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E (The Artist Formerly Known as Lotte)'s Journal  I think...I am sick. Sinus infection or something. Blah. I woke up at five in the morning today because I couldn't breathe, and when I fell back asleep I was daydreaming in French, so I subsequently had a very nice dream about meeting this cool French guy at a party at college. We were about to embark a very healthy and loving relationship, but I woke up. Oh well.
I met Leah on Thursday. I have thought of her as sort of my psychic "twin" ever since we first bonded over shared love of The Neverending Story (and Noah Hathaway specifically) in a chatroom three years ago. I remember we stayed up till some ungodly hour, three or four in the morning, talking about various things we had in common. And we just sort of became twins, even through periods when we haven't gotten to talk as often. We've planned on meeting each other several times, but have always been thwarted until now. So, Thursday, I met a life goal, and how can I describe what that's like? A thousand things ran through my head, a few of which ARE: The polish website about NES; Newsies; Jude, Christian, and Noah; *squeaks and dies*, *dies nine times*; "Mr. Partridge, would you please remove your shirt?"; smiling chestfish; *bludgeons silla with an oar* *cuddles her bloody corpse*; *evil dare*; *evil carrot*; GKIT; blue and yellow footie pajamas; *narrows eyes* *circles*; *SUPERPOUNCEGLOM*; twin necklace acronyms (TLBWOF); Clyde, the slowpoke modem; twin vibes (which, while a little rusty, do still work); Claude and Pierre, the beard pigeons; our shared BEARD; marrying Leah to Tommy; mud wrestling for Neo (I THINK it was him); the hammock in our private chatroom; "I hope I get to be maid of honor for all this trouble..."; so many other things...late nights full of tears and laughter and comfort and good advice... Leah - I'm very very glad I could meet you at last. That is all. :) When I was ten years old and a fierce little tomboy, I developed (quite against my own will) my very first crush. The lucky recipient of said crush was the lawnmower boy, Phillip. He was a few years older than me, probably thirteen or so, a lean boy with a buzz cut, and he rode around on that mower with his shirt off. I would sit on the porch steps, casually pretending to read a book while secretly ogling the tan shirtless beauty gliding about the yard. Sigh, said the blossoming young woman inside me. That’s disgusting, said the little tomboy who still more or less dominated in my dealings with other people. I was fairly confident that Phillip had no idea that I got strange tingly feelings whenever I saw him. I remember bringing him lemonade on at least one occasion, but again, I figured he had no idea and wouldn’t care even if he did. I didn’t understand then that half the world knew I liked Phillip. Actually, I suppose that’s an exaggeration. But I remember the only person who was surprised about it when I confided in her was my mother. “You – like him? Oh! You mean you have a crush on him?” “I…guess so.” ”Oh, honey!” And of course she looked all proud and teary. But that night when she tried to tell my father… “Our daughter’s got her first crush! And guess who it is?” “That Phillip kid who mows our lawn, of course.” I was too surprised by the fact my father had already figured it out to be embarrassed. But that has proved to always be the case with him. He has weird crazy dad radar and always knows just exactly what’s going on with me or within my group of friends. My mother is always surprised when I tell her who’s just had a fight with who or who just asked who out or whatever, whereas my dad can almost predict it before it happens. Strange world. But anyway. The last day I saw Phillip was one summer evening while my friend Ashley and I were riding our bikes along the dirt road next to my house. Along came Phillip, riding his mower down the perpendicular road. I saw him and was horrified to hear myself squeal “Phillip!” excitedly. And loudly. Loud enough that he turned and blew a huge mocking kiss at me before disappearing behind some trees. Oh God, I thought. He knows. And then, for some unknown reason, the echo of my excited squeal still hanging in the humid air, I began to sing a little impromptu song. “De dip…de doobie doo…de dum…da DIP! Da doo doo dum…” I actually thought I could cover up what I’d done by pretending to freestyle. I’ve been unlucky with boys ever since. Smoking cloves makes you cool. I’m not a big smoker, right? I mean, I’m a social smoker in the sense that I’ll accept if someone offers me something new and exotic that I can’t get at my local service station, or if it makes a handy excuse to join someone outside and have a word with them away from a crowded party atmosphere – or if Laine is having nicotine cravings at the same time as me and we decide to split a pack. But I don’t do it very much, almost never alone, and I’ve never bought a pack by myself. At least, not until yesterday. Allyson got me hooked on these Djarum Black cloves. They’re unbelievably sexy. I mean it. I want to make sweet love to these cigarettes. Actually, “hooked” is a bit strong. I just really dig ‘em and I have no qualms with bumming them off Allyson or Jalie when I know they have them. But the other day – for no real reason – I felt the inexpressible urge to go buy some of my own. Which was weird, because I was pretty certain there wasn’t a place I could walk to in Columbia that carried them. But with the handy help of Internet Explorer, I found a tobacco shop! The Nostalgia Shop, located just a few blocks from my dorm. Yesterday was bright and