Washington Post Magazine Rejections and Zombie Planets

1:31 PM me: Want to be a part of my blogpost  ?? ♥: In what way..? me: Well do you read gene weingarten?1:33 PM ♥: Occasionally1:34 PM me: L  K well read this issue  I want my blogpost to be like a conversation about something  Sort of like gene weingarten1:35 PM What should we talk about?1:36 PM ♥: um idk lol  something that won't piss off the world? me: Yeah but it still has to be fairly controversial  Just in a friendly or funny way1:37 PM ♥: mhm ok  well idk me: Or it can be about how boring tenth grade is irdk1:39 PM ♥: lol talking about how boring something is is usually not that interesting1:40 PM me: I  D  O  N  '1:41 PM T ♥: Dude  stahp. me: That was Kira like ♥: Lolz1:42 PM me: Kira says that  Anyway ♥: we could talk about how awkward the holiday season is for everyone with all the different religions  like what about Muslim people  they don't even celebrate a winter holiday me: Hey  Hey Ramadan ♥: so everyone else is like yay happy holidays and they're just like Um.1:43 PM me: Ramadan ♥: Ramadan usually does not happen in late December but sometimes in the middle of fall, and the date changes.  It really can't be classified as a winter holiday. me: Ok fine1:44 PM ♥: People have also tried to say Eid but thats just the end of ramadan. so yeah. me: I am ignorant to that ♥: Muslim best friend <3 <3 <31:45 PM but ya. Hey so since Laura's a wiccan now we can celebrate winter solstice with her x1:48 PM me: Seriously?1:49 PM ♥: bahaha I have no idea. I get the sense that Laura wants to be a Wiccan like I want to be a Buddhist.  Thinks it'd be rad but probably doesn't know much about it. me: X l1:50 PM That was my phone  Yeah  Yeah I don't really want to be anything just me  And such1:51 PM Or we could pray to the church of Jules1:52 PM But then we'd all die of overdose of something  And we'd get unattractive once we'd turn like 22  No  321:56 PM ♥: Hey  hey  he will always attractive to meeeeeeee  but i really don't want to be a part of the church of jules it sounds both scary and lame at the same time like a bunch of strange delusional teenage girls who dont know how to do crack but will damn well try1:57 PM me: Yeah and we'd only have to listen to the strokes1:58 PM ♥: and phrazes for the young me: That means we'd always be like 1 foot deep in the coffin of getting too underground  Yeah  So we'd just be like  Half dead  Zombies  I don't want to be a zombie who can't move1:59 PM ♥: yeah i mean zombies only purposes are to walk around and do whatever they can to continue walking around  #obscurejohngreenreferences2:00 PM me: Zombies or aliens ♥: Um...zombies?  I mean aliens are scarier obviously  well  hm me: What if the aliens were zombies ♥: they're scary in different ways.  what do you mean what if the aliens were zombies2:03 PM me: Like what I'd there is a planet where all the people are zombies  It's plausible think of how much living earth is of space  I hate parties  They just  I hate them2:04 PM ♥: w me: Because I don't like being around people  I mean its a party at my house2:05 PM Why can't I say  I FEEL REALLY SICK  Y'ALL ARE GOING TO GET HELLA SICK WITH MY GERMS  GET OUT  my cousin is having a party at my house  And they are telling me  I'm not useful  I mean  It's my house  I know where the things are2:06 PM It makes sense I didn't understand that orangey juice was a mamosa because  1. My house doesn't live the orange juice life  2. My house doesn't live the mamosa life  3. So why are all these things in my refrigerator  Just go away YOU DON'T LIVE THIS LIFE2:10 PM ♥: um  what xD  that is the best thing i have ever heard2:11 PM my house doesnt live the mamosa life
