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Moving Day…!

12 Mar

Hello. Good afternoon.

Long story short, I have a new blog with a new name and a new adventure. I am very excited about the new blog and hope you will follow me there or via a service such as bloglovin.

My NEW blog is called Prosentine. This is the URL: http://prosentine.blogspot.com/

I will no longer be updating my wordpress (Bored Alice) blog. Thank you for your support, and I hope to see you over at the new place.

Best Regards,

Ashley Noelle

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Etsy Love – Rent Money

1 Feb

Today’s Etsy love goes to: rentmoney – Kate Martin is an aspiring actor who makes these gorgeous beaded bobby pins. I want all of them! Check out how she associates each pair of pins with great people like Judy Garland and Barbara Streisand–so clever!

kitchen kitsch designs – new at bored alice finery

31 Jan

These necklaces are fresh and colorful. Inspired by Kitchen-Aid appliances! Handmade by me. Available at Bored Alice Finery. Order one today! Because, really…look how cute my packaging is, too:

 

No. 4 – camp confessional

21 Jan

Summer camp was technically seven days and seven nights of early-adolescent debauchery. At least, that’s how we thought of it at the time. We’d play pranks on each other. Fill condoms with whipped cream from a can and smear maxi pads with red magic marker and leave them stuck to the walls when the counselors came to inspect our cabins for order and cleanliness.

My best friend, Karen was lying next to me on the weathered, gray dock that stood above one edge of Lake Timberfall, which was more of a glorified pond than a lake, with green, brackish water that tasted exactly like every summer since I was ten.

I was thirteen then, smeared with sunscreen that smelled like pink chemicals and wearing the new fuchsia bikini my mother would die if she knew I had purchased with my babysitting money. My goal of the summer was to find a boyfriend and to make out with him. A lot.

“There are so many kids this year that there’s no way the adults can keep track of all of us,” said Karen in a voice that told me she was thrilled with the possibility and excitement of all the rule breaking. Back home Karen was a good girl, following the rules and doing well in school. At camp, Karen was an instigator, a loudmouth, a back talker. She spent a good deal of time being lectured by camp counselors and sitting in a room by herself as punishment for some misdeed.

Karen was the coolest girl I knew apart from me, and as my best friend, we were unstoppable.

“You know what’s weird?” Karen said, dreamily staring up at clouds that barely seemed to move in the blue, perfect sky. So many of our conversations started this way, with the realization that something was weird.

“Hmm?” I responded.

“It’s so weird, how like, one minute everything can be so perfect, and the next minute everything is going so, like…wrong,” Karen said softly. The strain of her mind being blown by this realization was evident in her voice. I knew what she was talking about. It was this boy she liked, Lonnie. Sometimes it seemed like he liked her, too. He would spend time talking to her and she’d just glow. Then there were other times when he’d ignore her or make fun of her when his friends were around and she wouldn’t smile the rest of the entire day.

“Totally weird,” I agreed.

Pondering the oddities of existence as a human on planet Earth with your best friend is, was, and always will be one of the finest things in life. If you’ve never done it, make a point to do so for at least two minutes tonight and thank me in the morning.

Days at camp were spent in little classes broken up by meals in a hall that seemed gigantic then, chanting obediently at the appropriate times, singing songs, and complaining when you had KP duty. It was like being a little soldier, but with more archery and fewer guns. Okay, no guns at all, really. Just the actual threat of other kids spreading rumors about you, which could be almost as bad as being shot, I thought.

On the second day of camp, someone made up a rumor that Jenny, a girl from our cabin had a sick obsession with hot dogs and had actually been caught by one of the camp counselors stealing them from the kitchen. The rumor went on to say Jenny was planning to add the stolen hot dogs to the stash of hundreds she kept in a locked suitcase under her bed.

Hot dogs. Locked in a suitcase. Under her bed. Everyone believed this.

Jenny was a quiet girl with a sad face, an easy target. She spent the remainder of camp on her own, unable to shake the reputation that she was a disgusting hot dog theif/hoarder. Other kids, especially the girls laughed and whispered to one another behind cupped hands every time they saw her. Sometimes Jenny would wake me up at night with a whimpering cry from across the cabin, her form shaking beneath her sleeping bag in the near total darkness. I listened, frozen as she cried herself back to sleep. I never said anything to her, but I did lie in bed going over and over in my mind hypothetical conversations I could have with her, in which I was always the sweet, helpful heroine who talked Jenny out of hanging herself over loving hot dogs so much.

