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Short Hair, Kalamata Olives & Adventure By Gaslight!

2002-06-03 - 11:37 p.m.


Where were we? Getting ready for work - that much I know. Ok. Busy last few days. Less pizza, more olive branches, new haircuts for everyone but me, near bar brawls, nervous breakdowns, cheese substitues, and amphibians in biblical proportions. Yup, business as usual. Everyone done with their appetizers? Ok. Good, let's go. (And pour yourself a large one, since this is gonna be a long one - that means clear your schedule until July, Fred)

So Friday was definitely an Introduction to the Opposites Sketch. (Wow. Two YCDTOTV mentions two entries in a row! Can he make it three? We'll see. . .) I worked in the downtown Portsmouth Wallakers on Friday night. It was def. an adjustment (I love how AIM shorthand is slowly snaking its way into my writing). The Portsmouth store's floor is thinner (meaning horseplay is much more perilous), the phone is weird, and the customers there just automatically assume you are going to wrap everything from their marbles to their baby buckets. That is if we still carried baby buckets! (za-za-za-zing on Grody!) But I worked the majority of the shift with Karin, so it wasn't all bad. Except that I didn't get to Moe's in time before it closed and when I did eventually get to Subway I got caught in the never-ending 8 phase thunderstorm. BUT, I re-did the lego section so as to showcase the Spider-Man legos and not the Star Wars ones. I am such a subversive subordinate . . .

[INSERT "Why Spider-Man is better than Star Wars joke" HERE]

So I caught the bus home from Market Square, and when we stopped at the Mall, one of my arch-nemeses at ol' Fox Run got on the bus. (It is frightening that not only do I have such a large -laundry- list of arch-nemeses {though I prefer to call them the incorrect "arch-nemesises"} at the mall, but the fact that the list has grown so much in the last 3 or 4 months. I blame Kate. I was always antagonistic to certain mall dregs before but I think she made the atmosphere more of a "line in the sand" deal. [It's ok, I don't even get what I'm saying half the fucking time]). SO ANYWAY - one of my ORIGINAL enemies launched her bloated carcass on to the bus. She was a little taken aback to find me there already. Her name: Star. Her Job: Depends - When at TCBY, her job is to make sure to be extra nice and give extra toppings to all the Wallakers employees EXCEPT FOR ME, and REFUSE to let me get the hard, gallon ice-cream flavors in my plus-que-parfaits, forcing me to have soft-serve, yet letting Andrea have all the different kinds of ice cream she wants. When at Mrs. Field's, Star's purpose in life is to make sure I can't ever get my paws on those delectable Butter Toffee cookies. If she seems me coming she scarfs them all down her salivating gaping maw. And how do I know her name is STAR you may ask? Well, apparently, she must forget her own name quite often, as SHE HAS A GIANT STAR TATTOOED ON HER ARM (and in case that wasn't enough) IT SAYS "STAR" RIGHT UNDER THE TATTOO. She also wears a "Star" nametag, but that's irrelevant. Anyway. I hate her. She hates me. And on that bus ride home to Dover, with just her, me, and the flatulent bus driver (known simply as "Mac") you could cut the sexual tension with a very sharp sexual tension-cutting knife. I am so gross. So yeah, on my way home from the bus stop, about a half hour after all the thundery storm business ended, there were frog & toad (who are friends!) and worms EVERYWHERE!! Seriously, I have no problem with the little warty pussbags, but it was like Magnolia on crack. Unless you've never seen Magnolia, then . . .um, it was nothing like that. Yeah. As Ben said the next day after I told him about all the squishy varmits, "The birds must have been happy, it's like an all-you-can-eat buffet." That's one of those moments where I'm like "going in the journal. . ."

Toad: "Shit yo, we were EVERYWHERE!"