Yesterday, I went to a dinner party and found quite brutally I least enjoy any party, and I am a terribleguest when I don't turn in regularly my homework to my PreCalculus class, but perhaps nothing has been more influential to my weekend than this article I read of Gene Weingarten, in which he and his feminist friend analyze Romney as a date. 
That shant be too hard, me girl I thought (I awoke today from a dream about Hawaii, which reminded me of pirates, and I was thinking in pirate). I thought. I didn't think too much, because what I wanted to do was show Gene Weingarten I could do what he did, and I could be a funny feminist friend, and should I ever run for president, boy would I show a great date. I was on my phone (hence all of the capitals at every single shift), and Gmail was my ticket to an editorial.
A good friend of mine was my sharer of conversation. She's an ENTJ, and I am an INFP. Our friendship exists in poles. Our agreements rest in our discord. Take that, feminist Gene Weingarten friend.
This is the resulf of my test. It was a test, after all, because all I wanted to do was disprove a Pulitzer winning author, because really what he did wasn't that hard. Oh, was it. I wasn't thinking for all the damaged little brain I have, and I wasn't really writing. I was being a 15 year old girl, and that is not a Pulitzer winning anything, unless it's a disheartening picture that looks like a printed case for a tattered childhood or perhaps a play featured in the Royal Tenenbaums. 
Later, at the second party I attended of the week, hosted of my house, because I really do live that life, I was reading The Old Lady who Swallowed a Fly to my three year old cousin. Perhaps I should've toppled Weingarten with my perfect analysis of its disturbance to children. I'm sure that hasn't been done 90008907 times. I'm surprised I didn't get nightmares from that lady's psychosis, and for her persistent eating, and because there were talking animals, I think instead I laughed. That lady's psychosis transferred to produce mine.
Anyway, what I find most appalling about that book is the moral: You shouldn't swallow a horse. It's too simple, and that's not half of the issue! The moral is you shouldn't be crazy, and eat too much, and trust your death in the voices of ally cats! But that is the moral. You shouldn't swallow a horse because you shouldn't be crazy, and you most certainly shouldn't eat too much, and you ate the horse because you trusted your death in the voices of ally cats.
The moral of this chat is: You are not Gene Weingarten. Obviously, I am not a middle aged man with a funny mustache and a shiny Pulitzer on my non existent resume, and I haven't ever written a very adorable book on old dogs. Obviously I'm a fifteen year o ld girl with more tracks in my mind than hot wheels. I think I'll create a rap lyric of that one day; however, it's true. I can't talk about something deep and make it funny, I'll talk about something deep and make you uncomfortable. I think if I ever ran for elections, I'd be a horrible date, and I wouldn't even get my last page in the Washington Post Magazine of a feminist and a man with a funny mustache making an essay of me.
I'd choose a zombie over an alien. Zombies are predictable, and humans have a natural fear of the unknown. What I didn't know was that Gene Weingarten is a genius, and I tried to disprove him the same way an explorer in the 1600's would declare an inhabited country his own. I don't know you, so I'll just take you over, go away. My house doesn't live the mamosa life, we live the one of respect. And that's what I've got for the last page of the Washington Post magazine.
* I didn't actually think this, I wanted to make an editorial of not being able to, and redundancy, and about one of the Editorial Gods.Ya dig?
Also I'm so sorry the color is white blogger did that idk why

