Daydream Nation Page #4

Did she wear her whistle?

- Actually, I spent half the evening

talking her out of suspending you

for calling her "gym b*tch."

Look. For the first time,

you're acting your age;

and it really doesn't suit you.

- Oh, right back at you, Mr. Polanski.

- This is great.

You're...

... great, but...

but you gotta be aware

that people are watching me.

- Does it make you feel special?

- Could we stop with the sarcasm, please?

- Sorry.

- I wanna spend the weekend with you

at my place.

I'll cook dinner,

we'll play board games--

- Really? Just us alone?

- Yep, no gym teachers for miles.

- Mm, good.

- Here.

- What's that?

- This... is my novel.

Well, first 70 pages, anyway.

My agent is the only one who's read it;

he thinks it's the best thing

I've ever done.

I-I-I'm so inspired when I'm with you.

I want you to read it,

tell me what you think.

- I think you should, uh...

lock the door.

- Oh, yeah, Miss Wexler?

- Lock it, Shakespeare.

- Ugh. Slut.

- What'd you call me?

- I think I just called you a slut, slut.

- Why?

- Because everyone knows you've banged,

like, 40 different guys

since you came here.

- Really?

Forty?

Okay, let's just say

I have banged 40 guys -

what's the problem?

You're just jealous

'cause you've been, uh...

brainwashed by puritanical a**holes

who believe sex is a sin.

Then again, your, uh, little...

gerbil-sized brain

has been reprogrammed by the media

to believe sex is the be-all/end-all.

So now you're stuck, right?

'Cause on one hand, you love to f***,

but afterwards you feel overwhelmed

by guilt and you're not sure why.

Maybe it's because sex is neither as good

or as evil as you've built it up to be.

- Shut up, slut.

- Jenny...! Seriously.

Listen to me.

The highlight of your entire life...

is gonna be your yearbook photo.

You are already nostalgic for sh*t

that has not even happened yet,

'cause you have so precious little

to look forward to.

You're gonna spend the first half

of your life planning your wedding,

you're gonna spend the second half

regretting it.

And if I were you, and thank God I'm not

'cause you have terrible hair,

I would stop and I would reconsider

your whole value system,

because everything you know...

is wrong.

I'm such a b*tch.

Okay, so I guess I've avoided

talking about myself for long enough.

All I really know is that I'm just about

the moodiest girl in the world.

I can't see anything at all

All I see is me

That's clear enough

That's what's important

To see me

My eyes can focus

My brain is talking

It looks pretty good to me

- I swear to God,

sometimes I get super depressed.

A year after my mom died,

I found a photo album

with all these pictures of my family.

It was weird to see us so happy,

still looking forward to something,

with no idea what was about to happen.

Anyway, for two weeks afterwards,

I was so depressed,

I couldn't even leave my room,

I was so sad.

My dad took me to a doctor

who said I was suffering

from lack of serotonin to the brain.

They gave me pills and I zombied out

for six months and watched game shows.

I know you probably think

I'm a manipulative b*tch

for sleeping with two guys,

but try looking at it this way:

the sexual revolution

is just like any other revolution -

there's gonna be casualties.

- Good evening, Mr. Wexler.

- She's busy studying.

- Can I just say a quick hello?

- Absolutely not.

- Well, it's just that I, uh...

I brought her all these cupcakes.

My mom baked them

and I thought it would be a nice gesture.

- Well, I'm not paying for those.

- No, no, it's a gift.

- I'll make sure she gets 'em.

Closing the door--

- Whoa, hey, she... she could

at least have the courtesy

to say something.

I mean,

y-you can't treat people like this.

- Get your foot out of our doorstep.

- Did you hear that, Caroline?!

You can't treat me like this!

- Stop making a fuss.

Get your foot out of my doorway.

- I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm just...

I'm just all f***ed-up.

- I know, son.

Now get off my property.

I got rid of him for you.

- Oh, thanks, Daddy.

- You're not, uh,

you're not meeting him

on this weekend of yours, are you?

- No.

I told you, it's all girls.

- 'Cause I know it's none of my business,

but I really just don't want you

seeing this guy.

- Dad, I just asked you

to get rid of him.

Show a little... trust.

- His mom makes really good cupcakes.

- What do you mean, it didn't work?

- Just like I said,

I don't think her father likes me.

- Why wouldn't he like you?

- I don't know.

- I can't believe he kept the cupcakes.

I'm gonna go over there

and take care of this.

- Mom, no.

- I don't think that's a very good idea.

I mean--

- Look, if I do this for you,

you promise me,

you never treat a woman

like your father did.

You never cheat on her.

You treat her like homespun gold.

- Yeah, of course, Mom.

- Watch Lily for me.

- Wait, you're not gonna do anything

embarrassing, are you?

- I'm your mother.

I don't do anything embarrassing.

I'm too shagadelic for that.

- Good Lord.

- One, two, three... hide!

- 99, 98...

97, 96...

- Candygram!

- This weed is wheelchair sh*t.

Seizures all around tonight, boys.

- Hi. Mr. Wexler?

- Yeah.

- I'm Enid Goldberg.

Thurston's mom.

- Oh.

Oh.

- I made you some more cupcakes.

I thought we could talk.

- Yeah... Sure, yeah, of course.

Would you like to come in and...

and... have a drink?

- Yes.

Thank you so much, yeah.

- If you tell anyone I did that,

I'll kill your whole family.

- Okay.

- What?

- You haven't told anyone about us,

have you?

- Ah! Stop being so paranoid.

- I should find Lily.

- Stop being so paranoid.

- Yeah, man.

Just put on some music.

- It happened about four years ago

and she, uh...

... she was diagnosed

with breast cancer.

Throat cancer, even though

she never smoked a day in her life.

And then she passed on

about six months after that.

- Ah, it's too much.

I'm sorry.

- Thank you.

You know, the frightening thing

is that Caroline looks exactly like her.

I mean exactly.

- Caroline is beautiful.

- Thank you.

But it's very scary being the father

of a teenage daughter like her.

Do you want some more?

- Oh, no.

Oh, well, maybe a little bit.

- Well...

Yeah, what about...

your husband?

- Uh, he passed a few years ago.

- He died?

- Well, I don't know,

but I'd like to think so.

I hope he's dead in hell.

- Oh, no, Enid, come on.

- Well, why not?

- Yeah, why not.

- He was a musician and, um...

that is really romantic

when you are 17,

but he was always gone on tour

and... and then a few years ago,

he just...

stopped coming home.

I don't why I'm laughing.

Yes, I do.

I'm drunk.

- Well, I have absolutely no idea

why anybody would stop

coming home to you.

- Ah...

- My son, Thurston...

- Yes.

-... he's a really smart boy.

He's just... had a hard time.

- I'm sorry.

I judged him too quickly, I...

Would you like to dance with me?

- Oh, yes.

Yeah.

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