sunny, a good day for lung cancer, so I thought, “Eh, why not?” Of course, as soon as I saw the shop I got scared. It was all fancy-schmancy, boasting a wide selection of both tobacco and “fine wines and spirits.” As I went in I was certain it was too good for the likes of me and I should get out as quickly as possible. Not wanting to look impolite, however, I gave the place a quick once-over before turning to make my escape. “Is there something I can help you with?” The man at the counter was small and old-timey, bespectacled and mustached. His tone was genuinely friendly and helpful, so I told him what I was looking for. Weirdly enough, there they were, right behind me, in a pretty glass case! I bought a pack and received a shiny half-dollar as part of my change. Bizarre. Anyhow, I was seen smoking one yesterday, and the word also got out via Laine. Just after suppertime last night I was visited by this nifty girl who lives in the dorm – she’s a bit cynical and self-destructive, but in that quirky interesting way that makes you wish you were cool enough to hang out with her. She said, “Hey, do you have anything…nicotine-filled?” Why, I certainly did! I gave her one of my spankin-new cigs and felt like I’d done a good deed. And then today at lunch this guy – again, way too cool for me, although he’s friends with Laine and I’ve started to resent my goody-goody exterior in his presence – said, “Hey, I saw you smoking a clove the other day. Can I…borrow one?” You sure can! Look at that, I am ten percent cooler! There is a small issue of cloves being particularly unhealthy. Put a hole right directly in your heart, as I understand it. Which is why I don’t intend to actually get hooked on them. But, you know – if you’re going to do something that’s bad for you, might as well do something that’s really bad and keep it in moderation. So keep an eye out for me – I’m the ultra-cool girl with the black ciggies. Surrounded by my new hip posse. Oh yeah. Can’t touch this. …Word. Oh, sure, they seem like a good idea at 8:00 or so at night when you?re just starting a 7-10 page critical essay that you?ve had assigned for a week and have literally not had time to begin yet. They seem like a good idea usually clear on through the midnight trip to Denny?s, homework in tow, where you slug down three or four cups of disgusting coffee and are nearly knifed by a drunk woman who seems to think your roommate is after her boyfriend. But it?s that moment you get in the door, sit back down at your computer and realize that you genuinely have no idea where this paper is going ? that?s when you really begin to worry. And then, by four in the morning or so when you?ve taken basically everything you have to say and spread it ? thinly ? over only half of the required pages, you find yourself really wanting to cry and hating the taste of Mr. Pibb, which is what you are now running on. So of course you have to take a little time out to reflect and write in your journal, and mention off-handedly that you also have another paper to write and a test to study for all within the next four hours ? as if your gentle readers didn?t already feel sorry enough for you what with the fact that your life nearly ended at Denny?s. Denny?s. Oh yeah. You?re pitiful. Current mood:  exhausted.Current music: nope. Last night Allison and I went looking for Laine and found her in the 210's, watching porn with some boys and cracking up. We hung out and watched for a while, but got weirded out first by the presence of a techno remix of "In The Hall of the Mountain King" in the soundtrack, and then by a section of the soundtrack that was done solely on kazoo. That's right, KAZOO. Sweet Christ. Current mood:  uncomfortable.Current music: Guster - Two Points for Honesty. (Last night while I was in the middle of having a hysterical crying fit) Laine: You know, I had this horrible vision last night. I dreamt that my bed [our beds are bunked] came down and crushed you?and they took you away because you died! And it was really sad? Me: (snuffly giggle) Laine: And I imagined myself somehow having superhuman powers and realizing it was falling before it fell on you, jumping down, and saving you. At least pulling your head out of the way. Me: (giggle) Laine: You may end up being a paraplegic, but you?d still have your mind, dammit! Me: (cracking up) Laine: (cracking up) Me: Laine, I love you! And then we went to Denny's. The end. :) Current mood:  lonely.Current music: Michael Nyman - The Promise.  Take the What animal best portrays your sexual appetite?? Quiz Look at that! I am apparently some sort of sex goddess.  What obscure animal are you? I did a little research on the zorilla (Ictonyx striatus) and found out that it eats mostly rodents, insects, etc., and that it has unusually large scent glands for such a small animal. It is sometimes kept as a pet, and is descented in these instances (like skunks are, although these don't smell as pungent). I don?t think that test was very accurate. I don?t eat bugs and I don?t need to be descented as part of my domestication process. That is ? do I? Current mood:  confused.Current music: Dave Matthews Band - Bartender. I just can?t get enough of my friend Shannon. Last night someone quoted her on her whiteboard: ?Differential equations? I?m glad I?m alive!? ? Shannon And while we?re on the subject of interesting quotes: ?Does it still count as an orgy if half the members are dead?? ? Allyson (there?s a context issue here, but I think it sounds better with no knowledge of what we were talking about) Current mood:  amused.Current music: none just now. |
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