Let's Chat about Trippy Deaths and Toilets and Camels

             If you want to be my lover, you gotta go and read my journals from when I was 3 and 4, and get to know me that way. I suppose it works if you want to be my friend, but I don't want to be high maintenance. Last week, I was looking over chats with my friends from middle school on Gmail, because I positively refuse to get a facebook for the same reason. Gmail is a bit like a diary, it's a way to record how your day went, and what happened, and how you felt, and it's lame. I don't want to loose that on Facebook.
           So, to secure my decision, I looked at my Gmail Chats from 2000-2002. These were ones I had at Takoma Park Nursery School, and they are very, very trippy. I've been told I make a lot of trippy art, and I'd like to disclose that it didn't start in my 8th grade IMP, or in my 4th grade story about some guy in the sky who recruits people to explode houses (I really don't remember). It started with this:

Thursday (September)   2000

       I saw a camel in the zoo he was in a cage. I was with my dad. Landon wanted his dolphin. Daddy took it away, Because then they couldn't take it to school.

I drew a lim. He's funny as snoopy. Snoopy is on the video.

September 19 00

     I drew you when you were a baby. When you were crying. When you were boring in your mommy's stomach. When you were going to school.

(the Mom was acting like a baby is who the mom who Aidan is talking to).

              I was almost three and a half. As of September 19,2000, exactly a week short. I haven't been much of a talker, but I've been a writer. Since I had the nerve to tell this mother I drew her as a baby, and she was boring in her mother's stomach, I guess it hasn't always been so. What I can draw from this is that I've always been a trippy person, and that's an issue I must have had when I was a baby, boring in my mother's stomach. My writing skills progressed quickly:

Sept. 21

When Landon Went to the Zoo

       Landon said "How could I go to School?" "Why can't I take my dolphin to School?"

Landon cried before he went to school.

The End

P.S. Landon ate waffles

Ok I suppose not. But I wasn't so bad at using dialogue, yeah? The rest of the Fall was my camel phase, when I approached the art of writing in complete paragraphs. I'd like to retract my "trippy statement". This stuff I wrote isn't the stuff of LSD, it's deep.

Thursday Sept. 28, 2000

             I'm drawing a camel. My camel is picking up people. He is very red and he has a two leg. He has a boo-boo. He's going to feel better. My camel is to the doctor. My doctor is Dr. Ferraki. He is going to be covered in red hot in the back. The camel came out of the doctor.

Thursday Oct 5

         A camel-black sky. The camel is playing under the sky. Hide and seek with his friends under the sky too. The friend's name is Dale and I don't know who the other friends are.

Oct. 12

          To market, to market to buy a fat pig. To market to market. Home again, home again. To market to market to buy a fat goose, home again, home again. She worked hard. She went to bed and she was sick and she hurt her leg on the car.

           I was a genius. I had refrained from my talk of camel to really comment on the expenses of fat pigs, of fat gooses, of how much work it takes to buy one, and all of the pain it may cost. On paper, with extended margins and messy pre-school teacher writing, this stuff takes up a half a page. Each piece is accompanied with a drawing. Perhaps the last of the camel phase works may depict this.

Thursaday Oct. 19, 00

         This is a baby camel. His name is Kana. Kana is going to be colored. He is going to be blue. He is going to have hair. Now J used to wake some red hair. Last night J was in Susan (the other preschool teacher, I was in Lesley's group) class.

Kana got hurt last week. The ambulance picked her up and the doctor dropped her stomach. Now she's better.

The End.

October 26, 2000

         This the camel named Baby. Baby Camel. Baby Camel went "Mommy, why don't you have color eyes." And this is the morning sun and the sun went down and down. In the evening. In the blue sky it was morning. It was a beautiful blue sky and black sky. Good morning said the morning. They went all the way home and get the stroller.

         I was a genius because this is absolutely the best piece of adolescent disillusionment to the beauty of color relations in the world there is. This is why I still write. But it didn't get much better than this until March, when I had turned 4, and I  wasn't some basic genius kid anymore. In  March through May, I saw the world. I saw it's pain, and it's loss, and I saw how it was hard to live.

This is obviously an Allegory, but the rest is real (I promise):

22 March 01

           This is called the Wizard Mommie of the Whole World. She didn't have children. Her children died. She put her head in the toilet. The Wizard Daddy said "Don't put your head in the toilet, wife." The three little pigs came in and ate them up. And the Queen said "Don't eat them up." And that's the end.

April 3, '01

           I made the masterpiece so everybody likes the masterpiece. So I made it for them to take home. The magic war to me. The magic is right there. It turns the masterpiece into a fox. And it turns me into a mommy fox. And I go like this [moves her hands+ fists]. And I jump up and down. And I spin like this and I spin around. The end.

Aidan's Masterpiece

April 18

This picture is about when I scraped my knee. I was running and I scraped my knee very badly and my other hand I scarped again and I was angry. I went to my house and we had spaghetti in the night time and last night Mommy was in my bed. Remember when she was in my bed last time. She was in my bed two times. Last night Mommy was angry because I peed on the floor.

