GOT A HEAD, MICHAEL'S GOT A HEAD,
MICHAEL'S GOT A HEAD LIKE A PING PONG BALL!

For further reference, see the guy in my avatar.

BROADWAY.COM'S HERE! BROADWAY.COM'S HERE!
BROADWAY.COM'S HERE! BROADWAY.COM'S HERE,
BROADWAY.COM'S HERE BROADWAY - oh fuck!

Also, Susan.

Mickey says hi.

Quote of the Day

"You're a dork."

- Michael (a different one altogether) in Tick...Tick...BOOM!

The Adventure on the Quite High Seas!

You will all be pleased to note that Kat is being an idiot about another boy again. Ha ha ha. So now you'll have to sit through cryptic ramblings about him. (Don't think I don't know how ridiculous I sound when I'm in love. I know. I just don't mind.)

Kat needs to be saved from Finals, which are eating my brain with ketchup and a little mayo. So Kat is OMG WRITING THE ADVENTURE ON THE HIGH SEAS. You guys can pick up the story where I leave off. You may ask why. And when you do I may throttle you with your own internal organs. Why? Because Final Exams are making my head explode. Why? Because it is necessary to watch Mystery Science Theatre repeatedly before I can think once more. Like, at all. Even a little bit. (Mystery Science Theatre. Know it, love it, live it. INTENSE. . .JAYWALKING. . .ACTION!) I shall now actually turn off the capslock and get to work on the story. The only requirement for writing into The Adventure on the Quite High Seas is that you do not think about what you are writing. It must simply come out just that spontaneously.

---

A tale of romance, passion, and a murder most foul, began one night in Coma, Nebraska. It began with the seas rising.

This disquieted a lot of people, being that Coma, Nebraska is a) completely landlocked and b) named Coma for a reason. The reason is, regrettably, not known by anyone but a smallish grayish oldish man named Ezekiel Brummer. The reason no one else knew that Ezekiel knew the reason is that no one ever remembered Ezekiel as anything beyond smallish, grayish, and oldish.

The reason that Coma, Nebraska was called Coma, Nebraska lived in Ezekiel Brummer's basement and had been asleep for the past three hundred years. Her name, when it occurred to her to have one, was Imelda. Much to her chagrin, might I add. She distinctly disliked cherry cobbler, preferring pie, and had sided with the Russians on most political propositions. She was five foot two and had the precise skin and hair color of the disgruntled feeling you have when you get up in the morning and you have an English final exam. Imelda was a ninja. She was also a pastry chef, but that's entirely beside the point.

The war between ninjas and pirates had existed for time immorea - immoria - immoral - a damn long time, anyway. And now it was about to begin again, as the waters rose in Coma, Nebraska.

---

Add to the story, damnit.

Quote of the Day

"Let's all tie pillows to each other. Could make for an interesting evening."

- Kat. Okay, it was just a thought.

Damnit.

I had a really long ranty post written up about how much I hate young adult fiction, but then my computer blew up. Ah well. If you'll hang on a moment I'll find some young adult fiction and get properly ranty again. Ah, here it is. The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole, Age 13 3/4. There is one good bit in this entire book. I shall type it up for you.

10 A.M. - I am ill with all the worry, too weak to write much. Nobody has noticed that I haven't eaten any breakfast.
2 P.M. - Had two junior aspirins at midday and rallied a bit. Perhaps when I am famous and my diary is discovered people will understand the torment of being a 13 3/4 year-old undiscovered intellectual.
6 P.M. - Pandora! My lost love! Now I will never stroke your treacle hair! (Although my blue felt tip pen is still at your disposal.)
8 P.M. - PANDORA! PANDORA! PANDORA!
10 P.M. - Why? Why? Why?

He's got it for a girl named Pandora, you see. (Which makes me giggle for reasons only I and a certain person who is not I know.)

That is all that is worth reading in that book. Don't buy it.

Let's write a book. No one else is going to write anything decent about our age group anyway. And we sure as hell better do it before the market for decent YA lit completely goes to pot. (Not that it hasn't already, but you know. It's the principle of the statement.)

I AM COMPLETELY SERIOUS.

What shall the plot be?

Quote of the Day

"DINK! DINK, THEY ALL CALL ME! DINK, THEY SAY!"

- Colin. If you know what this means, you're probably not reading this. Or else you're me.

Your good friend,
Sidhe Todd

Etc.

I’m writing this on a downstairs computer of the school library, hoping Ms. Engel, the librarian, doesn’t see me. I don’t know if she realizes that I already turned in my overdue book, and the librarians are rather frightening.

It’s the last day of school before finals week, or rather, the last day of school before finals week just ended. I should be waiting out in front of the school for my car, but I’m not. I guess that some things have to be done in order of their importance. Right now, writing this down is what matters.

Now is the time to write this down. Now is the best time because I need to write it down. Or type it up. Isn’t that funny, how it’s up for typing and down for writing? Anyway.

Eighth grade is almost over. Eighth grade, the year when everything changed. This year, I shaved my head. My yearbook is full of autographs from people saying how they love the look. What they mean is that they just like me. They love me. I am loved. I am loved. Not merely respected, not simply feared, loved. I am loved.

I like to watch how people look at me with this short punk hair, and then I like to watch their hard face change when I smile. It makes me laugh. I think that laughter is the sacrament. I think that if I didn’t have a sense of humor I’d be dead by now. I think that’s funny.

I am so glad this year happened. I am so glad. Everything that happened this year needed to happen, needed to happen so badly that if they hadn’t happened I would have been something else, somebody else. I don’t want to be somebody else. Nothing that happened this year was wasted. None of it. The Shakespeare, the auditions, the endless work, the endless laziness, the dreaming, the screaming, the misery. It all meant something. It was all to a purpose. I remember screaming in the night, screaming in letters, in papers, in diaries, “What does it mean? WHAT DOES IT MEAN?”

I have the answer now. I am the answer.

I was the answer all along.

There is a reason that things happen to people. The reason is themselves. I am. And I know why. And I know how I got here. And I know where I’m going next. You want to know? You want to come too? I’m going somewhere completely new. You just follow all the golden arrows.

I shan’t be gone long – you come too.

Quote of the Day

"Yesterday upon the stair
I met a man who wasn't there.
He wasn't there again today
I wish that man would go away."

-Hugh Means


Your good friend,

Sidhe Todd