blog*spot

Friday, December 19, 2003

teething
The dog nudged the door open and carried off the shirt as I sat watching National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation.
I shouldn’t say I was watching the movie; more accurately, I was watching others watch the movie to see whether I should laugh or not. Personally, I did not see how a station wagon driven by Chevy Chase trapped under a logging truck was pure comedic goldmine, but I just wanted to make sure.
There were pastries sitting in the corner, with orange juice on the shelf above. I had already eaten much too much, although I did help myself to a handful of pistachios. I thought this might be tasty—a nice, salty antidote to the day’s sugar—and I had fond memories of this particular genus of nuts from a little Muslim store in the south of France last summer.
When the choir came to sing holiday-generic songs (“God bless ye merry gentlemen” was right out, amidst protests against the uses of the words “God” “gentlemen”, and “bless ye merry”) I couldn’t pry open a shell with my chubby fingers. I threw it away and was done with pistachios for the day. This was to be done on my terms.
When I was asked out on my first ever Real Date, I didn’t even know it.
“So, uh, my dad bought me two tickets to the new Lord of the Rings movie.”
“Why? You hate those movies.”
“Yeah, he wants me to--”
“Bond?”
“No, anti-bond. He wants me to get out of the house. And he says I have to take someone I haven’t really hung out with before. And he says it has to be a chick.”
“Are you asking me to go to a three and a half hour movie with you that you know we’ll both hate?”
“I’ll pick you up around six?”
It was at this point that I picked up my new lipgloss and said that I have volleyball practice from 5 to 9, thankyouverymuch, even though this particular boy wasn’t very smelly. In fact, I like his smell quite a bit.
The bell rang then and it was time to leave. I picked up my bookbag and my gym bag and my shopping bag full of pillows and bath salts and chocolates and walked out the door. I am such a good girl.
And so, when I got home after the last day of school before Christmas—sorry, Holiday—Vacation, there were sheer green swaths of fabric mangled on the floor. The dog sat on the top of the stairs, teething and making that whining sound.

Fresh squeezed by melly at 10:20 PM

Wednesday, December 17, 2003

I have decided that if one is to spend roughly three hours stressing on what exactly constitutes a passable mix ceedee that is to be given as a gift, it is probably not the issue of the music itself but the message one is trying to get across.
God, I need some priorities.

Fresh squeezed by melly at 9:43 PM