Maybe I didn't have the social skills not to give too much information, but let's remember I was newly 4, and this is the behavior of one of that age. I was smart. I made a masterpiece about War when I was 4, I made an allegory about toilets and the three little pigs. I was Aidan Keys: Girl Realist.

April 25

          Once in the nighttime I was sleeping and I decided to sleep with my mommy. Last night when my dad was watching me I got sick, and I then I was not. In the morning I got my heart shirt on. 

         Yesterday I wanted beads. And my mommy said "no, I can't get beads." She wanted to find some beads for me but she didn't. 

And that is the end of my story.

          I've never been much of a princess girl. I thought kissing was disgusting. I thought barbies were lame, and I thought playing with objects was for weirdos like my brother to do. I liked to draw, and I liked to make things. I liked fairytales. I liked stories, and so me and my genius incorporated my discovery of the horrors of the earth and fairytales to make May:

May 1, 2001

         That is Jack in The beanstalk and The mommy said "The dragon's husband..." and he goes near him and he ate him up.

He got out and showed mommy his face,

"I killed a giant and he's not going to come back 'cause he died."

May 10

          Once upon a time, there was a little girl and she was 2. And I wanted my mommy and daddy and they died. And I wanted Jasmine (my Gramma's old cat) but she died and Roxy (My gramma's old cat) but she died too.

         Ok, ok, sure maybe I took it too far with the whole death thing. I was 4, and approaching death! I was still a genius, because I was that deep. And in my corresponding masterpiece, I used black. I had the skills of connotation to do so! 

This is why my parents didn't send me to therapy (they saw I was a master of story development, that's all):

Th, May 17, 2001

       A sky with purple clouds, all different shapes. This is a lady- she has a house- a square house. A roof is on the house. And she has a bird with wings and his name was Cawcaw. And a bird named Sayay and that's her sister. Cawcaw is three and Sayay is eight.

The End

That's not the end. The house is like this. Here is the door and here is the tree.

        A Master of Story Development was what I was, and it certainly didn't end once I was no longer a red square, or in Lesley's class, and Lesley and I had stopped chatting so that she could write down all my thoughts which corresponded to the picture next to it. No, the chat continued into the Summer, and I hadn't lost my trippy, camel, dialogue, uncomfortable talk of death, or my stylish naming skills at all.

Summer 2001

        The camel was walking. The cukoo fin-bird- his name is Andrew. Andew said "My wife died, you know." Then the camel said, "Oh, your wife died?" The camel's name is Andrew also. They're both named Andew.

"I'm dreaming about Andrew. I'm 3 years old," said the camel. Then the bird said "I'm 6 years old."

          So is the beginning of a classic story to dust on the bookshelves of thousands of literature savvy Americans I plan to write Summer 2013. In this year, a week ago, when I was assessing my internet diary, I shared one of the pages with Brianna because it was that entertaining. She responded a bit terrified, and even though I was quite sure it was because it was between this girl who I'll name KiD, I asked why.

"You haven't changed in 2 years."

I thought the same, I was trippy in the eighth grade, and I was a spazz, and I really liked the Strokes, and I was really awkward, and I wasn't the best at knowing what to say next, and I had an a million track mind.

But then, I was like that when I was four, in the last page of Aidan's Journal: Lesley's 3's Class 2000-2001 TPCNS.

6 Sept, 2001

The Wife Having a Baby Inside her Tummy

          Mrs. Grill and Mr. Grill had a baby named Brianna. Mr. Grill said "Can I see the baby?" Mrs. Grill said "No, you may not. The baby is inside my tummy." Then they went to the hospital and the baby came out and said "Mama". They lived happily ever after.

The End.

Written by Aidan

Illustrated by Aidan.

                                                                                                                                                                6.30 pm  November 18, 2012

I've been thinking of getting a Facebook, but would you really want that as a status on your Dashboard?

Nice 2 chat w/ u

g2g 

Peace

*I was being totally sarcastic here (in a way). All Diary Entries are real, made possible by my parents and my Pre School Teacher Lesley (whom I called Weswey because I had a speech impediment).