PARADISA LOST

We should hold some kind of baby pageant. Not your typical big hair big dress Jonbenet Ramsey type pageant. More like, who has the weirdest kid or something, with a special award to the worst parents.

Just a thought for next year, I guess. That way people don't freak out if their kid has some special power or looks fuckin' ugly or, I'unno, starts walking on the ceiling like mine does--

[Dictated slightly away from the journal]

No. How many fucking times, May? You spray that shit at me again and you can forget that ice cream daddy promised you. Jesus Christ.

[Nancy is a woman on a mission.

She's hungry, simply put, and making her way down toward the kitchen, journal in hand.]

You know what this place needs?

A fucking In-N-Out.

If you don't know what that is, you have not truly lived, and I kind of feel sorry for your ass. And now you're thinking, "Shit! What the fuck is missing from my miserable existence?" I will tell you.

In-N-Out is a fast food restaurant. And it's not like McDonald's or Burger King of whatever the hell other chains there's a shitton of. Those places don't even hold a candle. They get their frozen french fries on truck every other day just like their patties, and they crank out processed food to feed to the masses because it's convenient and those people don't know any better. Even if the Chicken McNuggets are pretty good.

This fast food place makes all their food right there in front of those giant windows for everyone to see. They dice their potatoes right in front of you. That is how fresh they are.

And yeah, okay. I could easily wish up some right now. But that doesn't include the experience of waiting in a crowded place with fifty other hungry people waiting for their number to be called like it's the fucking SuperLotto, or like Bob Barker's gonna call you down because you're the next contestant. And it certainly doesn't include those paper hats the employees wear that they give you if you ask for one.

Fuck, I really miss that place--

[It's at this point that Nancy has made her way down to the kitchen, yanks open the refrigerator door, and an endless sea of brightly colored eggs begins to pour out from within. The sound is loud, much like a waterfall of plastic, and they pool onto the floor and around her feet until she is knee deep in easter eggs.]

You have got to be kidding me.

[The journal opens and there's the sound of a tape dispenser being used.]

Found another photo of our friend the slender pedo. This one was in a photo album that belonged to the Hendersons, whoever the hell they are.

[She then tapes a photograph to the journal page for all to see, especially the children.]

( ooc cut for image )

Look familiar? I want to know why this fucker only shows his face to kids, but seems pretty damn photogenic when someone gets out a camera.

[Backdated to earlier in the evening...

Nancy is currently seated in a little cafe whose name she couldn't be bothered to remember. She's sipping on tea, journal set in front of her.]

If anyone cares to join me, I'm in the city doing a little "shopping." Find me, and you win.



[For those in the city, Nancy will be walking all around, poking her head into the stores and taking advantage of her Five-Finger Discount. She's not particularly choosy of where she wanders or what wares are offered in these stores. Chances are if it catches her interest, she will take it.]


(ooc: OPEN! In person or via journal, anywhere, everywhere, however, whenever, I don't even care, just go for it.)

[This song is playing when one enters the sizable apartment. The furniture is pristine and bright, and tall high glass windows overlook quite the view of Los Angeles.

There's a tree not taller than Nancy herself, but she's knelt down beside it. An older woman is with her, and they're currently throwing tinsel at the tree--and at each other. Cookies are nearby, half-eaten, but there's plenty to go 'round.

Also, hope you like Connie Francis, because that's all the jukebox seems to be playing. This song plays after, followed by a seemingly endless string of holiday songs sung by the lady herself.]

Next year, we should get one of those ugly ass flocked trees just to do it. [laughs... genuinely!]

Never in my entire life have I heard so much bitching and moaning. It's a fucking dress! Get over it!

Yeah, the colors are a bit dull and the necklines are high but are you really going to ruin the "holiday cheer" because you're too butch to wear a skirt? I hate these clothes and you don't see me crying about it. Goddamn. Is everyone's periods synchronized?

Next "lady" that complains about her dress over the fucking journal is getting a goddamn corset shoved down her throat. God!