May 27th, 2003
1). If some asshole from Trading Spaces ever paints my walls zebra skin, puts fake plants around my bed, or dangles stuffed monkeys from my ceiling, I’ll sue their ass.
2). If you leave a bag of potting soil outside for over a month in the rain with the top open you will prove the existence of alien life.
3). They DO use actual dead people as crash test dummies.
4). Avis is a rip-off.
5). Someone explain to me how Delaware is a State and D.C. is not.
6). No colon should be able to hold 40 pounds of shit. And if one should, no one should know about it.
7). The telephone will not hurt you.
8). Someone, namely Missy, should figure out a way to (sometimes) shut me up.
9). It’s not the Virgin Mary.
10). Why did Joe and Jake break up? I can’t remember.
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May 20th, 2003
Apparently, it’s not always good to have long “Away Messages” on AIM. My boy sent me
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May 20th, 2003
I met three, well-dressed men at a bar one night. They were older, probably mid-fifties. I was still smoking at the time. It was a place where they seat people at long, cafeteria-like tables which means, often times, you’ll end up next to strangers who are part of another party.
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May 15th, 2003
Toby just called, it seems our neighbors have left, headed west. And Kurt was blue. Toby bought a bike from them and I was given another plant to kill. I’m sure, once I return home with my hormones, I’ll see their empty back porch and get weepy.
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May 15th, 2003
This morning I saw a man on the map of the Navy Memorial. Even before I saw the items pinned to his cap, I assumed he was a veteran.
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May 7th, 2003
I have two weeks left of 27. It’s January. It’s a Saturday. It’s cold. There’s a car rented in my name. We had discussed doing something different—getting out of town for the weekend. And now the puffy-cheeked, weather people have barked words at us like “blizzard” and “8 or more inches.” But determination often beats out dark clouds.
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May 6th, 2003
I’m 6. I’m in our brown, custom-designed van, wall-to-wall carpeting, lights everywhere. I can stand up, proper, without touching the ceiling. I am pleased by this ability until I realize it means I’m smaller than my brother, whose head hits it. It doesn’t matter anymore anyway because ever since battery acid leaked in the van (and I watched a scary episode of The Greatest American Hero) I have been afraid of it. The acid ate the carpet in the very back, the back where we played while travelling, and it turned a fleshy pink color. It had looked like skin and, in my expert opinion, the van really just needed to be put down forever. We needed a new car. But the piece of beige flesh was removed and then covered again with something else. And, once again, we were on a trip, headed east.
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May 5th, 2003
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