Random House LLC. Illustrations by Joana Avillez. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-. Publication Data. Dunham, Lena. Not that kind of girl: a young woman. About the author: Lena Dunham is the creator of the critically acclaimed HBO series Girls, for which she also serves as executive producer. Editorial Reviews. maroc-evasion.info Review. An site Best Book of the Month, October In an era where twenty-something women are told how to think.
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From C.K. Ralston, the dean of erotic storytellers:Cited as #1 Best Selling Author of Lesbian Fiction on site multiple timesCited as #1 Best. not that kind of girl by lena dunham Immunization Action Coalition â€¢ (). â€• â€¢ maroc-evasion.info maroc-evasion.info â€¢ Item. Not That Kind of Girl. Posted on August 1, by Save PDF. Pages · · MB · 9, Downloads ·English. by Lena Dunham. girls one indian girl.
Except neither of us laughed. It was the first official day of student council elections, and I wanted to get my posters hung up before anyone else, claim the best wall real estate. Across the street, an old lady in a flowered nightgown stared me down from behind her screen door.
I mouthed an embarrassed apology. Autumn finally appeared, darting across her lawn in bare feet. Her black flats were perched on top of the books clutched in her hands, a pair of wrinkled creamcolored knee socks slung over her shoulder. My campaign posters were tucked under her arm.
Careful you dont bend them! I called. I could tell Autumn hadnt bothered to shower that morning, preferring instead to sleep an extra twenty.
I had always been an early riser, but Autumn loved to sleep, so Id make sure to always have a book underneath my pillow whenever we had sleepovers. Lately, I only read SAT prep guides, but thats how I devoured the entire Goosebumps series during middle school next to my snoring best friend.
Autumn crouched down to the open passenger window and tipped her books forward, causing her shoes to fall onto the seat. She brightened when she saw the white paper bag. Your reward for getting up early to help me. I dont need a reward, she said, throwing her books in the backseat and then gently laying my posters on top.
After all, Im your unofficial campaign manager. I wish youd be my official vice president, I said under my breath. Autumn sighed as she dropped into the passenger seat and clicked her seat belt into the latch with way more force than necessary.
You have to let this go. Id posed the idea countless times during the summer and as recently as this weekend, when wed stayed up until three in the morning painting campaign posters.
Id painted one poster with both of our names on it,. Good ideas are hard to let go, I said. She took a big bite of sandwich and got some ketchup on her face.
I handed her a napkin. Look, she said, in between chews. It means a lot to me that you think I could actually do something like this. But its not like I need to be vice president to help with all your projects. Ill still be at every student council meeting, just like Ive been the last three years.
Its not about you showing up to meetings. Its about you living up to your full potential, Autumn. You always say that youre more of a behind-the-scenes person. But thats not true.
Its just a convenient excuse not to be noticed. College admissions counselors dont just want to know that youve participated in extracurricular activities.
They want to see leadership skills. That you can take charge of something.
Autumn opened her Orangina and chugged down about five huge gulps. A tiny part of me thought she might be considering it. Then she changed the subject, asking, What were some of those funny slogans we came up with? I was trying to remember them this morning. I couldnt force my best friend to run for student council.
I knew she had to want it for herself. But that didnt make it any less frustrating. For the rest of the ride to school, we tried to remember the corny slogans that made us laugh so hard this weekend. Except without being sugar-drunk on Dr Pepper and cookie dough, they werent really funny at all. Ours was the first car in the student parking lot. Ross Academy looked beautiful, the sun rising behind the fieldstone walls, sparking off the dew on the thick lawn.
I was so taken with the beauty of our school that it wasnt until Id gotten halfway up the path when I noticed that every single window had been covered over with white paper. Thats weird, I said. Looks like Kevin Stroops seriously stepping up his game, Autumn said. I guess. Kevin Stroop was last years treasurer and, as far as I knew, the only person running against me for president.
Id been counting on an easy campaign, mainly because I was last years vice president, but also because Kevin had made a stupid accounting error that had nearly left us bankrupt. Wed had to enforce a strict. I pulled open the main door and hundreds of pieces of paper fluttered with the fall breeze Id invited in. They werent just taped to the windows. Our entire school had been wallpapered the bathroom doors, bulletin boards, every locker, and the trophy case.
An empty plastic tape dispenser crunched beneath my loafer as I stepped forward. Several dozen others were discarded on the floor, down the length of the hallway. I knew Kevin didnt have the chops to pull off a stunt this big. I pulled a single sheet from the spout of a water fountain. It was a piece of photocopied notebook paper, with a bunch of flaming footballs drawn on it, and a cartoon version of Mike Domski, smoking a cigar and flanked by two busty bikini girls.
Unfortunately, this drawing was no sick fantasy.
Mike Domski actually got girls to like him. Sure, he was a football player, and, yeah, he hung out with the popular kids. But the guy was a total scumbag, preying on girls too stupid to know better. There seemed to be a sad learning curve on that sort of thing. Underneath his drawing, hed actually written Domski 4 Prez.
And he hadnt even bothered to rip the page out properly the bottom left corner was missing and he had proudly photocopied the jagged paper fringe. Mike Domski, I said aloud. Youre kidding. Autumn grabbed the flyer and made a face. Whys Mike Domski running for student council? I actually had to think about it. Maybe to help his college applications? Or just to be an ass.
That was really all the reason someone like Mike would need. Im going to take so much satisfaction in watching you annihilate him. Autumn searched a nearby wall. What are we going to do with all your posters? Hes left no room to hang them up.
This cant be legal! Do you want me to try and find Ms. Dont worry, I said. And then I taped my biggest poster right over a bunch of Mike Domskis stupid cartoon grins. By lunch, Mikes posters had begun to disappear. I wondered if Ms. Bee had gotten word that hed charmed the school secretary for use of her copier and deemed them against election rules.
