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Saturday, January 17, 2004

We'll reminisce about how cool we were
We spell out naughty words on each other's sweaty backs with alphabet pretzels.
"Does anyone have a cee?" she calls out, and strangers look on at us with bored disgust.
Well, it's been an hour and a half already. We have exhausted our supply of innocence, and have used up a fair number of incomprehensible dirty jokes as well. ("He's such a dilf!", she breathes) So here we sit, our dirty selves on the dirty gym floor writing dirty words with snack foods geared for young children.
There are twelve "she's" nestled into this corner, moving only to frantically search for one of the prized esses. She is upset with she for ruining the serve; the match; the cake. She doesn't like it when she whines about her parents; her chest size; music. She is on her cellphone constantly, denying the other shes; present tense; everything. She is crying because she stole her boyfriend; her shoe; her shining moment. Shesheshesheshe feels like S-H-I-T, pretzels falling off of busy backs. The esses, the esses! Plurals are in again.
Pieces of salt litter the area, some in liquid form, and then the whistle blows again. And when it blows for the last time and the crumbs are cleaned off of our winning shoes, we'll smile for the pictures but we're still thinking of the pretzel words.

Fresh squeezed by melly at 10:18 PM

Friday, January 16, 2004

The Mill Near Wijk Bij Duurstede
The picture above my head portrays some very sad sort of windmill on a cold stormy day. The log sea wall huddles against the waves, and words in foreign languages dance along the bottom of the print adding an aura of highbrow art, whatever that is.
I heard that the test turned out positive, although I didn’t ask the Kush-man himself. But we all knew the results before, anyway. The nail polish on the fingers and been totally removed, although it still hangs on the toenails. I did not attend any basketball games, impromptu or otherwise. Ceedees litter this desk, still in the midst of being organized. Exams were passed satisfactorily, with the exception of French (bee plus, a bitter end to the ayy lineage I had so lovingly cultivated). She and he-without-vowels broke up, amicably. Trainspotting still continues. This is the state of the week.
This is the first morning in seven months that I have failed to brush my hair before leaving for the walk. I have given up caring, I suppose, but only because there’s no longer anyone to impress. I felt as if I should have carried a sign.
“I’m here.”
My teacher tells me her stories with a smile and a lowered voice; how she tipped the bagel lady unnecessarily, how she followed her monkey to college, how there’s no parking in Boston, don’t I know. There are more bubbles demanding lead marks on the paper in front of me. I smile and laugh politely, but only because I need a Kleenex and she’s in the way.
And so, as I’m walking down the tarped hallways, he’s walking with a girl that’s finally shorter than him. How picture-perfect. Reconstruction is in progress, the paint stinks up the entire 300 hall.
When your pants button apart, you have to be careful in the cold, 'cause there's only so much a sweatshirt with your name across it can do to cover your ass.

Fresh squeezed by melly at 9:06 PM

I heart Drew. You should, too.
Drew: So did you hate the ghettofication ceedee I made you?
Me: Actually, after repeated listenings, some of the gangsta crap wasn't that horrible.
Drew: I'm stunned. Simply stunned.
Me: I think it was because it was the farthest from wifebeaters and R. Kelly.
Drew: R Kelly, yes. Wifebeaters, no.
Me: No, I got more of a.......who was that fat guy in the Matrix again? That kind of vibe, but more pimped out.
Drew: I just totally witnessed the your devirginization of the words "pimped out".

Fresh squeezed by melly at 1:15 PM

Thursday, January 15, 2004

I'm a-gonna tell yous a story, for my heart is morose.
My family bought its first stapler together.
We were all in our Sunday best when the parental figures decided that the one household appliance that we still really needed was a stapler.
“Ooh, a stapler!” Anna and I giggled and shrieked. This was exciting. It seemed so grown-up to girls of seven. A stapler!
I kept my fear of the mechanism hidden. I had heard stories of the big third-graders stapling their fingers together; oblong silver bullets of pain. (This was before Ralph, the classroom rat, died. The frightened substitute teacher threw him in the garbage. We fished him out and buried him in a shoebox out on the playground. Oh, Ralph! It was my fault I didn’t feed you!) But I would be brave, oh yes I would, clicking my Mary Janes through the sliding doors of the OfficeMax after the usual Sunday dinner of pot roast, mashed potatoes, garlic bread, and canned corn.
Office supply stores are big places. We didn’t know where to go. So we asked, and then Anna and I charged down in the direction the saleslady’s manicured hand was pointing. I didn’t look back to see what MomAndDad (MAD, but amusedly so) were doing.
And then, although I don’t remember this part quite as well, I imagine we stuck our chubby fingers at/in/over/around boxes and models of staplers, getting caught up in the excitement until Dad said decidedly, “This one’s cheaper.” And he grabbed the shiny black plastic one that said “STANLEY” reallyreallybig.
We were a little disappointed that it all boiled down to this and the moment wasn’t so significant, after all.

Fresh squeezed by melly at 4:01 PM

Monday, January 12, 2004

Piercings
Exams week and drug tests, hurray!
He's calculated that to turn up negative at five pee emm today he'll have to get some detox as well as drink four gallons of water. Fourteen bottles. Three re-filling trips to the drinking fountain every hour.
He's on his thirteenth sip when he resigns himself to saying "ohshitohshit" but I see him later and he's still chugging in the hallway. Walmart skanks surround him. I don't make eye contact.
Caffeinated bubbles sting my chapped lips from the day before, where I layed on the couch and watched Real World reruns on MTV through the fever.
I raise my pinky finger as I sip, adding class to the bottle of Pepsi.
And as we sit through class after class preparing for the exams that lie ahead, I wonder what he meant by saying that he enjoys removing girl's earrings with his mouth.
I remember hearing once that Pepsi can cause you to become dizzy and unsteady, so I dump it out in the trash after I swallow the fever pills.
It's warm out today; rain in the morning to wash the snow away--so I walk home, alone.

Fresh squeezed by melly at 3:38 PM