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Excerpts from 'SMILE, Leanna! YOU'RE GODDAMN WELL FUCKING WORTH IT!'


by Smiley McGrouchpants


Oct. 14, 2009  (Wed.)

       So here I sit, in that bubble-tea coffee shop on Hawthorne I've been meaning to try [THE VERDICT: Not bad!  not bad at all, in fact!], with a Portland Merchantry folded in half, propped against my leg for support [Thank God for the Merchantry!  It's good for something!], undertaking a "journal" or "diary" (or "journaling," or whatever ... ) and feeling not quite so much the fool as I thought I would, thinking "out loud" (as it were).
       True, something about the cover just "spoke" to me [BREATHE IN ... BREATHE OUT, it says], and at just $5.00 @ Urban Outfitters (am I still cool, for shopping there?  Thanks, I was, like, totally worried (sarc.) for a second there ... ) ... maybe it reminds me of Dr. Andrew Weil, and those "Breathing: The Master Key to Self-Healing" tapes I should probably dig out and listen to again ...
       Or something.

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Dec. 14, 2009  (Mon.)

       Oh my — I really should be getting myself home, to bed.  Tomorrow (today, actually) is WORK! — another day, another dollar!  (sarc. — unless you mean literally.)  It's close to it, for a day's work — I should print my own!  [NOTE TO SELF: look into counterfeiting apparatus, where to acquire presses, plates, etc.] (sarc.) (sarc.)
       Sarc.
       Well, aren't I in a chipper mood tonight!  Too much coffee, I guess.  Up too late.
       Why am I here again, stringing myself out like this, getting all wired and tired so it's harder to sleep? (She asks herself.)
       Why ... not wanting to go back and deal w/all that confusing "life" stuff head-on, of course!
       (Procrastinate, procrastinate.  Ignore your problems and they might forget about you.)
       Fat chance of that, eh?
       Well, you can't blame a girl for trying ...

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April 2, 2010  (Fri.)

       APRIL FOOL'S!
       [Well, not really ... really not really, actually, since it's 12:01 A.M., and not only is it not even the 2nd, it's actually the 3rd.  TWO DAYS too late!]
       Hmm ... the Home Viewing Audience finds all this fascinating, I'm sure ...
       So, anyway: I'm at that coffee shop on NW 23 rd, after a hectic day of running around, dodging pedestrians, making hair-pin turns in the rain, culminating in my 37.5 hours of the week I work to pay the bills for the privilege of living in this fine city (I'm truly grateful!) to find myself, a 26-year-old, utterly friendless and surrounded by spoiled 23-year-olds and their incessant chatter and inane conversation.  It's oppressive.
       Maybe I'll take a page from Michelle Orange — you know, that part in The Sicily Papers where she transcribes the conversation of those two young "business" type guys, who are seated next to her in coach, and all but bellowing in her ear?
       I'll try it.  I'll read the book(s) I brought with me, and everytime I get interrupted — every time my concentration is broken — I'll transcribe the offending sentence/phrase as a sort of self-defense, Ms. Lonelyhearts striking out against the army of poseurs ...
       What's the Sinéad O'Connor line? "By their own words, they will be exposed ..."
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YOU PEOPLE ANNOYED ME TONIGHT AND I WILL NEVER, EVER FORGIVE YOU FOR AS LONG AS I LIVE:
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"It's RAINING?" (fem. voice, said like she's "shocked")
"[Her paper] wasn't just WRONG ... it was the EXACT OPPOSITE OF RIGHT.  Do you know what I mean?" (male voice)
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April 13, 2010  (Tue.)

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YOU PEOPLE HAVE ANNOYED ME TODAY AND I WILL NEVER, EVER FORGIVE YOU FOR AS LONG AS I LIVE:
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"Well, I doubt you'll be able to start a REVOLUTION to OUST me from my POSITION OF POWER."  (male voice, spoken in the too-loud-into-a-cell-phone tone of voice so everyone nearby has to to listen, followed by a pause to listen for the response, and then a "ha-ha" — it's a JOKE!)


       We won't go into why I'm here on a Tuesday.  Oh dearie me, whatever am I to do?
       It's 10:30, getting on to eleven, and the place is none too crowded, given that everyone who has somewhere to go is there, now.
       I fell so "disconnected."  Out of place.  Out of a place — a niche.
       The hours are slipping by, formless, and I have no idea how to organize them, how to occupy myself through them.  It feels like a big emptiness — like any stray thing could strike me and, disproportionate since there's nothing of offset it or keep it in proportion and relegatable-to-the-"back-burner" context, sink me.
       Oh fuck.  Oh dearie me FUCK!

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YOU PEOPLE HAVE ANNOYED ME TODAY AND I WILL NEVER, EVER FORGIVE YOU FOR AS LONG AS I LIVE:
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"Well ... you know what I think?" (female voice, woman yakking into a cell phone, clearly discussing "business" who is — I swear to Goddess — pacing up and down the aisle between tables as she does so, as though this were her own living room/office space)
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                                                [TO BE CONTINUED . . . ]
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