stella was a diver
They'll come into your classroom in a horde of matching shirts; a different getup for every group. And then their leader with the ill-fated piece of paper (pink or blue) with a single name written upon it will lead the poor schmuck to a metal folding chair. Giggles are stifled. The group closes in, and then--
"AIN'T NO MOUNTAIN HIGH ENOUGH TO KEEP ME FROM GETTING TO YOU BABE!"
I've been referring to this day as "D-day". There's really no logic to this, I know. It's not even a major holiday today, (unless you count Friday The Thirteenth a holiday, dun dun dun) it's the day before a Hallmark-hyped holiday, and i'm pretty sure there will be no storming of Normandy involved. Yet there is too much pink and too much chocolate for it to be an ordinary day.
"WHO THE HELL SENT ME THIS?"
I've decided that Valentine's serenades are the meanest thing you can do to a person for three dollars (cliche time: the best things, of course, are freeee). He fumed as the Pregnant Girls (the leader five months along and fifteen, the rest just faking) twirl around him in their pink tank tops singing "Can I Be Your Baby?"
The building smells like carnations today. She smells Lucky, he smells Alluring, she smells like the cookies she baked for all of her friends. It's pleasant.
"YOU'RE THE ONE THAT I WANT OOH OOH OOH, HONEY!"
And I watched them squirm in their metal folding chair of doom on five different occasions until the tape deck ran out of batteries. The maturing voices crack and acne pops.
I was not sung to. I was secretly relieved; I had not figured out what the proper expression to wear on one's face was when one is being serenaded in the crowded hallways.
"NO MAN IS AN ISLAND, ENTIRE OF ITSELF"
They repeat the words in a monotone, 27 mouths moving in harmony and without feeling.
"IT TOLLS FOR THEE."
I don't mind Valentine's day. It gives me an excuse to be dreamy. Furthermore, this Valentine's will be the best in recent memory because gyms are a foolproof excuse for not being Involved.
When the metal chair is folded up again, the crowd disperses, and, for the most part, it stops snickering at you.
Fresh squeezed by melly at 10:19 PM
Monday, February 09, 2004
The directions went something like this: “1. Take Noodles Out Of Packet(add cup of water). 2. Microwave for 3 Minutes.
So I did as I was boldly told to do.
And when the cloud of black smoke poured forth from the fiery gates of the microwave; and when the janitor came to inquire about the smell of “roasted brocolli”; and when the tape recorder stopped recording in the middle of the racist drama queen’s interview; this is when I sat down—on the floor, unaided by those pillows they always have there on home-decorating shows—and laughed and laughed until the bell rang and the makeup ran down my cheeks.
Apparently, Easy-Mac isn’t easy enough.
Fresh squeezed by melly at 8:13 PM