I can't believe I just desecrated one of my favorite children's books by giving them dialogue to speak that involved "shit yo". Anyway, moving on - so Saturday did not start off what medical experts would call "well". Ben had been drunker than most skunks I have seen when I had gotten home the night before. He was understandably drowning his sorrows away after a certain basketball team blew it earlier that night. Before he went to bed he asked when I was getting up, and I told him (7 AM so I could catch the bus). He said he'd be up before 9:30, to get ready to go golfing, and he could give me a ride to work. I said sure, and that was that. Except it wasn't "that" at all. 9:00 AM the next morning, I am ready ready rocksteady to go to work and Ben is still Snoozer McChainsaw. So I pace around a bit nervously cleaning. I even do the dishes, not as much to clean, but in hoping that the klink-clanging (that usually wakes me up when HE is doing them at ungodly hours) will do the same to him. No luck. So, long part of the story somewhat shorter, he eventually gets up, takes a "Tim Curtis" length shower and admits to having no memory of telling me not to take the bus. And I do believe him. (Seriously - I do) But the scary part is that it is now quarter of 10. Normally, I'd just be a little late and my co-worker would start without me, no harm done. UNFORTUNATELY, much harm done this time, as I was opening with Allison (aka - The Girl that Makes Becca look like a chatterbox, Makes Jason look like a workhorse, and Makes Kate look like someone who really likes gummy bears. Oh wait . . .Kate already looks like that). So anyway, Allison, despite being new and as useful as a wet sack of doorknobs, ALSO has not yet gotten a key to the store. Which means as long as I am home, the gate stays down. The gate that will land G. Williker's a $1,500 fine if it is not raised within 5 minutes of opening. And now it is 5 of 10 and we are getting ready to leave. There was no way in fuck we were making it before 10. And I couldn't call Allison to tell her that I'd be there soon because she couldn't get to the phone INSIDE the store. ARGH. So I called customer service (whose workers, for the most part, are rather indifferent towards me, but more importanly, Customer Service are who Security -who almost ALL HATE ME- reports to when they come upon a store that is tardy in opening. And wouldn't Security just love an opportunity to throw my fish in the fryer!) So, back to non-parentheticals, I call Customer Service and prepare to give them my "power went out (in aforementioned thunderstorm) and I overslept, be there very soon" story, and luck upon luck, Danielle answers the phone, as she is working a rare Saturday morning shift and tells me not to worry about it at all and she will cover for me. FINALLY, things start looking up. I get to the mall and it's only been open about 10 minutes when I get to the store. It's dark and the gate is down. So I whip it open, turn the lights on, count the cash, move the marionettes and flap happies towards the entrance, and bam - no one is ANY the wiser. I check the answering machine and there is no messages from downtown, so I know they didn't call here checking on me. I begin to wonder where Allison is hiding as I put in some of my non-store CDs into the stereo, as it will be a No Boss day. Ray Charles, Paul Simon, and Miles Davis are the choices for the morning. As I am ringing up the first customer, Allison comes in, looking pale and tragic, as usual - but moreso. "Hey, sorry about this morning, I would have called, but well, you know. . ." I say with a half smile. She just looks at me. This isn't that odd for Allison though. Her response to most things is to just stare and/or occasionally blink. So she just kind of shuffles around as I continue to make self-depreciating small talk with her. About 5/10 minutes after Allison shows up Jim walks in. I smiled and nervously said "Hi" but my brain was saying "GoatAss, get yourself ready!". "So what's the problem??" Jim asks. Before I can even come up with a response (involving the words "there", "is", "no" and "problem") he walks over to the stereo and I realize I am so so so so so so so busted. "Um, yeah, those CD's. I don't know. . .how, I mean, of course I know that I . . .um," I stammer out while I watch Jim stack my CDs on the top pf the stereo while he fills it back up with Wayne From Maine and Lori "Gag Me" Burkner. "I, I, I just put them in for before . . ." "The Mall opened?" he finished for me. Point for Jim. Oh yeah um, right (as I begin to formulate what must have happened while I wasn't here), "I had just put them in for while I counted the drawer." I SO SO badly lied. "You needed 3 CDs in there for the length of counting the drawer?" Point for Jim. So, it turns out that while Ben and I were yukking it up about All-You-Can-Eat Worm buffets on the way to Newington, our Miss Allison has herself a little Panic Attack and goes to hide out at the Discovery Channel store (where the woman who spawned her is employed). So then, in an effort to emotionally cool her down (and there was no bathtub nearby to submerge her Culkin-style) they decided the BEST plan was to call Bob and Jim at the Market Street store and basically inform them that they figured me for dead and they should come out to the mall and rescue Allison. A fact that Allison COULD HAVE SHARED WITH ME IN THE MINUTES BETWEEN HER ARRIVING BACK AT THE STORE AND JIM GETTING THERE. Who wants to take bets that somehow Star was behind this? "Oh just come with me, I'll give you cookies and ice cream, and we can call downtown and get Zach in trouble! Cackle Cackle Wheeze!" So Jim was understandably annoyed and left after he saw that everything was running smoothly. And by "running smoothly" I assume he meant Allison and I staring at each other while I waited on customers and answered the phone until Megan got there at 5.

