Category Archives: east coast posse

Gina and Scott Continue to Be Geniuses

The Saga Of Jennifer

A horse name named Jennifer Lopez arrived at noon.  “Goodness,” moaned Jennifer Santiago, “I hope you still plan on changing those slippers.”  Suddenly, Jennifer Lopez recalled her mother, Gilda.  She wouldn’t have worn new slippers to Nevada either.

By Gina and Scott, alternating words.

Advertisements

Leave a comment

Filed under east coast posse

The Genius of Gina and Scott

This is the story Scott and I wrote, passing a notebook back and forth, instead of listening to the really boring readers at our final stop on our Literary Pub Walk.  Scott’s lines are in italics.

The Story of May

“I’m leaving,” she said.  “You can come with me if you want, but I’m leaving.”  She grabbed her paper-bagged lunch and her Hello Kitty umbrella and stormed out.  With a sigh, he followed her to the door.  “I’ll pick you up after school,” he called.  “Have a good day.”

At the bus stop, suddenly self-conscious, May zipped up her hoodie, hiding the Rainbow Brite tee she had put on so proudly just minutes earlier.  Maybe Christine would laugh.  Maybe she hadn’t meant it when she said rainbows were cool.  Fifth Grade was hard, even for aspiring actresses as fearless as May.  She squared her shoulders.  It didn’t matter what Christine thought.  She would weather today.  By the time the bus arrived, she was belting Pat Benatar at the top of her lungs.

“Lord, May, give it a rest,” the driver moaned, and May trotted down the aisle to plunk herself beside Stewart, her by-default best friend.  “I’ll never be understood,” she told him, as she threw her head onto his shoulder.

“Quit,” he muttered, shoving her away.  “Why are you always so LOUD?”

“Even you,” May retorted, “oppress me.”

Stewart sighed.  “Are you trying out for the play this afternoon?”

“Darling,” she cooed, “you know I’ll just die if I’m not Miss Hannigan.”

“If you want to be a famous actress,” he said, pushing her towards her end of the seat, “why aren’t you trying out for Annie?”

“I’m too tall, and besides, wouldn’t you rather follow in Carol Burnett’s footsteps than Andrea McCardle’s?”

“I don’t even know who that is,” Stewart said.  “Can I copy your math homework?”

She reached into her bag, digging it out while ranting about the tragedy of his poor comedienne education.

At lunch time,* Stewart having abandoned her for a Student Council meeting, May braved the cafeteria alone.  She took a deep breath before walking to Christine’s table.

“Hey guys,” she called cheerily, plunking her bag into an empty spot.  “Who wants to trade today’s Jello for my mom’s famous oatmeal cookies?”

The table blinked at her, then conversation resumed as if she had not spoken.  “It’s a way better part than Annie,” Christine was saying.  “Better songs, even if it is smaller.”  After a round of agreement from the rest of the table, Christine finally acknowledged May.  “Oh hi,” she said.

“You’re trying out for the play?” asked May in disbelief.  “I thought you weren’t into that kind of thing.”

“Well, I wasn’t, but after my solo in choir last month Mrs. Windelman convinced me I should try.”

“But … you don’t want to be Annie?” May had a sinking feeling.

“I just don’t think I can pull off a character as poor and pathetic as an orphan,” Christine stated with a pointed sneer.  “It’s all about typecasting and look.”

“It’s the lead, though,” said May. “It’s the biggest part.”  She could feel her face getting red.

“I’m more interested in really showing my range,” said Christine, sounding bored.  “Ms. Hannigan is such a … complex character.”

“Cool,” said May, opening her brown bag and zipping up her hoodie.  “I was, um, thinking about trying out for that part too.”

“Oh?” Christine smirked.  “Don’t you think the part’s a little … mature for you?”

“Well, I guess that’s why they hold auditions,” May finally choked out.

Christine rolled her eyes and turned to the friend next to her, leaving May staring into the crusts of her sandwich.

* * * (**)

Sipping the iced tea from the prop whiskey bottle, May paced back and forth, nervous about her first cue. ***  “I feel like I’ve missed some key plot element leading me logically to this place,” she thought, “but no matter.  Apparently I was cast and Christine wasn’t and we will move forward accordingly.”

Stewart, now her stage manager, called to her, “May, it’s not about Christine anymore.  She’s a scunt.”

“Oh, you’re the SM?” May vaguely remembered a series of events that made this convenient arrangement happen, but was unable to recall the exact circumstances due to the bizarre fast forwarding of time. **** “How’s the crowd tonight?”

“It’s better than when we did this same play in Middle School,” Stewart said, stroking the beard on his 22 year old chin. *****

“I’d hope so, asshole, being that we’re on Broadway,” May snapped.  She couldn’t believe she was still saddled with this punk-ass kid from MS51.

