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Pizza, Hells Angels, & Old Skool Nickelodeon

2002-05-30 - 4:48 p.m.

Ok . . .let's try this again. I've written different versions of this entry twice now (last night) and both times the computer saw fit to destroy it. So, here we go . . .

Being a Boston sports fan can give someone a heart condition. Sort of like how working with Kate can give someone a diabetic condition. So as I sit here openly wondering why Ben has Bamboo Shoots in the fridge I take notice of the Summer Wind as it comes blowin' in. But not that much notice. So after a few false alarms Brooke finally came down to the Miggity-Meadows Tuesday afternoon. She instructed me to be ready to have fun and plan fun fun things that would generally result in us having fun. Rich threatend to come down if we had big plans. Needless to say, Rich didn't end up coming down. On paper, Brooke and I did absolutely nuthin'. But we still had fun doing it. Second thing first, we stocked up on Coors Light: The Official Beer of the Culkin Family. We also went and got a pizza at DHOP, which led us to . . .

. . .Cirillo. The original President of the Onyx Fan Club, Dave "Bacdafuckup!" Cirillo was working at one of his regular occupational haunts - DHOP. He was definitely shaggier than usual. I hadn't seen Cirillo in several months (last sighted cavorting about the DBE at the beginning of the semester) and I knew Brooke hadn't seen him in much longer. As usual, Cirillo was king of his DHOP domain and was also very cool to us. (Apparetnly, Cirillo hasn't yet gotten the memo re: Me - and why I suck) Also as usual, it appeared that Cirillo was woefully out of the loop as he assumed that we knew that Stacey was on her way up to Durham to see people before she left for California. I didn't let on that I no longer sit with the cool kids at lunch and, at Cirillo's request, gave my # to him on a paper pizza plate. He said he'd give us a call later when he met up with Stacey. Brooke and I made sure to thank him for the cheapest cheeziest pizza this side of the Mason-Dixon while also making a mental note not to start holding our collective breaths for any phone call. Not that we particularly even wanted said phone call. Besides, as far as I'm concerned, I'm still (not-so) patiently waiting here at 1018 with my birthday hat on . . . So we got the Coors and proceeded to go back to my place so we could look at . . .

. . .pictures from the Montreal Panic Room (as well as Jello and Tokyo, but sadly no Provigo or proof of the best waitress ever at The Keg House!) and Chad & Mackenzie's wedding. The pictures came out good and despite some mighty embarrassing pictures via Montreal Madness. Some of the wedding pictures, as Brooke pointed out, came out so professional looking that we look like we're in booze commercials. (Due to the fact that we have at least one, but usually two, drinks in hand for many of the shots) If only Tim's flipping-over-the-bed-getting-stuck antics or my puke ramps could have been captured on film. On second thought, that's probably for the better. Hopefully, proof of the weirdest pizza-thon ever in the Hilton Lobby after the reception and/or Ben and Peter's breakfast faux pas are in existence somewhere. What sucks though is that I forgot to grab doubles or make copies of the pictures while Brooke was down here and so the wait must continue for pics of the two social events of the year. But trust me, the picture of Peter and Chazz (aka - Old Guy from the Kid Rock video) will be worth the wait. So, after laughing at and critiquing the many pictures Brooke and I went on to immerse ourselves in . . .