So around when Megan got there (and after I had filled her in on all the goings-on and going-ons), I wandered down to LensCrafters to visit Beth for what would be the very last time as after a prolonged on-again off-again relationship with the mall as a whole, and pregnant and not pregnant at the G., she was finally cutting the strings on her FRM apron. And she decided to get a really, really, really short haircut in order to celebrate the event. Ok. I mean, it wasn't a buzzcut or anything, but it was quite short. She knows -like most everybody knows- that I am no fan of the short hair, but she still took my vague reassurances that "it looked new", and "it's certainly different" in the most positive way possible. (Yes, there's a reason for me sharing this seemingly useless information, as it is helping to build a theme - don't worry, I will anvil you over the head with it when it gets here). So I go back to the store and call Ben and tell him we should go out and do something. I don't want to come home and just play video games or throw stink bombs at the neighbors. Ben pretty much makes it clear that he has no problem with a night consisting of stink bombs & NHL HOCKEY 2002 (courtesy of "EA SPORTS" - you have to say it in that booming EA SPORTS voice for the right effect). So we decide that neither of us can go to the boatshow. So as I am about to catch the 8 o'clock bus back to Dover Ben calls me and says, "I'm at the toll booths, I'll be there in a minute, meet me outside the mall!" "Why?" "Because we're going to Jeff's. He wants to know why we're not there yet." "I didn't know we were ever going to Jeff's." "Yeah, either did I. Just meet me outside." "Um, Ok." I should have just gotten on that damn bus. Star be damned.

