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Archive for March, 2003

 
|| March 4, 2003 || 10:24 pm || Comments (11) ||

Okay, a quick test of your loyalty and level of blind devotion to me question:
If I were to come on here and type-scream, “I NEED FORTY-FIVE DOLLARS, QUICK!”, would you send it to me? What if I did it four times a week?

Just asking. No need to be hateful, you ungrateful turds.

 
|| March 4, 2003 || 4:59 pm || Comments (12) ||

I just spent about two-thousand dollars on items in the Ross-Simons sale catalog (Italian Pewter flatware! Estruscan ring! …among other things). It took all of seven minutes to do so.

It was all spent in my head, but still…I spent that shit. And I saved sixty-five percent offa retail!

But again…in my head.

Fuck you, Poverty. I’ve got about all the character I can stand.

 
|| March 2, 2003 || 10:20 pm || Comments (8) ||

Sometimes a heartfelt cry on a long, unplanned drive is just the thing a girl needs.

With Beth Hart building the wall of sound around you, of course (“And she’d come to me / When fire and water was gone / To caress the empty / With a song”).

Finding that I had a need to urinate somewhere along the way had me eyeballing my surroundings: “Lord, don’t lemme pee myself in the interim…” Hey, there’s been worse prayers, maybe even uttered by you.

Antique shops (snooty bathrooms, visited at a premium), used auto parts storefronts (if their windows are that grimy, what of the toilets?)…nothing suitable, and I spy the side of a gray-and-tan speckled building. Carved into its wall I see the word ‘LIBRARY’.

I nosed my car onto the side street, parking carefully, locking doors and smoothing hair simultaneously. There is nothing for the puffy eyes, but my lipstick is creamy and just right, so that’s that.

There is the sign big as day as soon as I enter:

RESTROOMS
<---

Not having to ask is a treat, but I have to go back to the desk for the key. This hearkens me back to middle school and I am madly compelled to do something inappropriate. What that something is I didn’t yet know, but give me time and the slightest hint of impropriety and I’m your girl.

Upon completion of the task at hand, the wiping, the flushing, the handwashing, I wonder at whether or not I ought to browse.

I want to lend legitimacy to my visit.

But then I think, “What is more legitimate than a full bladder?” and I think, “I’ve never hidden my actions behind suitability before, why start now?” So I hung the bathroom key back on its little hook, rattled my own palmful of keys and walked confidently out the door.

God bless government-subsidized bathrooms. Worn, but clean. Lemony soap. Thanks for the facilities, Cullman, Alabama.

 
|| March 1, 2003 || 11:55 pm || Comments (2) ||

A prime indicator that it’s not gonna be a fiercely intellectual evening is the (usually) low-key guy in the corner blurting out

“When he brings on the Wesson,
you know he ain’t messin’…”

Welcome back! I missed you, my puddies!