But no. Kids had been ripping them down on purpose. I watched a line of guys in the. Which basically made me want to puke. Over the rest of the week, I did my best to ignore Mike Domski. It wasnt hard. He wasnt in any AP classes, and we certainly didnt have any friends in common. Still, even from afar, watching him ham up his whole candidacy drove me crazy. The way hed strut around making ridiculous decrees in old English that started with henceforth and ended with evermore, and demanded that people address him as Prez.
But I stayed calm and collected, even when Mike took direct aim at me. It really didnt bother me all that much. Probably because I was one of a rare few at Ross Academy to see guys like Mike for who they really were power-drunk meatheads whod do anything to get a laugh. High school was the best Mike Domskis life would ever get. You could see his entire depressing future written on his dopey face.
Hed get into some mediocre college, fall in love with a pregnant stripper, lose all his money to a get-rich-quick internet scheme.
I might have even felt bad for Mike Domski, if he hadnt been acting like such a jerk. But Autumn hated watching Mike make fun of me, and no matter how stupid his insults were, it ate away at. Like this one time in the cafeteria, when Mike stood underneath one of the banners wed painted together, flashing two thumbs-up and screaming something about me having wicked bubble letter skills.
Autumns cheeks blushed the most awful shade of purpley red, the same as the undercooked steak on her tray. She kept her eyes locked on that steak, pushing a gristly piece back and forth with a plastic fork that was about to snap in her death grip. And then, without warning, she shot straight up, bumping our table so hard my soda splashed on my lab worksheet.
Leave her alone, she said, overenunciating each word in as stern a voice as someone as sweet as Autumn could muster.
I looked up at her with a half-smile, shocked that shed had the guts to say anything. She was shaking, the tiniest quivers. My heart broke, knowing what a good friend I had in Autumn.
If that was hard for anyone to do, it was hardest for her. Mike reacted like Autumn had suddenly appeared out of thin air, with phony surprise and awe. He strutted over to our table, sniffing the air like a bloodhound tracking a scent, and stopped right in front of her. Hey, Fish Sticks! I didnt smell you there! Those words sucked the air out of the entire cafeteria. I couldnt move.
I couldnt look at Autumn.
I just. I had always wondered when the rest of the school would figure out that joke wasnt funny anymore. Or maybe it was something closer to hope. Hope that, with each passing year, people would forget.
But in that moment, I finally understood that would never happen. Someone would say it at our twentieth reunion, and Autumn would have to explain it to her husband. Fish Sticks would get a cheap laugh, somewhere, for the rest of our lives.
It was too easy. Too mean. And I found it piercingly unfair that someone like Mike Domski would never comprehend how much those two words destroyed my beautiful best friend.
Anger rose up inside me like lava. I reached for the closest object and hurled it at Mike. That turned out to be my slice of pizza, and it hit him square in the chest, leaving a triangle stain of oil and sauce and hot pepper flakes behind on his shirt before it fell with a splat on his brown suede shoes.
Oops, I said in my most unsorry voice. A bunch of people gasped, and I even got a few laughs. Mike curled his lip. You know what? I threw out the student council handbook Ms. Bee gave me. But Im sure I saw a whole section about election rules and. Tell you what, Natalie Ill double-check if she has an extra copy and let you know. I rolled my eyes as Mike stalked off. But really, inside, I panicked. Had I ruined everything, just to defend Autumns honor? Had I handed the entire election over, the thing Id been dreaming about and working toward for the last three years, to Mike Domski?
Tears welled up in Autumns eyes. Come on, I said, stuffing our things into my book bag. I didnt want her to humiliate herself even more.
Lets go to the library. Im so sorry, Natalie, she whispered. I hope I didnt get you in trouble. Ill die if you get disqualified! Autumn moved too slow, so I grabbed her hand and pulled her along. You didnt have to defend me like that, I muttered. If she could have just ignored Mike like I did, this wouldnt have happened. She shook her head.
Thats what best friends do for each other, she said with resolve. Autumn wiped her eyes with one hand, and with the other, she squeezed mine tight, the way Id always squeezed hers.
Natalie Sterling wants to be in control. She wants her friends to be loyal. She wants her classmates to elect her student council president. She wants to find the right guy, not the usual jerk her school has to offer. She wants a good reputation, because she believes that will lead to good things. Her memory or imagination serves her well, recreating authentic detail upon detail of childhood experiences with a clarity mine certainly can't.
Her stories are often shocking and frequently depressing a lot of weird family and sex stories , and a lot of simultaneous romanticization of and nostalgia for a life she's still living.
Expect hefty doses of TMI about both the shocking and the mundane. Generally, I think it's good to see her success. The spotlight is so rarely on a woman, and even more rarely for her intellectual talents and not her looks. So, I'm reading this. And I'll be knee deep in an essay when she says things like: I still have a lot of guilt for screaming at Jimmy when he ate a banana I had been "saving", especially since he died [of AIDS] a few weeks later.
I simply waited and asked myself questions: was I strong enough to be an activist? What would it feel like to be the face of AIDS in the industrialised world? Spoiler alert: I was fine. Why would anyone yell about a banana, even if it wasn't at someone dying a horrible, slow, visibly painful and tragic death? Is this supposed to be funny? Be the first to like this. No Downloads. Views Total views. Actions Shares.
Embeds 0 No embeds. No notes for slide. Bristol and Ronny have been married for five years.. Spying on him to discover why he seems barely interested in her anymore, she is shocked to learn that her man has been totally swept up in a hotwife fantasy, starring her and other men. Will bold decision of hers signal the end of their happy marriage, or will it be the beginning of a new, even hotter relationship between the two of them?
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