Saturday, August 30, 2003

Hopping The Pond And Falling In
I never realized what a huge impact my (extended) family has on my life until I started writing about it. I look back on this blog and say, "Good gracious ass bodacious, I go to a hell of a lot of family gatherings."
Chalk today's up as number 666.
This was an emergency session, called on the fact that some distant relatives from Stratford had flown over unexpectantly. The immediancy was present in the air; only about half (read: 30) of the family made it, because the others were in Iowa attending a wedding.
There was barn on the way to Moline. It sat on the highway, and it's been there for as long as I can remember. The roof was drooping and the paint was peeling, and we knew it was only a matter of time before it caved. Today, no more barn.
We made it to Moline about 45 minutes later. Half of Moline must be consumed by my aunt and uncle's house. It has a pool, a basketball court, a volleyball court, a huge sand pit/playground, and a dog run. The other part of Moline consists of an ice cream place with a mini golf course behind it. There are no stoplights.
It's a warm day, so I wear my swimsuit there in hopes of a dive. One mistake--I grabbed my halter top swimsuit that ties in the back. As in, it can easily be untied. This is a very bad choice when one is going to be hanging out with the 6-and-under set, I soon found out.
Due to my obvious age and size advantage, I was easily winning the "Queen Of The Raft" game until some young child pulled the string and all came out.
Yeah, like we always flash our distant relatives. Greetings from America.
I quickly dove underwater and covered myself. But no, this was not the end of my torture.
I was forced to eat raw cabbage for dinner. Uncooked, with nothing on it. Just cabbage. Why? It was the only non-meat, non-alcoholic thing to be found in the fridge. This fridge is located in a house with 3 young children. What is going on?
Plus I was totally bummed about the barn.

Fresh squeezed by melly at 10:01 PM

Friday, August 29, 2003

I Should Really Stop Watching Depressing Movies
I step outside into the evening, in my pajamas. It's light outside, but blue-gray. I can hear the band outside, cheering the Mustangs on and whatever farmteam we're playing tonight. The crackle of an intercom is heard; the football field is less than half a mile away from my home.
I had paused the movie to come out here, to walk barefoot among the grass and the bugs and the music and the dog.
"I'm dying in this town," I whisper, and the dog lies down and will not get up.
I go upstairs and get a hotdog, and put it in the grass. And then I begin to cry.
And the mosquitos go inside and I stay outside, and they buzz and I cry, and then I stop crying and sit back down in my chair and un-pause the movie.
And there will always be hours after this.

Fresh squeezed by melly at 10:31 PM

Tuesday, August 26, 2003

'Cause First Impressions Are Everything
Second Day Of School Official Checklist:
Orange TicTacs......Check
Hottie sitting behind me in math......Check
Period stain on brand new jeans.......Check
The Feeling You Get When You Know That, Inexplicably, You're An Asshole: Check
This is going to be a great year.

Fresh squeezed by melly at 5:08 PM

Monday, August 25, 2003

Good Morning, 7:30 Biology Class
We cut; we shred; we rip and we mangle; clipping and snipping our way through the magazines and the Sunday newspaper advertisements. Bursts of color belonging to nothing in particular litter our workspace--"For background", we say.
Notebooks are laid out, bare of words and originality on both inside and outside. The inside we cannot help--words have not yet been pulled out of our brains; our pens. So the inside we hide, closed, only to be opened to smell the fresh scent of new paper. The outside is our mission. This we conceal with our scraps of paper, gluing and cementing one on top of the others.
A picture of a flower here; next to it, the words in gray: "Viva la vintage!". A green combat shoe graces the upper-right hand corner of the book, laying in a sea of macaroni and cheese. On and on the images dance across the cover, creating a menagerie of color and interest.
We do this to personalize our things; to pick them out in the sea of Five-Stars and Meads and Collegiates. "This is mine," we'll say, "See the guitar? I play guitar." "No no," they'll say, "It's mine. See the stick of Doublemint? All I'll ever chew." And then we will argue about the petty banalities of whose is whose; even though we did this to stick out in the first place.
The bell will ring then, before we have time to throw away our scraps and find our places and pencils.
School has begun.

Fresh squeezed by melly at 12:25 PM