Just finished Running with Scissors, and my final thought was "wow what a quirky book!" But the thoughts that flooded in afterward were intense. The whole story was very strange but exhilarating, its really refreshing to finally get to read something that strays so much away from reality. Every time I picked up the book, it was like escaping into another world where the worries and dilemmas I go normally through have no significance whatsoever in comparison. I just loved how there were so many detailed scenes in the book that were so hilarious. Whenever there was a incident that seemed like a complete disaster, the author always knew how to switch it around, making the situation seem like something humorous.
Overall its one of those books where it gets you thinking, I feel like just reading the book makes you more mature in someway. Seeing how the narrator faces insanely chaotic situations, makes you feel like you can deal with any shit life throws at you: 'when life gives you lemons, make lemonade'. Now I feel like being psychiatrist, it seems like it would be an mind-boggling yet entertaining profession.
"According to Hope, Freud died of kitty leukemia. According to me, Freud died of being trapped in a laundry basket for four days without food or water. "
"You can't come in here, this is my mastabatorium! "
"The stress had caused the psoriasis on Hope's scalp to produce extraordinary quantities of snowy flakes...The flakes would collect on her shoulders and scatter down the front and back of her shirt. This gave her the appearance of an actress taking a break from shooting on the set of a blizzard."
"Look at your damn face," my mother said. You've got the face of a man twice your age. Thirty-seven years old going on eighty."
My father was very drunk by now and the only way he could imagine restoring silence to the house was to stop my mother from breathing.
"Get your damn hands off of me," my mother screamed, struggling against my father's hands, which had found their way around her neck.
"Shut the hell up, you bitch." His teeth were clenched.
"I hate my life," Natalie said again.
"I hate the ceiling," I said.
The ceiling was low, much too low for the room, much too low for the old Victorian house. The ceiling wasn't smooth either; it was bumpy, like the backs of a woman's legs. The ceiling had cellulite.
"It's old," Natalie said, as if this meant I should forgive it.
"It's horribly depressing."
The yellow light against the yellow walls against the old wood floor, itself a shade of yellow mixed with brown. The total effect was not cheery. It was crushing. It was yellow coming down on you. It was...
"Let's get rid of it then," Natalie said suddenly, looking around.
"Rid of what?"
"Let's take down the ceiling."
I smirked at the idea.
Hope slammed her book shut. "Natalie, you are so foul-mouthed. What's the matter with you, hm? All day long you whine about wanting to go to Smith and you can't say ten words without suing the F-word."
"That's right, Hope. I'm just a foul-mouthed whore. I'm your little slut sister."
"That's enough," Hope said.
"Go fuck yourself," Natalie gave her the finger. Then she turned to me. "Let's go to McDonald's. Let's get some McNuggets."
"Oh, bring me some?" Hope said sweetly.
Natalie snickered darkly. "We'll bring you a dead squirrel if we happen to see one on the side of the road."
"Help me lift this fucking mattress. We're going to turn a negative situation into a fun situation."
We are able to ease the mattress into the swimming pool out front without making so much as a splash.
The television set, the chair and both nightstands didn't make much of a splash either.
"Hey motherfucker," Natalie screamed toward the front office of the motel. "I did like you said and looked everywhere and I still didn't find my earrings."