“At everyone thought you’d have aborted at least two mistakes by now,” Stew added.  “I’m proud of you.”

“Shows what you know,” thought May, unscrewing her flask and dumping the contents into the prop bottle.

* * * (******)

“It was a mean eulogy, but honest,” Stewart told Christine.

“Maybe if she hadn’t been cast as Annie, all those years ago –” Christine mused.  “Take me home, darling.”

The End. *******

*Please note the normal, appropriate time jump I wrote here, bringing us to a new scene.  This will be important later.

** I added these and whispered, “That means time is passing!” to Scott, as I passed the notebook to him.

*** “Cue?” I hissed.  “Did we skip the audition?”  “You said time had passed,” he hissed back.

**** At this point, Scott whispered, “Oh really?  Well I can play that game.”

***** It all goes downhill from here.

****** Added by Scott, who pointed and said “TIME IS PASSING.”

******* We are clearly geniuses.

1 Comment

Filed under east coast posse, festive activities

The Drawback of the G-train

Kate:  is it supposed to rain?
me:  dunno
Kate:  it just got super dark outside and this weird thunder-but-not-thunder sound was happening for a solid 30 seconds
apocalypse
me:  hm.  sort of dark here but not like that
the apocalypse will likely hit williamsburg first, it is true.
Kate:  yes. zombies hate hipsters.
me:  it’s true
their brains taste too much alike
Kate:  like PBRs and pretense.

Leave a comment

Filed under east coast posse

Why Would You Challenge Me?

Friday, May 25th, 1:10 pm, via gchat

Kate:  ‪i am obsessed with gillian anderson‬
me:  ‪still‬
?
Kate:  ‪omg still‬
Kate: just her
in love
AND hey
she’s bisexual
i have a chance!
AND moms love me
which she is
so AWESOME
please don’t post this conversation anywhere on the internet

Leave a comment

Filed under east coast posse

Scott: Part One

My apartment is three feet deep in cardboard, the gas in my building has been turned off for the weekend, I am impressively allergic to New York mosquitoes, my ankles are puffy, I can’t get a full night’s sleep to save my life, the new TV doesn’t work,  and I’m really, really homesick.

Despite my being unfit for human company, Scott is here for the weekend.  I love Scott.  Scott makes many things better.

Yesterday, we went into Manhattan to have lunch with Trina, best known for dreams of an underwater Shakespeare company (“You haven’t seen Romeo and Juliet until you’ve seen it on rafts and noodles.”).

This is Scott disapproving:

We are not amused.

On the way, I was sneakily artistic with the man across the way while  Scott admired his jeans:

You can't tell, but my little toe is broken.

I did not think to take a picture of the impressive pastrami sandwiches we consumed, but here are the leftover pickles.  Trina and I ate all the bright green ones, leaving the olive greens sad and alone and unwanted:

These are not as delicious.

Then we bought some plants.  There was a photo shoot, to distract ourselves from the fact that we just missed the train and the station was a million degrees:

Glamor.

My glamorous pose was interrupted by a train scaring the bejeesus out of me:

You can see the bejeesus there, by my foot.

We carried the plants home:

I am green today

Scott got hungry:

yum

And I got tired of having my picture taken:

In which Scott does not approve of my cat and her wish to snuggle:

She is touching me.

I am trying to pull off my crankypants so that Scott is not afraid to visit again.

In the meantime, we’re presenting a workshop at a massive conference tomorrow and have not started to plan.  It is good I am no longer a role model for the youth.

Leave a comment

Filed under east coast posse

Truth

Me: You are so great.  I am the luckiest girl ever.

Him: Nope.  The luckiest girl has a boyfriend like me AND a moving truck that stayed upright.

Leave a comment

Filed under east coast posse

In Which Scott is not Helpful

AIM IM with Scott  7/12/09  6:03 PM:

Scott: What are you doing?  I am writing a syllabus.  And then I have to make a poster.

Me: I’m about to go to dinner.  I will probably cry at the end of it.

Scott:  Aw, you can do it.

Scott: Yay tears!

Scott: Just think of the song “Tears of a clown.”

Scott: Not that you are a clown.

Scott: It just makes me smile.

Scott: It’s rather upbeat for a song about tears.

Scott: Point: tears can be happyish.

Me: You know how I feel about clowns.

Scott: Sort of happy.

Scott: Did I say clown?  I meant …

Scott: Tears of a clone.

Scott: Don’t look it up.

Scott: do doo doo

Scott: bah bah bah bah bah bah bah

Scott: Tears of a clooone

Scott:  My clone is always crying because she is unoriginal.

Scott: bah bah bah bah bah bah bah

Me: I’m copying all this for my blog, you know.  I will title it, “Scott is Unhelpful.”

Scott: UNhelpful?

Me:  Yup.

Me: In an adorable way?

Scott: Eh, I’ll take it.

Leave a comment

Filed under east coast posse