|
|
Things I didn't fully understand until I lost them.
1. Sleep
It's absolutely critical to one's functioning. Yeah, every fruity Health textbook in the nation says so, but you'll never know just how critical until you've been up for at least 48 hours straight.
Without sleep, the human brain is no more suited to cognition than your average pot roast.
2. Time
I stole a copy from the doctor's office, but lost it partway through an article. Now if I want to finish it, I'll have to pay $3.50 for a new copy. Phuck!
3. Virginity
There's nothing mystical about losing one's virginity - it's just a matter of experience. The heavens don't open up and rain fire when you use chopsticks for the first time, do they? And strangers can't tell whether or not you've learned to whistle just by looking at you.
Emphasizing the significance of one's first sexual experience detracts (in my opinion) from the meaning of subsequent encounters. No one I've ever spoken with truly enjoyed their first time, except for the abstract glee of crossing an invisible threshold. Only a very small percentage of them spent it with someone they loved. It's uncomfortable and embaressing. Less of a soul-shaking sexual experience than a cosmetic surgery. I'd like to get my virginity removed, please. Ahhh. Thank you.
Wouldn't it be better to value the fiftieth time a person has had sex? At that point, they would actually know how to have fun, interesting, SEXY sex!
4. Trust
Trust no one, say the paranoid. Trust everyone, I say. You really can! Don't mistake me, I don't mean that you can tell anyone on earth your shameful secrets and expect them to STAY secret; nor do I mean you can place your life in any man's hands. No.
But what you can do is trust them. Trust them to be human. Trust them to fuck up, succumb to greed, prejudice, laziness, be rude, be late, be insensitive, act in favor of their own well being. Trust in savagery, ignorance, panic, and rage. Trust everyone.
5. Motivation
If I finished half of the projects that I started, I'd be a best-selling author, a concert string bassist, and czarina of the underground by now.
6. Pets
No matter how well you treated them, you will always wonder if you could have done more. It's the worst feeling in the world to wake up one morning and realize that your cat is nowhere to be found. Did he run away? Get hit by a car? Lose his path home? Attract the eye of a kidnapper?
The worry hollows you out in places you don't understand. Treading the neighborhoods, calling your kitty's name, you know in your sickened heart that he's never coming home. But you can't help it. You have to try and find him. You have to tender that pale shred of grief-stained hope.
7. Love
He was a bastardly git, anyway.
|
|
|
Idle hands are the devil's plaything. My conversation with "Abeccaz85" is ample proof. Or should I say Abeccaz85's sister . . .
abeccaz85: hello
abeccaz85: who are you.
abeccaz85: im anna's sisster
Child of Mists: Just having fun with her buddy list?
abeccaz85: ya
abeccaz85: who are you
At this point, I decided that entertaining a middle-school child with horrendous grammar did not appeal to me in the least. Something had to be done. Fast.
Child of Mists: My name is Louis.
Child of Mists: I'm 37 and live in Kentucky
abeccaz85: kool
Child of Mists: How old are you?
abeccaz85: how do you know anna
abeccaz85: i'm 15 just turned it
Child of Mists: What, you're not even legal? Don't waste my time.
Child of Mists: I'm not falling for jailbait again.
Child of Mists: last time was hell.
abeccaz85: o sorry
abeccaz85: i did not mean for you to think i like you
Child of Mists: Listen, honey, I don't even have to consider that factor. If you're under 18, I'm not interested. Even in conversation.
Child of Mists: I wouldn't want to violate my parole.
abeccaz85: bye
abeccaz85 signed off at 3:40:37 PM.
|
|
|
Golly, spring break has lowered my daily hit count. Just goes to show me how many of my readers come from Wash U. No matter. I'll write my bullshit comme d'habitude.
So, after a number of peaceful days lurking about the desolate campus, Alan took me back to his home country - Chicago. I've spent the last 2 days or so mucking about Chez Pappalardo getting to know the lovely human beings that reared him and Buster, the family parrot.
Yesterday, Alan and I dug through his closet to see what treasures lay within. A few discoveries were worth taking back to school:
- toy handcuffs (sturdy)
- silly putty (old-skool)
- koosh ball (squidly)
- stack o' Maxim magazines (babe-o-licious)
- snork pen (SNORK)
There were a LOT of untouched Maxims around. Tons. It turns out that Alan actually has a subscription (although he didn't ask for it) and it just keeps arriving in the mailbox of his old house. Alan is probably the first man in history to say to his lady love: "Sweety, would you please put down the Maxim and help me with these boxes?" And the second man. And the sixth. I'm so bad around centerfolds . . .
Later, the Italian Stallion and I watched Harold and Kumar Go To Whitecastle. There's a four month old poster for the DVD release in Malinkrodt that has been taunting us for AGES. So we finally saw it. And it was awsome. I highly recomend it to anyone who enjoys stoner/slacker comedies. Good stuff.
Chinese food ensued. Apparently I'm very sociable and entertaining. In bed.
Don't give me that look, you know about the fortune cookie game.
The rest of the night wasn't so hot, because I had a paper due at noon today. In fact, it's still due. In fact, it's still not done. In fact, I still haven't slept.
Shit. Gotta run. Motherfuckingbuttlebuggerlimpnicock. I hate papers.
|
|
|
"NO. No ribs."
"But, but . . . I thought that ribs were for her pleasure.
"No. They hurt."
