Cloris Leachman ain't got shit on me.

I try to be hip. There are times where the 10 year old Mallory shines because she is so proud of her 22 year old metropolitan counterpart who frequents cafes and has a Latin boyfriend (note: I am still working on this). There are times though, that I feel my 63 year old counterpart is taking hold and I am not liking the results. There are things in this life that one must hold true and one of these things is identity. I often do things that feel cool without questioning them and then after abotu 10 minutes there is a bit of heavy guilt where I ask myself "Now's the time to figure out exactly what I would do with an Elvis statue complete with 5 foot phallace. This Christmas my parents are going to get a face full of Pelvis." As of late, these decisions have followed a frightening pattern.

I was visiting the mall with my family yesterday and I noticed an odd new trend. Apparently it's really awesome to wear clothing that is not weather appropriate. My hometown is in the snowbelt region of New York (Remember last year when the central part of the state had so much snow the Governor called a state of emergency? Thats the place!) and I first saw a girl enter the mall with a long sleeve shirt and Adidas sandals! At least her friend was wearing socks with them. It got worse as I entered. I saw a girl in flip flops. T-shirts were everywhere. Then the advent of the end: A girl with capris, a t-shirt and sandals; I mean sweet sassy molassy! It was 26 degrees outside. I was wearing jeans, a long sleeve shirt and a sweater, in addition to the fleece jacket, hat and scarf I had on. Also ragwool socks because my feet get cold and I am a lumberjack. As I was complaining, I happened to mention the phrase "kids these days..." totally legitimately, I was not using this phraseology to be ironic. It does not end there.

I was perusing the goods at H&M and I made a purchase that I thought would make my sweaters and hats cuter. I bought a broach. It has sparkly things and I attached to my lavendar hat, which also makes me look like an old woman. Thank You. My parents are not kind about it, my father tried to order me a prune juice at the resturaunt yesterday.

So I need to stop this, I think. I mean being sensible is cool, but I have feeling that I am going to get Depends for Christmas.

An Open Letter to the girl in my Poetics Class

Dear Girl in my Poetics Class,

You are smart. I get it. You are from Korea and have a great grasp on the English language and you know more than I do. Undoubtedly. Your academic prowess is far more advanced and the doctorate program you are a part of far dwarfs my tiny masters program with only 30 graduate credits. Honestly this is my first graduate English course.

However, I would be greatly obliged if you would stop citing Lacan. We all love him; swear to God, or whatever psychological propping device Jacques would have us use. I know he might seem like a good figure, all knowledgeable and such, but just leave it. I actually don't care what he says anymore, Lacan is LaWorst; and I don't ever use that word.

I am sure we can get by this small roadblock, you have done so well already. I think you can overcome this, much like Lacan helped thousands get over whatever notable thing that Lacan helped with. I don't know.

Sincerley,

Mallory

Meta-blogging

So as a result of having a blog several things have come to my attention.

The first is that yoiu can't tell people that you have one. Here's an example of a conversation that will occur.

Blogger: So I started writing in a blog.
Friend: Really?
Blogger: Yes
Friend:.....
---end----
Awkward silence then ensues for several minutes until Rip Taylor sprays a confetti gun in your face.

Here's another great conversation:
Blogger: So I started writing in a blog
Mom/Dad: Oh really?
Blogger: Yes, do you want to read it?
Mom/Dad: (After reading) So is it supposed to be funny or are you sad? Did I raise a socially disfunctional child?
---end---
Awkward Silence until Rip Taylor enters and conducts a family therapy session.

And yet one more conversation:
Blogger: So I started writing in a blog
Rip Taylor: One time Mickey Rooney and I rode a circus pony through Idaho! On a Rainbow!
---end---
Awkward Silence ensues until my mother shows up and sprays in the face with confetti

So there apparently no way to let your friends and family know that you write; because what you are saying is really: "I am HIIIILARIOUS" and things that happen to me are equivalent to an episode of "Laugh-In"

While I have considered hiring Joanne Worley to hang out with me all the time and laugh with me when these things happen, I know that that bitch is a D-I-V-A. So my solution is to record them and then adorn my body with flowers and a bikini and dance.