Monday, June 25, 2012

Experience is the death of imagination.

Wednesday, June 20, 2012

The other day I watched a Three's Company rerun and there was a CAL WORTHINGTON FORD commercial during it. For one brief shining moment, it was my sunny 80s LA childhood.*

Also, life imitates art, or at least my blog. The Crimimal Minds episode I watched last night featured an awesome TABLE FORT! Don't tell me we don't all wanna go back there. The world can't touch you behind FORT SHEETS. They're like a protective force field.

*LA is still very sunny. But somehow, not as sunny.

The one great regret of my life is that I will never marry a man named Cactus.

Saturday, June 16, 2012

I think this is also why people turn into their parents. Not because they're compelled to, but because they want to return to their childhoods and turning back into themselves as children would land them in the loony bin. So they find the next best thing.

Also, we need Adult Couch Forts. I think this needs to be a revolution or something.
Well I'm still me, and I still have a cat*. So, there's that.

*Not the same cat, of course. But cats never change. That's one of the many things I love about cats. They all purr, and have 100 different meows, and curl into balls on piles of your stuff, and knock things off of other things, and swish their tails like poetry, and give you that crinkly cat look when they're happy.

Perhaps I'll move my couch fort to an island inhabited solely by cats. Yes, that sounds about right.
See, I just want everything back. That old orange flowered sofa? I want that back. The coffee table that looked like tree bark. The wagon wheel things out in the yard. THE YARD. The fruit trees. The rosebushes. The piano. The stereo with the giant speakers. All the ridiculous heavy wooden furniture that wasn't actually ridiculous at all because it was alive, it had a soul, not like today's disposable crap. I don't care how light it is, I WANT REAL FURNITURE. I want all my books back. And my cats. And my different colored socks. I want a big kitchen. I don't want an econo-life. I want things to smell like something, and feel like something. I want to goddamn FEEL again.

I miss my mom cooking and my dad reading the paper every morning. People laugh at tradition. WHY? It's what all our FREAKING HAPPY MEMORIES are made of!! And we've laughed it all away, like it's funny, like we can do better than those fools, but really, who wouldn't want to return there, to their safe place? Why have we bombed our own safe houses? Who are the fools now?

If there's one lyric I not only wish I'd written but feel like I could have written it's, "If I had a billion dollars, I'd buy back my old room." This is from an obscure 80s song they played late at night on MTV when I felt all rebellious! staying up past my bedtime. (I sincerely hope it was on a school night too.) What's funny is, I was a kid when that song came out and the line didn't mean anything to me, but it stuck with me all these years. And now it's gospel.

Life has pretty successfully kicked my ass. And all I want is to go back to my couch fort. I could live there, there was always room for snacks. And a cat.