Some books that are so refreshing you read them and come out...different. Not changed, exactly, but more like a kid that's found the really awesome, flamingo-pink sequined dress at the bottom of the toy box and wants to try it on for a bit and see if she, too, can look like a princess...or, in a slightly more grown-up case, a hot mess. (I have never been a hot mess by the way - the ''hot-mofo'' gene must have skipped a generation).
Anyway, the book is this: How To Expect The Unexpected by Jenny Lawson. You know, the one that's been topping the Top 100 Bestsellers List and has a little (taxidermied, I might add) mouse on the cover brandishing a word, all musketeer-like?
Yeah, that'd be the one.
I had so much fun with the string of ''real or not real?'' bizarre events and The Bloggess' voice that, to my sister's despair, I decided to start having some fun with words of my own. (My little sister is not a book lover–I'm sure this has nothing to do with the fact that I chose them over her during my hermit years).
So, Welcome to Syberia...
''I'm going to Syberia,'' I told my sister, snapping my book shut.
She looked at me, non-plussed.
''Oh, Erika....'' And she gave me THAT look, the one that makes me re-evaluate my life choices.
FINE, BE THAT WAY....Child.
So I moved on to the next closest human (really, looking back, I ought to have told the dog–at least SHE would have understood), hoping for some kind of reaction that involved more than a condescending shaking of the head.
''Erika, want to go to the store?'' my mother asked me, flipping another page from her home renovation magazine.
''No, I'm going to Syberia.''
Her gaze, which had once been so non-nonchalantly fixed upon glossy pages as she sipped her third cup of coffee, jolted. And hence followed the look of horror especially designed for moi as I looked up from Kevin O'Leary's book on financial aid (which is really good, I might add: Saving myself from bankruptcy at the age of 19 has definitely become one of my life's priorities).
''Why???'' she asked.
''I heard it was nice,'' I said, and shrugged, going back to my book. ''Tigers, you know. And...stuff.''
(Yeah, that's right - I totally Googled this shit.)
She then put her coffee down, looked me in the eye. There was more concern in that look than the time she discovered I had lost my ID in a coat at a club...though I must say it didn't beat the Great Bacon Incident of 1999).
''You want to die?''
Face-palm. Just, no, mother!
My grandmother then pointed out from across the room that I was being ''insensible''. I pointed out that there was a clear distinction between my "Y" Syberia and that of the "I" Siberia of North Asia. No, I am not being insensitive. If anything, people are being insensitive. If Oscar Wilde had a Bunbury, then why shouldn't I?
Syberia is my Bunbury. There. (Also, ignore all the internet articles about the video game "Syberia"...that shit is totally not real).
I had so much fun with the string of ''real or not real?'' bizarre events and The Bloggess' voice that, to my sister's despair, I decided to start having some fun with words of my own. (My little sister is not a book lover–I'm sure this has nothing to do with the fact that I chose them over her during my hermit years).
So, Welcome to Syberia...
''I'm going to Syberia,'' I told my sister, snapping my book shut. She looked at me, non-plussed.
''Oh, Erika....'' And she gave me THAT look, the one that makes me re-evaluate my life choices.
FINE, BE THAT WAY....Child.
So I moved on to the next closest human (really, looking back, I ought to have told the dog–at least SHE would have understood), hoping for some kind of reaction that involved more than a condescending shaking of the head.
''Erika, want to go to the store?'' my mother asked me, flipping another page from her home renovation magazine.
''No, I'm going to Syberia.''Her gaze, which had once been so non-nonchalantly fixed upon glossy pages as she sipped her third cup of coffee, jolted. And hence followed the look of horror especially designed for moi as I looked up from Kevin O'Leary's book on financial aid (which is really good, I might add: Saving myself from bankruptcy at the age of 19 has definitely become one of my life's priorities).
''Why???'' she asked.
''I heard it was nice,'' I said, and shrugged, going back to my book. ''Tigers, you know. And...stuff.''
(Yeah, that's right - I totally Googled this shit.)
She then put her coffee down, looked me in the eye. There was more concern in that look than the time she discovered I had lost my ID in a coat at a club...though I must say it didn't beat the Great Bacon Incident of 1999).
''You want to die?''
Face-palm. Just, no, mother!
My grandmother then pointed out from across the room that I was being ''insensible''. I pointed out that there was a clear distinction between my "Y" Syberia and that of the "I" Siberia of North Asia. No, I am not being insensitive. If anything, people are being insensitive. If Oscar Wilde had a Bunbury, then why shouldn't I?
Syberia is my Bunbury. There. (Also, ignore all the internet articles about the video game "Syberia"...that shit is totally not real).
The point here, though, is that sometimes it's fun to just get away from all the seriousness and fall into silliness (even if it means ignoring the judging looks of others). Whether it's just getting lost in a book or playing pretend, it can make that 2-week Christmas break so much better.
If you could pick one place to make your own, what would it be?
aww, that does sound like fun ;)
ReplyDeletewhat is wrong with mothers anyway? I told mine that the one thing on my 'reasons I should go for a run' list was "so that when the Doctor needs a new companion, I can keep up with him" and she told me that I should first learn to distinguish between reality and fiction. hmpf. whatever. I know it's true.
Haha, it is ;) And I knowww! Sheesh: There is absolutely nothing wrong with wanting a sonic screwdriver or a Syberian Bunbury.
DeleteI mean, they really ought to get with it (it IS 2013, after all).