Pam and Paula are only eight and, like our mother, they're hopelessly ordinary. since we have different fathers I can only assume that my uniqueness is due to some latent gene in the ceps that skipped about twenty generations till it finally emerged in me. in my family I'm like a flamingo in a flock of pigeons. expecting them to understand me would be like expecting a cat to understand hamlet. I mean, really........ do tortilla chips fly? is the moon made of cheese?
anyway, we used to live in new York city, in this great old building on the upper west side, but last year my mother moved us to a ranch house in the soporific suburb of dellwood (or as I affectionately call it, deadwood), new jersey.
I had no trouble getting everybody at school to call me Lola. I told my teachers that even though the register said my name was Mary.
YOU ARE READING
confessions of a teenager ~drama queen_my young life and hard times
Novela Juvenileverything im about to tell you occurred exactly as I say~ even the things that seem so incredible, so totally out of the solar system, that you think I must have made them up. and nothings been exaggerated, not the teeniest, tiniest, most subatomic...