So we drove to Jeff's, parked the car and walked up to his buzzer. Ben had filled me in on the way there that Jeff, who had just returned from an all day BBBQ, called Ben around 7:30 and asked him why he wasn't over there yet. Ben explained that he didn't know he was "due there", but after Jeff insisted he come, Ben said he'd stop at the mall to get me and we'd be right over. Ben warned that Jeff sounded "a little" drunk. We buzzed the buzzer a third time. "So help me," I said. "If he's not here . . ." *CLICK* We were being letting in. Which was good, since I didn't really know where I was headed with that threat. We climbed the stairs above Celebrity Sandwich and went into Jeff's apartment. And we were greeted by Kelly. As in a guy named Kelly. A guy named Kelly who I had never met before in my life. Apparently, neither had Ben. So we all sat down. Watched some TV. Despite having been to Jeff's before I was beginning to wonder if we were in the wrong place. Jeff's apartment is small. Lester Conway small. He couldn't really be hiding too well. So finally, Kelly says we can help ourselves to any beers in the fridge we want. So we do. Quickly. Finally Kelly asks if we are friends with TJ. I say, "No, I don't think so . . .who is TJ?" Ben also admits he does not know this TJ. "So you must be friends with Eric then?" Kelly asks us. "Nope." I answer. "Yeah. I am," says Ben, then reconsiders, "No, wait, who's Eric?". Finally, I tell the goateed, personable, Mark Mcgwire-physique-resembling Kelly that we are friends with Jeff, and is he in fact anywhere on the premises? Kelly informs us that Jeff is in fact there, but he and Amy are in his room sleeping and he has just been sitting there watching TV by himself until we got there. Um. Ok. So how does Kelly know Jeff? He doesn't. Just met him actually. Kelly is friends with Zebulon, or just "Zeb", Jeff's roommate. Who is not there. Got that? So we decide that we'll just drink and watch TV until Jeff and Amy . . .wake up. So TV we watch and beer we drink - from 8:15 to 9:45. In this time Kelly informs us he went to KSC and knows Erika Forsberg (or "Erica Fosberg" - dealer's choice) quite well and knows that she's going to go visit our mutual friend Tim "I got my teeth knocked out in close combat training and sent Zach a picture of it but it is so gruesome that he won't put it in his journal for fear of being shut down by the very same authorities my father is in charge of" McLaughlin. Small world ain't it? Also, bereft of ESPN on Jeff's primitive cable system, we instead watched 3/4 of Wall Street. To which I squealed with girlish glee (ever increasing in pitch the more drinks I had) each time a Talking Heads or David Byrne/Brian Eno song came on the soundtrack of the film. Between the three of us, the beer was starting to disappear, and still no signs of either of the people that lived there. Finally, right before 10, Jeff and Amy joined us and we drank some more until Zeb got home. He took a 2 minute shower and quick like a vicuna we were out the door to meet Amy's roommate's at Tequila Jacks or possibly The Gaslight. The last time I was at Tequila Jacks, Jeff had gotten on the bar, took his shirt off and thrown it to the crowd. King Tiki wasn't one of our possible destinations, but one of the last times I went THERE, Jeff, with ENORMOUS help from Coty (and notable assists from Rich and Ben) got us BANNED from there for a year. But, as it ended up, we went to the Gaslight. And as it also ended up they had that hot dog cart outside of it. And I am a sucker for hot dogs when sold from a cart vendor. And as it ended up, I never saw that hot dog vendor again. Oh well. We waited in line, fully prepared to pay a cover to bouncers that ARE WELL KNOWN for continuing to charge covers all night long (even after there is no longer a band) and pocketing the money. The band was actually loading up their van next to us to leave while the asshole bouncers insisted we pay. Which we did. It wasn't until we got to that backyard/hanging garden/many stepped/poory lit patio area of The Gaslight that I realized I had had far more to drink at Jeff's than I intended to. My hope was that we'd find a good place to stand or sit and just lay low there for the rest of the night. It was already almost 11:30, there wasn't that big of a window left for trouble.