>>>>>.<<<<<

It was night again and time for the ritual known as “campfire,” in which every single person in camp walked in what was supposed to be silence–but was more often a parade of giggles–to a large clearing in the woods where an enormous fire was blazing in a pit. There we heard announcements for the coming day, surprises about activities that weren’t listed in the camp brochure that were supposed to excite everyone, but always left me feeling bored and empty. And then the strangest part, called “testimonials,” when people would randomly stand up in front of the group and confess to their deepest, darkest sins. I couldn’t understand why they did it. Maybe it was the darkness, or the knowledge that most of the fellow campers were strangers you’d never see again until next summer, or the odd phenomenon of the emotional frenzy campers would whip themselves up into year after year, as though it was what was expected. As though summer camp was a place to purge demons, or to have a scheduled, on cue nervous breakdown.

One girl my age stood up and told us all about how she was addicted to sniffing hairspray to get high. She said she kept at least four bottles of the cheap, Suave aerosol cans in her backpack at all times, just in case she needed a fix. She sniffed hairspray in the bathrooms at school, in her room at home, at the mall. Her parents didn’t know and if they found out, they’d send her to juvie, she just knew it. She was scared this hairspray sniffing thing was a real problem. She burst into tears near the end of her speech, and fifteen kids crowded around her, hugging her and putting their hands on her back and head in a show of support.

A boy got up and said he felt ashamed of his lack of ability at sports. He said his dad pushed him to play basketball and he hated every minute of it. He didn’t want to disappoint his dad, but he was sick of the other guys making fun of him in the locker room, calling him names he couldn’t repeat and threatening to kick his ass. He couldn’t tell his father the other guys on the team hated him. He said he’d rather die than his father find out no one wanted him on the team. The boy’s voice cracked and he stopped talking. Kids surrounded him, whispering encouragement, patting him on the back.

I just sat there on the grass, wracking my brain for any dark secrets I may have that would make me seem cool and mysterious. I couldn’t think of any that weren’t just completely uncool and embarrassing, so I kept my mouth shut. Karen never told any of her secrets either, though I knew she had them.

At the end of all these true confessions we had a prayer in which the entire group would join hands. This was my favorite part because I would always position myself in such a way that I would be holding hands with a boy, which gave me a little thrill. I had my eye on one of the counselors that year. His name was Rudy and he had curly brown hair and bad acne scars. He was thin and not at all athletic, but he was hilarious and to me that made him the hottest guy at camp. I held his hand during the prayer and rubbed my thumb back and forth across the base of his palm and at the top of his wrist. I thought this was extremely erotic, but he never said anything about it. In fact, he never looked me in the eye again.

When the prayer was over we walked solemnly back toward our cabins. Karen and I ran to catch up with the two boys we liked best who weren’t counselors, Lonnie and Joe. Karen loved Lonnie, so I supposed I loved Joe. Any chance we could get to spend time with them alone, flirting and showing off, we took. I was cold and Lonnie let me wear his beloved White Sox jacket, which made Karen sneer at me. I just gave her a look like I didn’t know what she meant and smiled to myself, knowing I was messing with her a little. When we reached the door to our cabin, we all stood there for a while, not wanting the night to be over. I gave Lonnie back his jacket, and he and Karen decided she would walk Lonnie to his cabin. Karen was probably trying to leave Joe and I alone, since Joe was Lonnie’s best friend and I was her best friend, it was her goal to get Joe and I together.

I was still upset that Rudy hadn’t returned the gesture of my stroking his hand and wondered silently to myself if I’d ever get a boyfriend. Maybe no one really liked me at all. Maybe I was ugly. It was a thought that had crossed my mind many times before, so maybe it was true. My nose was too big. My belly button was weird. I was ugly. Maybe I was on the verge of being like Jenny, stuffing stolen hot dogs into a freaking suitcase and spending all my time alone. Then again, that was just a rumor, wasn’t it?

Well, wasn’t it?

