was in 1989. i was sixteen years old, and it was probably within a few days of getting my driver's license. that's how it works, when you're a boy. it was with this country girl i had been exchanging little messages with on my Apple IIE and dialup modem. she was using her dad's computer while he was at work. there was never any mention about a mother. it was the summer and she would be at home alone during the day. the idea of internet safety had not yet been invented because there was no internet to be safe about. safety was for shop class and swimming pools, not love. and get this. i hadn't even seen a picture, because there was no way to send pictures in those days. ok that's not true. you could mail pictures in the mail i guess. but whatever. i didn't have time for that. anyway she had measurements and that was enough in those days. so i drove about an hour to where she was supposed to live, which was literally out on some farm in the country. and by god she actually didn't look that bad. i remember she had short brown hair, turned out to be heavily bisexual, and listened to madonna. we rolled around on her carpet listening to "justify my love" and looked at pictures of her friends photo albums, of which she had several. ok so we didn't actually have sex. i admit. i think it was my idea not to. if so, that was stupid. she drove an old black studabaker, which is awesome. i don't remember her name.
Monday, September 24, 2007
Saturday, September 22, 2007
Friday, September 21, 2007
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
We need to be able to IM directly from our heads. I’m really tired of having to endure thoughts about people which they cannot hear and which I might even forget before telling them. The other night I was lying in bed half-asleep and alone. “Wasn’t it you who said a while ago that you’re breasts were really engorged and huge?” I thought. “Well I was just wondering if they still were.” But you did not hear me.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Wow, what a time. So I get to the hair salon. Get this. It’s the wrong day. I was supposed to go tomorrow! It's true. It's written right there on my fridge. It says "Wednesday 11 am hair". Alright but I was such a tremendous idiot it was great. I walk in. Casually walk past the girl at the desk. Nope, I got this one. I pop up the stairs and there is Stephen snipping away on some woman. "You ready?" He just stands there and looks up at me like I’ve just hatched an alien baby. "You have an appointment for Wedesnday." "Yeah I know. Wait, what day is it today?" “Tuesday.” “Yes.” [brief pause...light bulb.] “Oh my god.” [laughter...alien baby scurries across floor and hides behind fake plant] My first feeling is irritation (with myself) over the fact that I would have to drive all that way at the same time tomorrow. (I need this haircut.) My next thought is that I’ve just used up my one outfit. What the hell am I going to wear when I come back tomorrow? (Maybe they won’t notice?) Fuck. So then on the way out I stop to chat up a friend/hair dresser. (He’s having a baby.) "You're having a baby. I heard." We talk a few minutes and then it occurs to me, “Wait, what are you doing right now? Do you have any time? I mean the baby isn't due until January, right?” “Sure, why don’t you get shampooed?” he said with a smile. It was like a miracle. Almost. A nearicle! Those words I can still hear in my head as if it were just today. Why don’t I get shampooed. Yeah, why don’t I? [that lightbulb didn't take half as long as the other one] And so I did. And this is great because now I don't have to go anywhere tomorrow (unless I want to).
Sunday, September 16, 2007
So yes, I went back to the same large supermarket as before and it was late so of course I had to use that stupid self-checkout computer (which by the way is the first sign of the apocalypse) when I made a horrible mistake. After I’d filled a couple of plastic bags worth of grocery items, I lifted them from the countertop into my shopping cart. I did this to make space. But the computer was none to pleased. I know now when it senses less weight on the countertop it thinks you must be finished. It wants you to pay. It doesn't want you to then start scanning more items. In fact, it gets very angry, when I did this. “You can do that all day and it won’t scan,” said the portly white guy as I stood there talking on my cell phone and swiping a tiny strawberry yogurt. And he was right. I guess about twenty swipes was his threshold for coming over there. Something else I've learned. Anyway, so I hoisted my bags back onto the countertop and commenced to scanning. The computer was happy. The apocalypse may now continue.