Elaine's Diary, aka "What's Wrong With Her Head?"

saturday, september 3

8:00pm

                Sitting in bed, pretending I am a famous actress. The pretend paparazzi are right outside my window. They are waiting for me to open my blinds a bit so they can get a shot of me changing into my sexy nighttime lingerie, aka sports bra, enormous t-shirt that I stole from one of my guy friends (literally stole, he doesn’t know its missing)  and track shorts.

8:12pm

                Hid under my desk while changing so the paparazzi wouldn’t see me.

8:13pm

                I should invest in nicer pajamas. Right now I look like a lesbian. The short hair doesn’t help.

                Maybe if I put my hair into a bunch of small ponytails…

 

two minutes later

                That looks pretty good. They’re sticking straight out of my head at odd angles, but at least I am clearly a girl. After all, how many boys wear ponytails?

                I’m going downstairs to show my family.

9:00pm

                My so-called parents weren’t very supportive of my new hairdo. But that is no surprise. Actually, my father’s exact words were, “What’s wrong with her head?”

                “It’s to avoid a potential scandal with the paparazzi,” I explained.

                He looked at my mom. “What is she talking about now?”

                “She’s right there, you could ask her yourself,” my mother replied.  That’s when I saw a paper on the table from the AP Testers with my name on it.

                “What’s this?” I asked my mother.

                “It’s a certificate, they’re calling you an AP Scholar now because of your test scores.”

                Do you hear that??? An AP Scholar! I always knew I was good for something besides applying eyeliner. “That’s nice,” I said. “I can put that on my college application along with my SAT score of TWENTY-TWO-HUNDRED.”

                This is the part where my mother became unsupportive of my brilliance. “You didn’t get a twenty-two hundred.”

                “Yes I did.”

                “No you didn’t.”

                “Yes I did.”

                “No you—”

                “YES I DID.”

                “Nobody pays attention to the Writing Score. So that’s minus eight hundred points from your total. You really got a fourteen hundred.”

                “That doesn’t mean I didn’t get a twenty-two hundred.”

                “I just explained that it does.”

                “No it doesn’t.”

                “I’m smart.”

                “Not with that hair, you’re not,” my father said. He was using a cookie spatula to unstick his hot wings from the pan.

                “Okay, Papa Ad Hominum,” I said. “I’m going to let that one slide because I know you are just angry about your failed marriage.”  

                “What sort of nonsense are you talking about? We’re the happiest married people this side of the Mississippi,” my father said. Then he and Mom started doing weird PDA things like making lovey faces at each other, so I grabbed a hot wing, snapped a picture of my AP Scholar’s Certificate, and ran back upstairs.

Just in case you thought any of this was a joke.

9:30pm

                I wonder if Marc has texted me.

two seconds later

                Nope.

two seconds later

                Well, he is a college student after all. Maybe he’s off at a wild college party. At his conservative Catholic university.

9:35pm

                Okay, so maybe he’s not at a party. Maybe he’s praying with a beautiful Catholic girl with long hair who can bilocate and speak in tongues.

9:36pm

                MARC STOP PRAYING WITH HER!!!!!!!

9:37pm

                Dear God, please let Marc realize that he is still officially my boyfriend. He can’t just go around whipping out prayers willy-nilly. It’s bad for our relationship.  Amen.

9:45pm

                Just looked in the mirror. I don’t have any pimples, thank you Lord Baby Jesus, but I do have acne scars between my eyebrows. It’s like I’ve got a unibrow made of hair and pockmarks.

                Good thing I invested in industrial-strength concealer last month.

after applying concealer

                That helped a little bit. I took out the ponytails and messed up my hair so I look like I just rolled out of bed. Out of a stylish and trendy bed, with a pillow made out of hair gel and covers made of hairspray. Anyway.

Now if Marc gives me a little ring-a-ling, I’ll be looking almost my best. And it’s always easier to be confident on the phone when you’ve applied a little makeup. Like foundation. And concealer. And eyeliner. And mascara. And lipstick. Eyeshadow, too, if it’s an important phone call. Just the basics, really.

half-hour later

                Still no phone call from my supposed soulmate. Time to eat more hotwings.

later

                It is 10:54 and no sign of Marc. I must remain calm and mature. I must not get needy and text him. Well, alright, I’ll text him, but I’ll be really cool about it.

one minute later

                Texted him: “MAAAAAARC!”

10:57

                He texted back!!! This is the best day of my entire life! Gotta go devote all my attention to my cellular device, I’ll write more tomorrow!