We met up with Amy's roommates of which I can tell you nothing about. There could have been two of them, or maybe three. They were definitely girls. One was blond, I think. They seemed nice. There was lots of the normal mish-mash at this point of trying to find a place to call our own in the packed garden of debauchery. We finally found our own spot in the back corner, over by the parking garage. I'm not sure on how much time past between events here, but it had to be somewhere right before 12 that Ben came over to me and told me that he thought he saw Amelia over at one of the tables below us on the lower level, but he wasn't entirely sure if it was her. I questioned how he couldn't be "sure" if it was Amelia or not. She's the size of a butter churn, and just as spunky. He said he thinks it is her, but I'd know better so I should go look. So I lumbered down to the lower level and I'll be damned if I could NOT TELL if it was her or not. It definitely looked like her. And she was definitely tiny like Amelia. But her hair was super short. I mean "I get my hair cut by Charon" short. (3 points for shout-out to Charon!). I mean "I work at the carts in the mall" short. I mean "shorter than Beth's new hair cut" short. {SEE?! I TOLD YOU. I TOLD YOU I MENTIONED BETH'S NEW HAIRCUT FOR A REASON!! AND THERE IT IS. THIS THEME ISN'T WORKING OUT AS WELL AS I THOUGHT THOUGH. I'LL TRY TO MAKE A CONCLUSION OUT OF IT BELOW. WE'LL SEE. . .}But, I could also see her mom and her sister in her face so I was 99% sure it was Amelia. But not 100%. So then we sent Jeff to check. I'm not quite sure why we did that. How was he going to know better than we did? Anyway, he couldn't decide either. So we decided that since she knew me best I should go over. If it wasn't her, then I'd be the only one that looked like an ass. Or moreso. So I went over to a table of a bunch of people who I absolutely did not know (something I definitely wouldn't have done 8 beers previous) and one who I might know. "Excuse me," I asked Possible Amelia "Do you know the time?" Now - Let me make something clear here. As there has been some conjecture on my approach here. It was my assumption that if it was indeed Amelia she would instantly a.) see me and recognize me, b.) recognize my voice, or c.) both a.) + b.). No, No, and again No. None of these things happened. So what was meant to be a litmus test to gauge the acidity of the Possible Amelia turned into "lame come on" line to Possible Amelia (P.A.). (I'd like to think that "Excuse me, do you know the time?" isn't the best line I own.) So, P.A., thusly thinking she's getting hit on, DOESN'T EVEN look up from her seat and coldy huffs "it's five of 12." But here's the thing, unlike her to me, I DO recognize HER voice and I DO know that it is now not P.A., but R.A., as in Real Amelia. So I ask her name. "Amelia." she says quickly and looks to the ground hoping I would go away (which, to my credit, she hasn't even LOOKED AT ME YET, so for all she knew I was Brad friggin' Pitt). "Really?" I say, "I once knew a girl named Amelia." That's when she looked up. And that's when the little Frates light bulb of recognition went off and she yipped, and yelped, and yipped again. "Zaaaaach!" and so on and so on. "Guess who else is here?!" she asked me. "Ben and Jeff?" I guessed. "No!" she answered. "Well, actually . . ." I started but she interupted me only to say "Jenn! Guess who's here?!" And that's when I looked up and found myself on the sudden receiving end of a hug from the infamous Jenn + J. Small world ain't it?

I had told Ben if I didn't come back in 5 minutes it was either definitely Amelia or I left to get a hot dog. Now I knew since I had been gone about 10 minutes Ben was due over soon, and I didn't have a flare gun to shoot off in time to show him that not only was Amelia there, but so was "Jenn?!?" Ben exclaimed. "plus J." I whispered to him probably not half as quiet as I think I did. Hugs, hugs, and more hugs. So I talked to Amelia for a while. I remember much more of the conversation than I should have. They were down in Portsmouth for something. Something about one of Jenn's friends getting married. Or something. I'm foggy on that part. She's still working on the Disney Cruise Line, but is on a short vacation from it and will return to it (and her boyfriend who is also on the ship) later this summer. But we exchanged #'s, I told her how I missed her old hair, and blah blah blah we should hang out cakes. And that was that. I went back up to meet with Jeff, Amy, Kelly, Zeb and Ben. At this point, I seemed to be inexplicably drinking other people's drinks. Not on accident though. Ben stopped drinking because he planned on driving home so he gave his drink to me, and I remember Amy handing me her drink, but I don't remember WHY. I seem to remember another girl giving me her drink too. Maybe they were having a contest that I was an unwitting participant in. I'm not sure. But at least I didn't receive the social scorn for this that I did for eating that stanger's left over chicken fingers that Jeff bet me to eat at Six Flags 2 summers ago. Even Coty told me at the time "Buddy, there's some things even *I* wouldn't do. And that was one of 'em." This coming from the kid who would drink tuna milkshakes and roll around in the ice and mud on command on the way home from the dining halls. And I wonder why this entry is so fucking long?!?! I keep getting sidetracked with chicken fingers and tuna shakes. ("Mmmmmmm, tuna shakes." - FT) I just quote 'em people, don't kill the messenger.

