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name: Alicia
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Tuesday, April 25, 2006

[Guns n Roses and the Cure, mixed in a bucket]

Jenny pointed out something very, very funny the other day: Pre-teen girls are the funniest thing ever. That came to my mind this morning because I was thinking about Satanism, and I remembered something so strange that I had stricken it from the pristine record that is my oddball mind - when I was 13 (ish?) I used to sit at Barnes & Noble for hours at a time. Seriously, my mom would go on a date or go to aerobics and I would ask her if I could along and she would drop me off at the book store. There I would sit for upwards of three hours and read. But that's not the funny part, no, not at all. The really great part was what I was reading:

I was sitting in the new age aisle reading Wiccan, astrology, alien, ghost and "spiritual" books. Oh, yeah, and all the stuff that Anton LaVey wrote. What, what, WHAT! I hear you say? Oh, yes. Right in the little strip mall with the Olive Garden and the Elder Beerman (that's probably comically spelled wrong, but ah, well), there I was - sitting crosslegged in the aisle, both guilting and freaking out passers by as well as employees. What a screwball! I can't help but wonder, now, why I don't constantly credit those evenings with why I'm a bit of a nutjob. But then, on the other hand, I always wonder if maybe it's all the nonsense like that that makes me who I am today - and I'm all right with that.

For example, I know that Anton LaVey was born in Chicago's Gold Coast, and that there is an infestation of a certain kind of brown spider on the side of the John Hancock building every year that people attribute to that. I also know your whole personality profile per astrology if you give me your birthdate. I know what the hell the Celestine Prophesy is, which is one of those things people would talk about in salons and parlors, you know, in the year that the first Real World came out, on Queen's in Toronto, or whatev. I also own two books on vampires. Go figure.

On a somewhat related note, Mark in the office said something really funny yesterday. Where Jenny said, "13 year old girls are the funniest thing ever," Mark pointed out - Have you ever noticed how you can say you like children, but when you say a specific age you sound totally creepy? You can say, "I really love chilren," but if you say, "I really love six-year-olds" then you are grade-A cretin. And rightly so, you perv.

On a totally unrelated note, I took the Brown Line to school today and got off at the library stop through the southwest exit. That exit is spooky. It's got one of those huge floor to ceiling turnstiles, which I suppose I'm okay with, but the thing creaks. It sounds like the beginning of "A Christmas Carol" with George C. Scott, like a ghost carriage slowly spinning its wheels or something. I walked toward it slowly, dreading my own turn, as the lady who elbowed me on the el stepped through and the sound started up again like an old police horn. When I walked through it myself I felt like Fairuza Balk in "Return to Oz"...To sum up, it was like actually being IN a horror movie. I always figured I wouldn't mind dying a horrific death if I could have not only the scary sound-effects but also, like, Marilyn Manson's version of "Sweet Dreams" playing in the background. Speaking of which, what happened to him anyway?

[Who am I to disagree?]

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