"But it says on the box . . ."
"And my box says no."
"But . . ."
"Listen, the only women who enjoy that sort of thing are numb from the waist down and have steel-lined cootchie snortchers."
|
|
|
Bear's Den. 7.30pm. And everyone is trying to get in the sack Asian schoolgirls.
Alan and I take one of the booths on the far wall and tuck into our discount pizza and burrito (The cashier likes us and only charged $5.00 total for what should be $8.00 worth of overpriced crud. Not to mention our shopping bag filled with milk, bananas, veggie wrap, and other assorted goodies for later - which she gave to us for FREE.) In the booth behind us sat a jewish boy and his cornered asian schoolgirl prospect. And oh, how he strove to impress her.
Yes, there's nothing like a one-sided conversation to make an Asian co-ed wetter than a blind lesbian in a fishmarket. Really, I should have taken notes. He seduced her with highly innaccurate historical facts and boasted of his fascinating (at least by his standards) Russian ancestry. World trade and religion followed, with the nature of divinity bringing up the rear. The schoolgirl seemed remotely receptive.
Until he mentioned Jesus. Slowly, her body language shifted. Her arms crossed and feet pointed towards the nearest exit. She crumpled up her unfinished sandwich in its brown paper wrapper and glanced nervously at her watch. The boy grew fevered and began to discourse even louder. At this point, Alan and I began to translate his didactic bullshit for our own amusement:
"He performed MIRACLES, they tell you in scripture." -----> "Can I smell your panties?"
But luck was with her; in the nick of time, the Bear's Den staff politely asked them to leave. Closing time. The sudden appearance of a stern black gentleman over his right shoulder spooked the boy, and he leapt up, hurled his trash into the barrel, and made haste to the glass double doors.
Saved by the staff!
***
Meanwhile, Special K had plunked down in our booth with a ratty looking Asian girl in tow. Apparently, she met him this very day in Malinkrodt center. In case I haven't mentioned the sketchy motherfucker prior to this entry, Special K is the first person I've ever known to practice sleaze as an art-form. At least, he acts that way every time he's around a woman.
For your reading pleasure, I have outlined his seduction tactics in the following numbered list:
1. Observe beleaguered Asian in next booth. Make snide comment about how girls aren't agressive enough these days, thereby goading target into being agressive.
2. Impress target with extensive (emperical?) knowledge about STD's. Especially the clap.
3. Wine and dine target at IHOP. (happened this morning. Alan and I heard it in passing conversation)
4. Tell target that she needs to eat more calories.
5. Boast about how your absentee father runs off to Canada on dog-sledding trips instead of spending time with you and building your character.
6. Invite yourself and target to Alan's room. (DENIED!)
Surefire loving tonight!
|
|
|
So he tells me on the phone that I should look into meditation, and at first I say to myself: "How many more pills do I really need?!" But no,he means that he's met a new therapist, someone who really understands him, good, great, who got him involved in some kind of imagination game - a brand of "meditation" that sounds more like mental masterbation - and he mentions how meditation is changing his life. His spirit guide has so many things to suggest about the path to spiritual wellness. I should really look into it.
A girl like me could really use it. Because everyone knows I have lots of issues to work through, and lord knows I can't keep thrusting them on everyone around me the way I've been doing for years, showing depressive symptoms and occasionally withdrawing alltogether, cutting my arms and legs for attention - because that's the only reason why anyone would do it, right? Attention. But if I just looked into meditation it would help so much. Especially since I want to become a psychologist. We wouldn't want me projecting my personal problems onto my patients, would we?
And meditation can change your life! Look! It's changing mine! In fact, I'm going to start pushing you out of it.
*******
The boy sees me steal sushi from the cafeteria - a plate of rice and seaweed, about 1 cup of food - worth 30 cents and costs $4.25 in meal points. He scowls. It's just not right, Larkin, it's just not ethical, you're undermining society. Society undermines me with high prices, I retort but he's already brought out an article about how our foodservice prices have gone up because of student theft. You don't need to steal to eat, Larkin, just manage your points!
You, boy, I think to myself, have a harp and a grand piano in your living room. You live in the most expensive part of Clayton MO in a beautiful 3 story house with several glistening cars in the driveway. Your parents pay full tuition. You have never stayed awake all night wondering how you're going to make enough money to cover your mounting medical expenses when you're out of both insurance and a job. When you want money, all you have to do is ask Daddy. You're probably in Amsterdam or Cancun by now.
It's so much easier to afford morals when you've had everything handed to you since birth. Isn't it? But no matter how concerned you are about my necessary food theft, you still won't buy the rice for me. That would be beyond your paradigm, wouldn't it?
|
|
|
5.46am. Alan's been up for 48+ hours and I'm nearly delerious with fatigue and fever. For some undetermined reason, we begin to talk about words we hate. Naturally I mentioned my least favorite word ever:
"Flaccid!"
"Flaccid isn't that bad. How about scaly?"
"Withered!"
"Withered. Withered. Hmm. Wiiiiitherrrred. *screetchy falsetto with British accent* LAWRENCE, LAWRENCE DARLING, DO YOU TAKE WITHERED ROAD TO COCKTOWN?"
At this point, I start laughing. Hard. With my mouth full of water. I HAVE to spit it out. Now. Before I drown. So I turn to the side and let loose - all over my lap top computer across the room.
Do you take Withered Road to Cocktown?
|
"