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Jett Superior laid this on you on || November 2, 2002 || 2:10 am

Jett Superior on:

Word affection:
You know what’s a good word? Aperture. That word just looks pretty sittin’ there, don’t it?

Attracting the opposite sex:

Back when Syd Smashing and I lived together,


Polaroids make crappy scans, sorry.

we went out and purchased an audiophile’s wet dream of a surround sound system. We wagged it in the door, gleeful like drunk monkeys, and set the box in the middle of the living room to open it up and get started installing.

Two of the token males that always happened to be hanging around came out of the kitchen, scratching their bellies, and asking “What’s going on around here?” When they saw the box and its’ contents, they were immediately all, “WEEEE’LLL handle this.”

Because we are male,” was left upoken, “and are better equipped genetically to do so“, but nonetheless hung in the air between us. I stepped back, amused, and Syd went to pack a pipe so that we could watch the show and guffaw. About thirty minutes into the whole project, one of the males asked if we, maybe?, had a flimdillyflammer for the whositswhatsits (okay, I was stoned, I don’t remember exactly the part he asked for….). He said this with an air of skepticism and utter doubt that I would, but with hey-what-the-heck-worth-a-shot tacked on for good measure.

“Just a sec,” I said as I sashayed off to the back room and came back with a medium-sized pink insulated cooler. I strolled into the living room while Syd looked on, smirking. I scratched my nose (it always itches when I smoke pot, mostly on the right side) and then, unizipping the bag, I turned it up and a myriad of wires and connectors of all sizes and types rained onto the carpet. Both of the guys’ jaws dropped heavy and they said, “Ho-lllllly shiiiiit.” and “Well, fuck ME.”

One of the token males, a newly-acquired one named Tim, looked at me and licked his lips, then said, “Girl, will you marry me??”

Beauty:
Thora Birch. She’s so gorgeous; just has that inner something that makes one person hotter than the next. I don’t know why she’s not yet a huge star.

Horrifying moments:
When you are young and in love, you have to schedule sex very carefully, especially if your parents don’t look kindly on their seventeen-year-old daughter pleasuring her nineteen-year-old fiance on the daybed in her bedroom. Or at all, for that matter. It makes no difference that he’s a Young Marinetm and you don’t get to see him all that often. What matters is fooling everybody into believing you belong in that thousand-dollar WHITE gown when you ease on down the aisle, you know?

So Young Marinetm and I go out, crazed to the gills from Lackanookie, ready to find somewhere, anywhere that will accomodate us rolling around and rending one another’s flesh for a couple hours. We did and, wellll, we did, and we were even trying to be really, really smart about it. So smart that we didn’t touch or kiss or anything for thirty minutes prior to dressing and going home so that neither of us would have telltale red marks on skin or swollen lips. We rose from the beautiful, flowery field that we lie in and got dressed.

“How do I look?” I queried, and after he picked some hay out of my hair, I was pronounced well-pressed and acceptable. I was wearing one of those Coca-Cola polos that was so popular back in the late eighties, crisp white pants, and powder-blue Keds. The shirt was pale yellow at the shoulders, had an inset panel with the Coke logo in the middle and was powder blue at the tail. I had folded my clothes carefully and laid them far away from us so as to not wrinkle them, thereby avoiding suspicion of carnal behavior. Smaaaart white girl. SO smart!

We arrived fresh as daisies at my house, went in (and waaaay before curfew, mind you…) and stood at the entrance to the family room conversing with my mother for a good ten minutes. Then I excused myself to go to the bathroom while Mike went to the kitchen for a soda.

I stepped into the bathroom, closed the door, flipped on the light, and was greeted with my visage in the huge, wall-covering mirror behind the basin. What I saw there in that mirror made my stomach drop to the floor and bounce back up to my throat, thereby cutting off respiration.

Set atop my perfectly-pressed, crisp white pants, was a Coca-Cola polo without a logo. I was wearing my shirt inside out.

Disappointment:
So all along, Rosie O’Donnell was just a large, angry dyke in a fluffy, sweet-lesbian disguise. I feel verrrry betrayed.

Inventing a necessity:

JettSuperior: you know what?

JettSuperior: I need a little button

JettSuperior: that attaches to something on the other person’s computer

JettSuperior: and when I mash that button,

JettSuperior: the other person gets hit with a pie or something.

NotReally: now thats an invention that would sell

NotReally: fuck, i’d buy 10 right off the bat

Quality entertainment:
The Young Ones is where it’s motherfucking AT (still). I always laugh so hard that I’m afraid I’ll just tip over the edge and right on down into madness.

4 worked it out »

  1. brynne 11.2.2002

    I want a similar button.. but instead of a pie, it administers a small jolt of electricity to the other person.

     
  2. //tara 11.3.2002

    You make me cry, and I mean that in the best possible way.

     
  3. Jett 11.3.2002

    brynne: that is SHOCKING news. hahaha! SO punny!

    beautiful tara: and you make me vomit. which *I* mean in the best possible way, because I only vomit for people I love dearly. see pregnancy entry from earlier in the week.

     
  4. Tara 11.3.2002

    Yes, that pregnancy entry left me laughing so hard I was speechless :)

     

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