Yesterday I missed out on entering a journal entry for 1/2/3, January 2, 2003. now I have to wait until 2/3/4 to have a similar giggle. I spent a great deal of time New Year's day in a couch fog, slept until 11am and got laughed at by Doug. Linda and I stayed up until 2am laughing and talking. It was a pretty low key evening, we drank a few very powerful elixirs mixed by senior staff mixologist Doug, and the champagne toast is what put me over the top of not feeling super well. That's what did me in. Stupid champagne.
I'm glad we don't go out for New Year's Eve. It was fun to just hang out here, write in the journal while tanked and make Linda laugh.
No one has responded to my call for a husband for the girl. I think this journal may have scared the potential husband off. Seriously, would you want to marry into this family? Poor Doug. He didn't really grasp what he was getting into.
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| Hanging out just before midnight on the icy porch with my margarita glass, wearing flannel, wearing dorm pants, and loving the fact that I'm not in a noisy club. | Linda does a great "Patsy" imitation and here she shares it. She should have a big bolly of Stolly instead of a margarita glass, but this is close enough. |
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| I interrupted Mr. Spaceman while he was playing video games. He stayed up until 10:30 and then put himself to bed. | Jessie looks thrilled to be spending new year's with us. She stayed up until 1am. I was surprised |
 | Linda, silly. Very very silly. |
I interviewed for a job substitute teaching at Geoff's school and ended up having a great talk with the pastor of the church where the preschool/Kindergarten is hosted. He needs someone to pretty up this presentation he does on dinosaurs and the New Earth theory of creation (Doug said this pretty much boils down to a theory that dinosaurs never really existed and Satan put bones in the desert to confuse us, and the earth is really 6000 years old instead of billions of years, which is bull hockey but we'll leave the debate at that). I wanted to ask him "If I disagree with your position at it's core, can I still work on the project, get paid, and we both live happily ever after?"
I don't mind working on projects that don't match my world view. Some of the core content in professor MF's class really rubbed me the wrong way content wise, and I would never choose to teach the stuff she was teaching, but it was her class. I was the technical facilitator. Content wasn't my concern. And I feel the same about this pastor's stuff.
I'm a web whore. I'll make anything you want. No conscience involved. Just pay me. Oh, I've reduced myself to a very sad place, have I not?
Seriously though, I don't have a problem with his project's philosophy or with her ethereal meditative world peace "Ohm together and the earth will heal" stuff. I roll my eyes and cringe, but it's their content, not mine. If I want to teach a full class on something or develop a presentation about a theory, I could go ahead and do that myself. In the meantime, I let the different thinkers do their thing and I make them look good. Am I a sell out? No. Because I don't think in the long term their positions really impact the universe. The way I see it is I'm portfolio building and retaining skills while unemployed. That's the extent of it.
Linda left yesterday afternoon and Geoff and I played video games and whiled away the hours until everyone came home. I kept him home today too, why bother sending him to school for two days. He'll go back Monday. I was going to take him up to the local ski hill, and both of us could get a lesson, but it is bitter cold and snowing out, and I just feel like drinking coffee and reading journals. So we're listening to the radio, hanging out, and enjoying our morning together.
We are forecasted to get 4-8 inches of snow tonight, which should be interesting. We still have so much snow from the last storm. Will the madness never end???
I have been cruising for other blogs, and I think I found next week's aortal link of the week, but in the meantime, here's a blast from my past pulled out from one of his 100 things list. He writes:
88. Many years ago, my friend and I were out T.P.ing some girl's house who was in our class when her mom came outside in her nightgown. We started running and she yelled "come back!" For some unknown reason, I went back.
And suddenly I am toilet papering Kenny's house in 12th grade.
The story is this. A very good friend of mine, who will remain nameless here because I don't know what the statute of limitations is on this sort of case, was in love with this kid K. He was a year younger than we were, perhaps two, I can't recall.
He was lovely, indeed. I remember being in band camp with him, and we were marching all around the field doing formations and practicing. I played sax, my friend flute, and K was a trumpet player. He had on a pair of overalls, and took his shirt off. It was late August, ten million degrees, and he was tan and beautiful, with his overalls done up over his bronzed shoulders. When we'd march, his shoulder blades glowed like angel wings, and for an instant I could see why my friend was borderline psycho obsessed with this kid.
Months passed, and it was winter, and we were at a party. K had repeatedly spurned her advances, and we found ourselves pondering what could be done. I told her repeatedly that he didn't like her because of the smoking (which I'd heard was the reason, but he also knew she had a boyfriend and he didn't want to get mixed up in that sort of a mess). He was a good kid, a nice kid. Can't fault him for that. But she was hell bent, not for love, but to get him back for rejecting her.
17 year old girls can be so insane.
She talks me into going to his house to TP it. Which in itself is not insane. But wait.
TPing was all the rage, and I'd gone on several TP runs in my time. I should do a whole entry on the perils of TPing houses and the havoc that resulted, but for now we stick with Kenny. We went to the 7-11 and pooled our money to buy enough TP to leave a foot of snow in every tree. Patty also bought a bar of soap, which I thought was funny. She was going to soap his car windows. Excellent.
We went to the house, parked a block or so away. It was a quietly tony residential neighborhood and he lived on a corner lot. I took one corner, around the dark side of the house, and Patty took the driveway side, where the car was parked.
I put a roll of toilet paper on a stick, to increase the flinging velocity (a skill I learned from Rob K. on one of our other TP adventures) and began creating a winter wonderland. The house was pitch dark and silent. I smiled and chuckled to myself at my stealth and skill. Nary a dog did bark that night.
Suddenly I hear a voice behind me that was not Patty's. "What do you think you are doing?" Said Mrs. K's mom.
Uh,
uh,
"Toilet papering?"
"That's all fine and good, whatever. But come see this." She leads me to the side of the house where Patty was doing her thang, and I was horrified.
All over the garage door, all over the car, the driveway, everywhere -- she'd used the soap to write "Fucking Prick" on every surface that could be soaped.
I recall seeing something like that in a bad 80s movie (if you know the movie, let me know, I can't seem to recall where she got her inspiration from...) and I felt my heart sink. I felt guilty. I had no idea she was doing that.
And the bitch ditched me.
Mrs. K's mom lectured me for a while, and I stood there stunned. She asked me who did this, and I wouldn't tell. She told me to get the fuck off her lawn and to tell whomever was responsible that she'd find out. I took off, walking around the block and up the street to the intersection of the main road, where she had hidden in a school parking lot. She drove over quickly and picked me up. She was laughing maniacally and yelling about how she took off running like hell when the mom came out.
"Uh, yeah. I just had my ass chewed out. What were you thinking???"
"Isn't that awesome? I saw that in a movie. What a mess! He'll have to clean it up." She laughed and laughed and laughed.
I think our friendship changed markedly after that event. I felt badly and wanted to go back and tell on her and help him clean up. We drove around for a half hour and she wanted to go back and look again. I didn't. I told her to just let it go, and I remembered the look on that mom's face.
We went back, and K was outside with a bucket of water, and scrub brushes, cleaning up. The kitchen, porch and driveway lights all glowed like the sun in the relative darkness of the neighborhood. As we passed, she yelled "HA HA HA YOU FUCKING PRICK!!!" out of the window and then gunned it. He knew who it was. And I thought for sure we were fucked.
He never spoke to either of us again, and neither of us were charged with anything. We should have been. She should have been for sure. I was caught with a stick and a roll of TP, but she had malice, soap, and a heart of cold steel.
So. Hosemonster. Thanks for bringing me back to a weird event in my life that I still cringe over. I hope I never see K again. Ever.
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