Ella and the Silly/Serious Dialectic

There are times when I feel very much like eighteen, and then there are times where I feel as young as ever. Take this evening for example.

During dinner we chat about the presidential election, children’s book authors, my lunch with Sadie, and British peerage, and my father remarks that he’s very impressed by how much I’ve matured in the past three years. I thank him and feel slightly smug.

However, five minutes later I’m lying on the floor, teasing the cat with a feather, and trying to imitate how a sick dog would whine. Then, the phone rings, and I take off running to answer it, hunched over, making zooming noises, with my arms out like Superman. I almost immediately trip over the edge of the carpet and smack my chin against a chair. It’s Pippa, and I inform her in an overly giddy voice that I have just sent her seven or so links to Downton Abbey stills, along with a link to several interviews with the cast.

Phone call complete, I go back to discussing regional accents and British architecture with my parents until eleven when I decide to go finish reading The New York Times Sunday Magazine and prepare for bed.

It all feels so seamless, like it’s only natural to go from imitating dogs and dangerously running around like Superman to talking about serious topics, when it reality there’s an incredibly sharp deviation in the level of maturity involved. I like the freedom to be goofy and silly without judgement, but I bet that there will come a day where I don’t feel the impulse to do these sorts antics. When that will come I don’t know, but until then I will probably still be making up songs about the things I have to do and pretending to be on a cooking show when I make my lunch.

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Spread your wings, but don’t expect to fly unless you’ve got jet fuel!

You know how sometimes people write about the items around them as manifestations of their person? Yeah well, here are the items on my desk: a tissue box. This represents my ability to relieve people of their boogers i.e. problems. Two mugs that formerly contained passion tea. These indicate that I have no passion. A desk lamp symbolizes the light that shines in my soul to make up for the fact that there are no overhead lights, in my soul that is. There are also an assortment of books which embody my Euclidean spunk.

Moral of the Story:

We must reel up the anchors of material STUFF from the ships of our lives so we can sail the sea, free!

-Courtesy of Cecelia, Preacher of Blockbusting

Cecelia can also be found sermonizing at http://justinapple.tumblr.com/.

Poseidon’s Arrow

Every year when my cousins come to visit, we stage an elaborate fake restaurant meal for the adults.

I definitely consider this year’s effort a success.

Also, here’s a picture of the crazy outfit I was describing yesterday.

In Which Ella Puts on Crazy Get-Ups and Dances Abysmally

My aunt, uncle, and cousins are visiting from California this week, and tonight their kids, Pippa, and I decided to play Just Dance 2 on Pippa’s Wii.

Now, I suck at dancing. Remember how in this post (To Be a Prima Ballerina Assoluta) I wrote about a girl that got kicked out of a ballet class? Well, I also got politely asked not to return to my dance class when I was fourteen. I’m all flailing limbs, and I’m perpetually a few beats behind, racing to catch back up. It’s unfortunate, but I’m too amused by my incompetence to be embarrassed.

So tonight when we decided to play the game, I knew that I would have to do something big to stand out. Naturally, I decided that the game needed costumes. Because, let’s face it, what in life doesn’t need costumes?

I dragged everyone upstairs, and we started putting on silly clothes. And by we, I mean me. I grabbed a pair of Pippa’s neon pink tights, furry pale pink leg warmers, pale blue shorts, and one of my mother’s racing swimsuits. You know, the type that has the intense and crazy swirls of color so you can look just that more impressive and athletic. I put all of it on, tie my hair up in high pigtails, and apply an obscene amount of lipstick and eyeshadow, all the while encouraging the others to get into something spectacularly insane.

Pippa followed my lead, albeit in a much more restrained fashion and minus the makeup, and I got one of my cousins to put on Pippa’s old soccer shorts and wear a fedora and his sweatshirt backwards and the other one to wear my running clothes, the leg warmers that I had ditched because they began to seem like too much,* and her hair in a high ponytail, secured with a scrunchie.

Then, we all proceeded to march downstairs much to the adults’** amusement and play Wii for over an hour. But before I could grab a controller and get started my dad pulled me aside to question me.

“Are you okay?” he said.

I gave him a funny look, because of course I was okay! I was organizing games that involve silly costumes, something I am not apt to do when I’m depressed, anxious, or manic.

And then he reminded me that my I-am-having-the-time-of-my-life expression is very similar to my everything-in-the-world-is-hilarious-let’s-make-six-thousand-trays-of-ice-cubes-reorganize-the-kitchen-and-play-with-bleach look. And when I’m acting nuts like that I do frequently wear weird things.

I know why he asked me what was going on–I do have a habit of going off the deep end–and I don’t begrudge him at all, it just would be nice to be able to act goofy without causing concern.

All that aside, I’m proud to announce that I did win a few rounds***.

*In retrospect, everything in my outfit was too much.

**It’s rather crazy to think that I can be considered one of the adults right now, because I certainly do not act like at times like that.

***Though it mostly was the result of the way I moved the controller and not the quality of my actual dancing, which was hilariously awful.