Maybe I’d get so upset about not having a boyfriend on top of having to listen to Jenny the Hot Dog Lover cry and whimper all night like a fat baby puppy crying for milk, that I’d resort to sniffing hairspray. Only, I didn’t buy the aerosol kind. I only had the squirt bottle kind and I imagined myself standing in front of the mirror, squirting it into my face, eyes closed and inhaling deeply. That seemed gross. I didn’t want to end up that way. I needed a boyfriend. Karen had Lonnie and if I didn’t have someone, I’d be alone. I looked up at Joe.

“Can you believe that guy’s dad?” Joe said, his voice serious. He was standing too close to me and I was leaning against the cabin door, shaking a little without the warmth of Karen’s boyfriend’s jacket.

“Yeah, I know,” I said. “It’s so sad.” I sniffed a little, a nervous habit.

Joe must have thought I was crying. He put his arms around me and swayed back and forth, like awkward dancing. I put my arms around his waist, feeling the heat of his chubby body. I was a combination of disgusted and in awe of the fact that a boy–any boy–was holding me, rocking me back and forth, paying attention to me. This had never happened before. Was this love? Was Joe going to kiss me?

Well, was he?

Suddenly I was crying. Hot, irrational tears streaming from my eyes and into Joe’s t-shirt. He held me tighter and we just stood there, swaying together in the night, crying and not speaking a word.  This became a ritual of sorts. Every night after campfire was over, Joe would walk me to my cabin and we’d stand there swaying in each other’s arms as I cried. It was never difficult for the tears to come. Night after night, on command, I would cry the moment we got back to my cabin. Right on cue. Sorrowful, pathetic, mournful sobbing into Joe’s shoulder.

Night after night.

I wasn’t sure if that made Joe my boyfriend or not, and he never kissed me. It felt good, though, the attention from a guy. I had never had that and I sometimes thought about what that might mean. Usually while I was in bed, wide awake after Jenny woke me up with her own nightly sob-fest. It had something to do with my father, I decided. My father who was hardly ever around, and when he was around only proved himself to be a source of pain and cruel criticism, not love.

Was I in love with Joe because I hated my father?

Freud would have the answer, I thought. I scanned my mind for anything I knew about Freud, but nothing much came up. A face with glasses and a white beard, something about a complex, a fixation. Maybe I had a complex of some sort. I just knew it all had something to do with my father and that Freud would have something smart to say about it. Something that made sense of the whole thing.

>>>>.<<<<

When camp was over we all went home with our suitcases full of dirty clothes (and for some of us, hot dogs…or hairspray) and attempted to readjust to our regular lives and answer the millions of questions our parents eagerly asked about our time at camp. When Karen started talking to me again after my wearing Lonnie’s jacket, we spent the last few days of summer before school started up again lying on beach towels on the sidewalk outside her house, attempting to re-live those fine days on the dock at camp.

“You know what’s really weird?” I said to Karen from my place next to her on my favorite flamingo-covered beach towel.

“What?” Karen asked, tilting her sunglasses up a bit, squinting at me.

“It’s so weird that someone could spend every night holding someone else while they cry and then never even kiss them or like, answer any of the letters written to them by that person.” I had sent ten letters to Joe, one even included a lock of my own hair, which I thought was romantic. He had never written back.

“Totally weird,” Karen agreed. She knew exactly who I was talking about, even though I had never told her about the letters. And then, in true best friend form she added, “I bet he’s gotten addicted to sniffing goddamn hairspray.”

It was the first time I had ever heard Karen say a swear word. We burst into laughter that undoubtedly annoyed the entire neighborhood and rolled over to make sure our tans were even.

We grew up a little.

~fin~

Lovely iPhone Goodness

14 Dec

My new obsession is finding the perfect iPhone case for my beloved friend and companion, my iPhone 4. I stumbled upon Society6 last night where one can upload and sell artwork. I do have a shop for my fine art prints on Etsy, but Society6 is great because they do the printing and shipping for you. My favorite part is that they create iPhone cases with your artwork. What a great service!

Here are my current favorites for iPhone 4 & 4s:

FOOD FOR MODELS 

SUN + HORSE 

ACORN COLLECTION

LIKE I SAID

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