Friday, 7 December 2012

Josh, and the worst feeling since tonsillitis.

  Love. what the heck is it, anyway? I think people love asking the question because it makes them seem mysterious and, like, ponderous or some stuff, but no one likes answering it. Uncle Marty claims he has all the answers about love, but then again, would a modern day Casanova spend all this time building a homemade spyglass out of jam jars to look into the neighbors indoor Jacuzzi? My feeling is probably nope. I know what you're thinking; has Ames gone soft in the head? what next, questions about the meaning of the universe, or why there are actually eight yogurt-pops in a Ricky Burger's six pack? Believe me, I ain't just asking questions for the sake of askin' them. Ms. Fear has partnered me up with Josh for the end of semester play, the Great Gatsby. Oh jeez, what's that you say, I've never mentioned Josh before? Well, I spend too much time around him, I'm hardly, like, the most impartial observer, but I'm gonna put on my dad's pith hat (metaphorically, because the real one is totally filled with human fingernail clippings) and play the anthropologist for a sec. The subject, Joshua Bane, is by all accounts a total goofus, let it be known. His dad's this really famous TV hypnotist, Josh is always wearing band hoodies and trying to seem like he doesn't care about anything. He's got a nose that's, like, twenty times too huge for his face and droopy dirty blonde hair that looks like someone planted a bunch of dead grass on his scalp. The subject originates from Chicago, where he helped his dad carry lights and, like, stage equipment for the show, so he's got weird little arms, like, all skinny on the top and sort of bulgey below the elbow, like a teen Popeye. In summary, the subject is a total dreamboat. Oh man, I feel like I'm totally losing it, and Joanne's visiting her sick aunt in Boston, so I've got no sane people to listen to my ramblings and prescribe me, like, a bottle of pills and five hail mary's. Maybe if I had a halfway normal childhood, and didn't watch Harold and Maude on repeat for two weeks, I'd have a better idea of what to do when Josh steals my hat during rehearsal and wears it all casual like. BOYS ARE EVEN WEIRDER THAN DAD SOMETIMES, let it be known. Heavens to Fuzzy. I'm gonna watch some infomercials in the hopes that they dull all the feeling out my feverish teenage cerebellum.

Monday, 11 June 2012


I got home from my holiday with Aunt Katy yesterday and no one was home, I mean, come on, I've had a long week, where's my pbj sandwich, dad?! I had to make it myself. I watched tv for a couple of hours but there was nothing on any of the channels, turned out someone had moved the dish. It was on the side of my grody old treehouse, dad built it when I was like ten and I was already too old for a treehouse, treehouses are lame, especially my one, the floor of the treehouse is like standing on a bed of nails! My dad is the worst treehouse builder ever.
Anyway, there was a repeat of an episode of Sabrina on that I really wanted to watch so I went up to get the dish, and like, my dad and Uncle Marty were in the treehouse, like, was this supposed to be a surprise or something? It didn't work. I wasn't surprised at all. They do it all the time. Half the time I'm not even sure if Uncle Marty even has a house, he might as well pay us rent for the amount of nights he spends in there.
Dad smelled like Mr Johnson's office, he smelled totally like feet. His hair looked so uncool. Ugh, he is so embarrassing! Thank god I was the only one there, 'cause like, this is me and Joanne's favourite episode of Sabrina- it's the one where Harvey falls down that hole, god, it is sooo good, Harvey is so funny. Anyway, I would have been totally embarrassed if Joanne had seen my dad playing in the treehouse. She hasn't been over for a while anyway, not since Uncle Marty cut off some of her hair for his stupid collection- SO EMBARRASSING!!!