So anyway. This next part is so foggy that Leon is getting larger AS I type this. So, I remember just standing there finishing one of my drinks. I also remember two incredibly drunk girls outside of the fence, and over by the parking garage attempting to pee behind a dumpster. One of the girls just entirely took her pants off, underwear too and hung the proverbial ham like she was on an Elm Street rooftop, or perhaps a Pac Sun changing room. This was very funny/sad/funny to watch. And watch about 15 of us did, from the patio. Despite making us feel like less famous versions of Chuck Berry, some of us were also yelling to the girls. One of the guys yelled out "take it all off!", to which another of the guys said "oh wait, you already did." At the time, I recall finding this funnier than Yahtzee. It's only mildly amusing now (also like Yahtzee). Now, while all this naked #1-ing was going on, apparently Jeff had dropped his beer bottle. Honest mistake. I saw it on the bricks and wondered why no one picked it up, but it was only broken on the top and as soon as I wondered about why no one picked it up I stopped wondering about it at the same time and went on to start telling Ben about the mirthful scene I just witnessed at the dumpster.

-Please pause for station identification-

"So none of you are going to pick up this fucking bottle? Are you just going to keep staring at it?" Ben and I turned around to find this little waitress with short blond hair {END OF THEME}, who, since I don't know her name, I will call Courtney, as the name fits her like a leathery bitchy glove. "Huh?" I intelligently asked. "None of you are going to pick up this fucking bottle?" "Well, when your so nice about it. . ." someone said that could have been Kelly, Zeb, Ben, or Brad Pitt for all I know. "You guys are assholes." she slithered back. She was annoying. I did not like her Sam I Am. (Not to be confused with I Am Sam) But, inexplicably, I disobyed every fiber of my being and FELT BAD FOR HER and told her I would help. So I picked up the broken bottle pieces and threw them away for her. She didn't even thank me. Instead, she just glared at us and mumbled some expletives under her breath as she walked away. The table next to where we were standing witnessed all of this. Everybody was annoyed that I helped her after what a bitch she was, and even I was annoyed I helped Courtney, since she was a bitch. Suddenly, as we all were deciding on our favorite names to call Courtney while she was well out of ear shot, I hear a smash. ANOTHER bottle had broken. But this one had come from the table of kids that were next to us. As we were sort of milling about the broken glass and rapidly disappearing beer, the kid who threw the bottle came over and started picking up all the pieces of glass and trying to throw them away as quick as he could. Apparently, I didn't find it strange at all that that the kid that threw it would want to pick it up. The next thing I know this bouncer shows up, led there by the pouting and firey looking Courtney. He points to Me, then Ben, then Jeff, and so on down the line, pausing at each one of us to say "You're outta here!" while using his hand to do the best impression of an umpire throwing out 5 drunken Lou Pinellas. Before any of the Zoo Crew could reply I shouted out "Why the fuck are you kicking us out?" He replied "Because Courtney (but he probably used her real name here) says you broke another bottle, and we don't tolerate that kind of behavior, so you're outta here!". I knew that it was the kid at the table that threw the bottle, but since there were a bunch of meat heads at his table that out-numbered us (yes, that's even including Kelly's McGwire-esque powers) I refused to point the finger at them in order to save my own skin. (Sort of like how I didn't rat McKeen out to save my own skin in 10th Grade World History and got kicked out of the class permanently for it) Clearly, I didn't learn my lesson from my GEKscapdes. "What don't you understand about 'You're outta here!'?" Toughy McYellsALot yelled at me. "All I know is that I didn't throw the bottle!" (Clearly, I also hadn't learned my lesson from the infamous bottle throwing incident at 38 Young Drive 2 summers ago with Ese and the Pod People). "Yeah, one of them threw the bottle." Courtney assured Toughy. What Courtney said as "one of them" I took as "Him, Zach. That Zach right there." To which I replied to her, "Why are you lying?!" She bitched back "It's last call anyway, why don't you just leave!" Ben finally piped in at this point, pulling at my arm and just saying "Let's go. Let's just go." Toughy leaves as he sees that we are starting to leave, and me, suddenly incensed that not only did I help Courtney after she was a bitch to me, but now she was ACCUSING ME OF SMASHING ANOTHER BOTTLE. So I went up to her and said, "How does it feel to be such a lying bitch?" "WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME?!" she said, almost hitting me. "Oh, I'm sorry. I just called you a lying bitch, that's all." "NOW!" Ben said and grabbed me. "Bye lying bitch!" I yelled as the table of the guilty party eyed me as Ben dragged me past. She shouted that I was an asshole as she flipped me off and Ben finally got me out into the street.

