Saturday, December 20, 2008


"Why aren't you good enough? Who told you this?" asks my kindly Korean therapist. Well, I answer, no one ever told me. In fact, I've never earnestly been called stupid, unfunny, or untalented. Even my worst rejection has been dampered with compliments; when a boy I was desperately in love at age 17 said "I'm not into you emotionally anymore, but I'm extremely physically attracted to you. Could we still hook up?", I was so pleased that I was pretty enough to attract someone based on looks my feelings weren't hurt until he stopped texting.

"I guess...this pressure comes from...inside myself?" I take my eyes off of my crotch and look her in the face for the first time in 15 minutes. While I squirm, she dons the trained poker face of an analyst. Your move.

I've been really afraid of writing in this blog. Every time I want to post a public entry, I first think of everyone who I consider smarter/funnier/prettier than I am and realize, "Ugh. Their opinions are so much more unique. What do I have to say that's so special?" I have horrible fantasies about people I respect reading something of mine and saying, "Wow. That girl's a fucking idiot." Why don't I fantasize about good things? Because I'm so afraid that, in that time, people will be trashing me and I won't notice.

Pre-puberty, I had a hugely inflated ego. I was always the kid chosen aloud to read in class, the lead in the plays, the douche to correct people on their spelling. My citizenship awards always read to the tune of "To Rachel Bloom, for being a very eager participant in class discussions" or "For being very outgoing." (Sometimes these were the only passive aggressive ways teachers could tell me I was fucking annoying).

As I grew tits, though, my self-esteem shrunk. I found myself admiring others and disparaging myself. I was scared that I wasn't the best and terrified that this meant I'd never be on Broadway. When I got to college, I got onto a sketch group, Hammerkatz, that included the smartest and most talented people I'd ever met. This time, I knew I wasn't the best (something I'd been grown to be semi-OK with) but it was the first time I convinced myself I had nothing to add to a conversation and no talent to add to a room. Every time I opened my mouth, I thought "What the fuck do you have to say that's so great?" After a while, someone had to say to me, "'re a person in this group too. You can talk." All it took was to be given permission and I blossomed.

One of my New Year's resolution is to seek permission less. In high school, I had a freeopendiary that I wrote in at least once a week. Was it brilliant? No. Did it use big words to pump up my writing style? Sure. But it kept me writing. And, more importantly, it made me bold. On Hammerkatz, everything I write gets seen by at least 10 people before I put it in a show. But to put out my thoughts uncensored, I have to trust that I am good enough.

And that's fucking scary.

Friday, April 11, 2008

In high school, I had a freeopendiary that I clung to even after no one read freeopendiary anymore. Then, I thought blogs were just for famous people. I think, though, that it's time for me to have a blog again.

Now, I've had this blog for a while, but a lot of them were written back when I was uncool. As I'm now going to tell people I have this blog, I have erased all the uncool entries. The most recent uncool entry was this September, but, as I have major growths of maturity every 6 months, I can only really be accountable for anything I've done/said since March.

And now, an old entry from middle school/high school diary:

4/15/00 (age 13)
I am gleefully and evilly thinking up ways to get good revenge on the stupid "popular" boys and 1 girl, Allison. For her, I will put a note in her locker saying how I'm going to tell Mr. Wunder about how she paid Ryan (to go out with me). But how to get back at the boys? Who knows?


1. break up their friendship
2. Put something wet or squishy on or in their backpacks (but how to get to them-?)
3. Gross them out
4. Freak them out by getting in trouble

If only there was some way to make them turn against eachother! I don't want to hurt any other people, though. I'll think about it in my dreams. Hell, it's 1:00 IN THE MORNING!
Awesome pairs of people I'd like to see fight to the death:

R.L. Stine vs. Kelsey Grammar
Albus Dumbledore vs. Jonathan Lipnicki
George Orwell vs. Pippi Longstocking
Superman vs. Emily Dickinson
Tommy Pickles vs. Burt Bacharach
Hillary Clinton vs. a possessed Trapper Keeper
New York City vs. Linda Hunt
Della Reese vs. Mothra

Tuesday, September 04, 2007

In CAP 21, they liked to encourage us to find new and interesting "premises" to frame our songs. Here are some premises I thought of:

"Mister Cellophane" as sung by a person about to go on a shooting spree. You'd take out the gun on "You know who," and load it on the first chorus. On the second verse, you'd take aim, and the chorus would be you going fucking nuts with a Tommy gun. The song would most likely end in your own suicide.

"They Can't Take That Away From Me" as sung by the character of Winston Smith in 1984 as he's being tortured in The Ministry of Love. He is singing the song about Julia, and the elusive "they" is, of course, the ministry and Big Brother. The song would end when his face is about to get eaten by rats.

"A Little More Mascara" as sung by a male drag queen astronaut as his spaceship is hurtling towards the sun. The spaces in the music ("When life is a real...bitch again") would be punctuated with more and more flames soaring past the outside window. The song would end when his face explodes.

"You're Getting to Be a Habit With Me" as sung by someone on LSD thinking that they're the character of Dorothy Brock singing "You're Getting to Be a Habit With Me."

"Tradition" as sung by a flock of sheep. The song would end with the Tevye sheep being shorn.

Sunday, October 08, 2006

To Whom it May Concern,

It is my pleasure to recommend Colin Stevenson for admittance to Hampshire College. Colin is one of the most exceptional students I have ever come to know. In addition to being a National Merit Scholar, he is rated in the top five percent of his senior class, with an overall nonweighted GPA of 3.89. He is also great at oral sex.

Throughout Colin's four years, Colin has never ceased to challenge himself. He has tackled numerous AP courses, including, but not limited to, AP US History, AP Government, AP English, and AP Computer Science. He received "5's" on all of these examinations, a record for his senior class. In addition to this, I've never come harder.

You hear that, ladies on the admissions committee of Hampshire College?

Colin's achievements at Roosevelt High School are not limited to his academic portfolio. When he is not busy leading meetings for the drama club, he can be seen in the journalism room where he is editor-in-chief of our school paper, "The Millcreek Herald." Also, one time, we fucked under my desk right before I had a conference with the superintendant. Colin has NO SCRUPLES about pleasuring older women whenever they want, especially, I'm sure, if those older women were the ones responsible for his full scholarship.

Outside of Roosevelt High School, Colin is an avid volounteer of charities in the community. Every year, he has worked at the Community Fair in the "Helping Others" candy booth, which donates all of its money to children with leukemia. His enormous heart and dick would be an asset to the Hampshire College community, as Colin never fails to work at 110 per cent in both his studies and pounding my g-spot like he's doing street construction.

In conclusion, any college would be lucky to have Colin as a student. I'm lucky to have him as an advisee as well as an underage fuck buddy. Come on, uptight admissions ladies, I know you're getting hot under those plaid pencil skirts.

If you have any questions, feel free to contact me at 310-555-6786.

Diane Jones