. . .The Mole 2: The Next Betrayal (because I like to type it out) for two hours (and it was actually pretty good) and then last week's and this week's Real World. God does Tonya suck at life. She is such a stuck up, mousey looking, kidney stone passing BIYATCH. I bet that Tracey Lundgren loves Tonya. They're a good match. Both stupid bitches. On the otherhand, poor misunderstood Keri is ne Stupid Bitch pas! (that's NO Stupid Bitch for you just joining us from Agnon's house). Kyle is a big mammoth-skulled dope and I'm glad he has decided to "cut it off" with Keri. Not that there's anything to even cut off. I bet that Paul E. Burton likes Kyle. They are both mammoth-skulled dopes. Anyway, after Real World, in our continuing quest to do nothing we watched (for the 17th time) "The Pearl". A 10th Grade English effort that showcased Peter as Kino, Myself as Juana and Tim Curtis as The Brother, The Doctor, The Doctor's Assistant, The Banker, The Sniper, and The Go-Go Dancer. It is so bad that it is good and then it goes back to bad again. To wipe our minds clear of its badoisty we watched a few episodes of You Can't Do That On Television that I have on tape. Watching Moose, Lisa Ruddy, Kevin, Alisdare and Alanis's hijinx from Barth's Burger's to The Introduction to the Opposites to The Locker Room Jokes was slimetastic!

[Alisdare looks on mockingly while an androgynous Alanis has trouble swallowing *this* slime-filled jagged little pill]

Brooke and I lived it up Wednesday morning with Sugar and the rest of the Zoo Crew at IHOP. As usual it was Little Piggies for me and something involving corned beef hash for Brooke. The longest, most boringest, most AC-brokenist day of work followed with Brooke leaving to go back home at noon and me stamping my time card at the Wallakers. Except we don't have time cards. So I stamped my hand. I did manage to pass the time by harrassing the hell out of Andrea by convincing her she had something on her face (as well as throwing bouncey balls at her, TY Baby Bears, rainbow unicorns, and staring at her until she cried). Brooke got home around four.

Oh yeah, my dad came down that Tuesday morning before Brooke got here and we went to Pizzaria Uno for lunch. Nothing of note happened. I spilled sauce on my shirt and I thought about telling my father about the Openest of Containers. But then decided not to. For those of you keeping score at home, I had leftover pizza for breakfast this morning making my pizza intake for the last three days astrofrigginomical. (As most, I imagine, are repulsed by my pizzapalooza, I envision a weepy Kate at home in the wooded mountains of Gilmanton shaking an angry, jealous fist at her computer screen while muttering "that lucky bastard".)

The people next door are smoking so much friggin pot that I think Ben's fish are high. Seriously, they are SO secretive. "We're just getting ready for the Oregano Bake Sale!" will only fly with us so many times. Although it only serves to frustrate Ben as he gets excited every time and cooks his famous Oregano Crab Stew only to find out that the "Bake Sale" got cancelled. At the last minute. Again. So sad.

So the Hell's Angels are in Laconia Court suing over the fact that they feel their constitutional rights were violated by denying them vendor space. This can't end good. Why must my father be a motorcylce enthusiast (putting it nicely) NOW? Oh, he couldn't do it back during a time when Laconia didn't need to worry about declaring "Gun Free Zones". Ugh. It's one thing when getting clipped by a bike on the boulevard, falling off the Weirs Bridge, or peeing on a Biker's trailer (we're looking at you Cypress Hill & Jimbo) is your biggest danger, but getting "shot" isn't usually too much of a concern in the City of The Lakes. Well, I guess it is now. Perhaps they can rename the event "Avery Street on the Beach".

Hell's Angel #1: "I say we wreck shit up in the Belknap County Courthouse! Who's with me?!"

Hell's Angels #2/3/4: "Yeah!"

Lawyer: " . . .um, Nay."

Hell's Angels: (threatening awkward pause) ". . ."

Lawyer: ". . . sigh. Yeah."

Hell's Angel #3: "With feeling!"

Lawyer: "YEAH!"

I'm tired. And I shouldn't be. I haven't done shit all day. Except read, burn a CD, and play my new Talking Heads bootleg that I got in the mail today. The getting of the bootleg that I have so anxiously been awaiting made for a much more frabjous day than I'd been having. The bootleg is from a Chicago concert on 08/28/78! How cool is that?! (For those of you just getting here from Marie Edwidge's house, 08/28/78 is Leeann Rimes's birthday)

Ok. I need to go tend to the lawndairy, so I will finally depart, almost 20 hours after I first started this damned entry.

It's been real,

The Lorax

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