As we walked towards Gillys (in my neverending quest to get a hot dog) I continued to rant, rave, foam, and spit about "that lying bitch" and how much I hated her. Gilly's had a huge line which was populated mostly by people in tuxes and gowns. I didn't want to invlove myself with those blue bloods, and Ben wanted to just go home, so we walked back to Jeff's. It was on this walk back to the car that Ben finally, during one of my rare breaks in the ranting informed me that the kid who threw the bottle was apparently a friend of Courtney's.

"Wait . . . then why did he throw the bottle if he was friends with her?!" I demanded to know. "He . . . didn't." "Then WHO did?!" "Jeff did." Ben informed me. "WHAT?!" "Yeah, he was pissed off that she was such a bitch after you tried to help her the first time so he threw the second bottle down on purpose just to piss her off, and that kid that you thought threw it was coming over to pick it up in hope that his friend, Courtney, wouldn't see it when she got back, but he didn't do it quick enough." " . . . . . . . . . .Oh. Why didn't you guys stop me then?" "It was funny to watch you." So those are my friends.

Sunday morning saw me getting up at 8 to go to a staff meeting, 5 hours after I had crashed asleep and probably still drunk, at the same place all my adventures had begun on Friday afternoon, and one block away from the insanity I had involved myself in only 7 hours before. The meeting was typical Wallakers shit. Allison STILL looked pale and tragic and surprisingly didn't accuse me all "Crucible" like in front of everyone else of emotionally crippling her the previous morning. But if she had, Andrea was more than willing to go all "Tituba" on her ass. (Ahhh, I love my obscure Crucible jokes that only English dorks such as myself would get. *I* think it's funny and that's all that matters.)

I went back home and tried to watch my new Harry Potter DVD with Ben (who was feeling typically bright-eyed and bushy tailed despite last night's tribulations) but kept falling asleep and drooling on my shirt Ratliff-style. I then went and took a "short nap" at 5 and didn't wake up until 8:30. I slept through dinner. I never sleep through dinner. I felt naseous the rest of the night. My sickness wasn't helped by what Ben DID have for his dinner. He made, as he often calls them, an "experiment". Pasta, mixed with spaghetti sauce, garlic, Kalamata olives, whole jalapenos, salt and pepper, and A CHEESE SUBSTITUTE made of tofu and vegetables called "Veggie Shreads". The smell alone made me want to be locked in a coffin with Helen Hunt. I told him it was against God's wishes to substitute cheese. He said I should try some. I told him he could fuck off. I wished I could watch Alias at 9, but it is all over until the fall, which made me sad. Then I snuck over to the ol' Irving Midway and procured me some (literal) midnight snacks. That made me happy.

"As Sydney Bristow on Alias, I don't endorse Hostess Fruit Pies as sensible substitutes for dinner, but as Elektra in the new Daredevil movie I find their fruity filling Ninjariffic!"

And then I went to work tonight and Megan and I put out the Thomas and Lamaze and ate tainted cookies and milk and then talked about the 1,000 different ways a spider can kill you and eat your bones. It was a blast.

I feel like I have spent half of my life writing this entry. And if I know Frederick, he will spend half of his reading it. Sorry for the length, I know it must make eyes and brains bleed, but I wanted this last weekend all in one entry and not spread out amongst smaller ones all willy and most certainly nilly.

And so - we conclude. Finally. And somewhere - I'm still watching The Mirror Has Two Faces . . .and somewhere - I'm traveling back in time and killing the inventor of "Veggie Shreads" before he can invent the foul godless "food".

"There - that oughta hold those little S.O.B.'s!"

It's been real,

Ivo Hugh


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