I have made a discovery that is of great importance

You Should Be In the Indigo Girls

Your all about expressing yourself through music Lyrics are your poetry - think Sylvia Plath meets guitar

What Girl Group Should You Be In?

Happy Birthday To Me

Today I am a lively 126 years old, and I have to say, I'm probably prettier than everyone my age. Leonard says that I shouldn't say things like that about my peers, but then I say "Leonard, are you married to them? No. You think I'm pretty, don't you? Don't you? Please tell me I'm pretty, Leonard!" and then he says yes you are pretty and bakes me something and it is the best birthday.

So Leonard invited everyone over for a surprise party, except that he told me about it because if they actually had suprised me I would have gotten very angry at everyone for keeping secrets from me. So it was just a party party, I guess. Nessa was there with her three children, her husband Clive, her lover Duncan, Duncan's lover Bunny, and Clive's lover whose name I forget because she was actually quite hideous. Bunny is actually a person, which suprised me and disturbed me, but he said I was radiant, so fair enough. We ate some toffee, and played Pin The Coattail On The Arrogant Victorian Man, which is my favorite game, and I won! Of course, since it was my birthday, I didn't have to wear a blindfold. Leonard said that he didn't want me to be sad, but I think that he's just a sore Jew loser.

Then they dimmed the lights, even though it was the middle of the afternoon, and Leonard disappeared (by the way, whenever he does that and someone says "where's Leonard, Virginia?" I say that he's looking for the damned promised land. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA). Then Nessa made me sit in this chair in the middle of the room, and I thought that they were going to start playing Freud and Patient like Vita and I used to play (she's giving me her own party at 3:30 tomorrow morning, she says that the light of the middle of the night makes her look best and she is bringing PRESENTS), but they all started singing. I actually have never heard the "Happy Birthday To You" song, since Father forbid us to change octaves while we were growing up. Then Leonard returned, looking very proud of himself, wheeling with some difficulty a small brass tea cart. Atop the cart was what should have been a chocalate cake, but looked strangely like Lytton Strachey curled up into the fetal position (he did that a lot, it was his alternative to being a conscientious objector) and covered with a few inches of chocolate and marzipan and 126 flaming candles.

Five minutes went by with nothing happening. Ten minutes later, Leonard called for an ambulance, so right now Lytton is in the hospital. It seems that the man is allergic to chocolate, which is odd, because he is a homosexual. Everyone else has left to go to the hospital, but Leonard suggested that I should stay here, he said "Virginia, I think that if you see Lytton Strachey in a hospital bed with a serious illness about him, I am afraid that you would hurt yourself with laughter." I protested, but he was right; Lytton is such a goddamn bearded Nancy Lad that I would give all my birthday presents to see him in a hospital. A few years ago he got a bee sting on his face and cried about it, and I laughed at him and laughed at him until he broke up the engagement, proclaiming through big beardy sobs "If you want to marry a man so that you won't ever have to touch him, you can look elsewhere, VIRGINIA!" But I was laughing too hard to realize the severity of the situation, and anyway, Leonard loves me too much to touch me, so I WIN.

I wonder if Vita can come over early. It would be a shame for all this chocolate and marzipan in the room (Lytton had several convulsions before they carted him off, the pansy) to go to waste, and it should be dark enough by now for us to look at each other.

Yuletide spirit

I always think of Christmas as being either really damned fantastic or really damned unbearable. Sometimes, Leonard gets all miffed about me saying "Well, why should I get you a present?! It's not YOUR HOLIDAY." But then other times he asks me what I want and I say "Leonard, all I want is a Room of My Own!" and then he laughs because I'm funny, and it is a perfect Christmas.

This year they're doing a Christmas Pageant at the local church. Nessa is in charge of the costume and scenery, so she roped me into playing Mary. Or should I say the VirginIA Mary! I was excited about it until rehearsal this evening, with the annunciation:

Gabriel: Mary, fear not, for the Lord has chosen you to bear his only son.
Me: And then what?
Gabriel: What?
Mary: Well, I want to be a carpenter. My betrothed is a carpenter, but I'm actually much better at it than he is, I just don't have the freedom to set up shop by myself
or the money to take care of myself, so I'm marrying him in order to practice my art, even though I won't reap the benefits of it. So, if I bear the Lord's child, can I also gain independence and freedom for myself as a woman?
Gabriel: Virginia...do we have to go through with this now?
Mary: The real question, sir, is why did we not go through this 1900-some-odd years ago?

So I'm not playing Mary anymore, which is just as fine with me. Actually, I'm very upset about it. Leonard somehow got cast as one of the three wise men, alongside Duncan and Lytton. Nessa says that she'll see if I can get back in the show, on the condition that I avoid being too "shamelessly modern". And to apologize for yelling at the priest for his "stupid cloth thing" and his "processional enslavement".

I might be missing the spirit of the holidays. It's just that Saint Nicolas hasn't returned my letter this year, which he usually does promptly (though his handwriting looks strangely familiar and Jewish). Here's what he wrote me last year:

Dear Virginia,

Thank you for your letter, as always. I liked the pun about wanting a "room of your own", since it was based on your essay that was quite wonderful. Of course, you know that I can't get you a whole room for Christmas, how ever would it fit on my sleigh! Haha! Hoho! Also, I appreciate your question about my elves pertaining to their "intelligence level", and I am happy to say that they are all quite adept, free-thinking scholars, and should not be, as you said, "shot", just because they're a little smaller than we people. And I am sure that your servants are not as "insufferably niëve and stubborn" as you said.

But on to lighter, happier subjects! This year for Christmas you asked for a shiny red bicycle, so I can guarantee that will find a spot under your tree. I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I can't think of anything to "catch that damned monkey-thing on Leonard's shoulder", because you know well that Mitz is a good, sweet, cute marmoset who would never hurt a fly. Yes?

Well my dear Virginia, I must be off to tend the reindeer. Remember, of course, that everything will turn out well, that everyone loves you very much, and that you are a very gifted woman. Please don't kill yourself.

Yours,
Leon Santa Claus

Thoughts of Writing on a Typey-thing

What is this? I couldn't possibly guess. I was never that spectacular at typing anyway, but something tells me that this "screen" will someday remove the press, which will just give L. no reason to live anymore.

Ha, I can say it!! Stupid L! You and your stupid marmoset aren't creeping over my shoulder every few minutes. "Oh, Virginia, what are you writing?" "Oh, Virginia, don't be soooo saaaad", "Oh, Virginia, are you on your cycles again? You seem to be down in the dumps."

Well you know what, L? I'm NOT on my cycles and I feel FINE. Today I went to the store and some baby was crying and I wanted to get really close to it and act all cooing and stuff so that it would stop crying , then I would reach up and grab a melon and SPLAT. I would hit the stupid thing on the head with a melon!! Not that I don't love kids, really, but the crying ones...was there something wrong with the parents? There must have been. I'm sure I never cried when I was a baby. One day I asked Nessa, while I was standing on the edge of the roof hoping to either end it all or turn into a pretty little bird, I said, "Nessa, I'll do it, watch me!" And she put her arms akimbo and said "Please don't, Virginia. I love you, you know that." And I said "Love me? Do you? Love me? I bet you didn't Love me when I was a BABY, I bet I cried so much you wanted to splat me with something." And she said "No, you didn't cry as a baby, you were perfectly quiet. Now come have tea." So I got down off the tool shed and ate some crumpets. The tea was bitter. I DETEST oolong.