By Katherine Tylevich

I’m sorry ’80s Style Unicorn, but I’m going to have to let you go for the season, Patricia reasoned with one of the vintage-chic stickers on her notebook. “Your service has been much appreciated by me and everyone who complimented me on my unique steeze last school year, but the ’80s is defs on the out and out, and I’m afraid Miss Patricia Marcel is all about the up and up. You know what I’m saying, homeboy? No H feelings?” “Totals H feelings, bia. You’re laying me off,” ’80s style Unicorn huffed. “What am I supposed to tell my family? I have a dozen miniature replicas of me to feed.”

“’80s style Unicorn, you guys don’t eat! Okay? I know that much. I’ve only been carrying you around in my backpack for like, what, a year?” Patricia grew more and more furious with each word. “I’ve already given you more publicity than you could have ever gotten with some namby pamby poseur who did ’80s all the way into fall ’05. I predicted the ’80s were coming last summer and gave you an effin head-start in the fashion race, alright? So, don’t try to pull one over on Patricia Marcel with all that eating' bullpoop. All you do is stick to things, and I know that. So why don't you stick to not bugging me for a while, okay?"<br /><br /> Patricia pulled '80s Style Unicorn off of her notebook passionately, only to expose a $1.25 red price tag. And that's where I come in. That price tag, my good reader, is me.<br /><br /> "'sup, 'sup, my up and coming pup?" I holla'ed at Patricia the day we first met.<br /><br /> "What?" she asked, confused.<br /><br /> "Just seeing how you doing, that's all, that's all."<br /><br /> "Ew. Are you, like, hitting on me?" Patricia asked.<br /><br /> "In your dreams, maybe. Because, sugar, I don't come cheap."<br /><br /> "Uh, yeah you do. You were only, like, a dollar."<br /><br /> "In notebook years that practically makes me a supercentenarian," I corrected her.<br /><br /> "Ew. So, are you, like 112 years old?"<br /><br /> "I meant that as a metaphor. I'm 'spensive. If love has a price, that is."<br /><br /> "What is your deal?"<br /><br /> "I am a deal, baby, and I can afford to be one, if you know what I'm sayin'."<br /><br /> "Go on..."<br /><br /> "Flaunt thisanti-mod’ notebook as a simple' journal for your thoughts this year, sweet thang, and you'll see a 61% increase in popularity, jealousy and compliment points on the Dow Jonesin' To Get Ta Know Ya scale."<br /><br /> And that's where I had her hooked ...<br /><br /> I explained to Patricia that pricey "personal diaries" were, as the French say, super-cool, maybe two months ago ("Don't pull a junior high on me, Patrish!" I warned. "Locks andKeep Out’ stickers are so beyond losr this year, they’re basically l”ser!”). Don’t get me wrong, dishin’ the what-what on your main squeeze or venting about how lame the ‘rents are is still in like woah (never been woah-er, in fact), but if you wanna play the popularity game so competitively you’re basically playing solitaire, you’ve gotta be writing your thoughts down in a journal you bought on sale, bia, otherwise you’re gonna be labeled a diva' when really you're going forprom-worthy tortured artist’ shebang (um, does the name Beck ring a bell, anyone?). Can I get a “hell yeah?”

“Hell yeah!” Particia answered. We’ve been inseparable since. And the results? Well, I’d say the results speak for themselves:

November 12

Dear Journal,

I’ve been totes wiggin’ out that, like, nobody is smart enough to get how precious life is. I mean, what is the deal w/people not taking chances? It’s not like we’re cats! We don’t have 8 homecoming dances to look forward to in our lives, or anything, so ask each other out already!!! Am I the only one smart enough to get life? So, obvi I’ve been slumming, but I wrote a hip-hop rap about it and I feel a little better. Music really is the best medicine, as they say. Artists like me are way lucky to have talent.

Let me throw it down for ya:

Blood curdling,

Hurdling,

Jumping over the hard patches,

Mom don’t get me,

Dad don’t care,

But I’ve got the wind in my hair,

Driving round,

In my Jeep,

Got miles to walk,

Before I sleep,

Give it up for Robert Frost, Bias. He tells it like it is, it’s time for us to do the same.

November 14

Woah! Huge news! I’m so excited I can barely write down my thoughts! So, today, I could totally tell that Daryl Patricks was way diggin’ my introspection & asked if he could read my riffs. Even though I was excited, I was smart about it, @ first I was totally, like: “yeah right & bare my soul?” & then I was all, like “but, I trust you,” and he was, like, “yeah, totes, I’m an artist, too, & artists should talk to each other cuz they have SO many feelings!”& I was, like “I KNOW! No one gets us!” & so he read some of my hip-hop raps &@ first he just stood there silently & was, like “Wow! Wow!”& then he told me to never give up my dreams & that I was way deeper than NE 1 he knew & my journal–which is totally indie & laid back–only goes to show that I’m all about the art. So, long story short: guess who has a date? OMG, I’m so in love, and I owe it all to $1.25 Price Sticker.