Selected Entries: May, 2003

I have selected the entry for May 26, 2003. On that day, I spent most of my time playing with Lacrosse Boy and Half Canadian Boy, and it is a happy memory. It was also the first time I shaved.



May 26, 2003

Mom came home from Hick State yesterday with a vengeance, although fortunately for me I was not here to experience most of it. Yesterday was one of the absolute best Sundays that I can ever remember.

I woke up around eleven o’clock in the morning, although I suppose that I should backtrack. Sunday started with me on the couch watching television. Powell’s friend was spending the night. At one o’clock, I went into our newly-finished basement to watch “She Spies,” which is by far one of my favorite television shows. In between, or, I mean, during commercials I watched CNN news. The man who, Paul McCartney (duh) played Red Square recently, singing “Back in the USSR.” “She Spies” was a repeat, but it was still good. I wonder if it will be renewed for a second season. I hope so. It’s a good show, although not very popular, not because it’s disliked, but because it isn’t well known.

After that I took my little early morning bath. I dressed in my pajamas, read my Bible, wrote in my journal, cuddled with Midnight, said goodnight to Powell, and went to bed.

I awoke at eleven o’clock that same morning. We had an excellent breakfast of eggs, scrapple, and corned beef hash, although I chose not to eat any of the corned beef hash and most of the eggs were gone when I got down there, I still enjoyed it. I had plenty of scrapple, which, by the way, is delicious. I then went outside, pajama-clad and all.

Lacrosse Boy was outside, and we spoke on different matters for probably about half an hour before we went into my house to get some drinks. Then we watched something on MTV. Then a Disney movie came on. Lacrosse Boy said that he wanted to watch it.

By the way, one of our conversations outside was based on what we would do if we were famous. I was talking about having a party, and Lacrosse Boy and I were conversing over who exactly we would invite to the party. We came up with Mariah Carey, Christina Aguilera, Britney Spears, Jennifer Lopez, the Olsen twins, Hilary Duff, Shaquille O’Neil, P’Diddy, Kelly Clarkson, and (although just to be funny) Aaron Carter.

Lacrosse Boy said that he’d come up to the door, and I said we’d put on the music and tell him that the party had been canceled. We said that we definitely wouldn’t invite anyone like Eminem or Marilyn Manson (ew). I think, though, that maybe we could invite Eminem. We would have to invite Michelle Branch and Vanessa Carleton; and who else? I don’t know.

Anyway, Lacrosse Boy decided to watch that movie and Dad came home from the store. He said that he had secured a job interview for me on Tuesday, and that if I had to cut my hair I would. Annoyed, I told him that it could easily be gelled back and look presentable enough.

I then went to get a shower. Lacrosse Boy told me that he’d wait in the living room watching that movie. I stepped into the steamy, hot shower. For me, taking a shower is sensual in a way that goes beyond sex. It’s like a bit of paradise, almost. I feel enthralled and peaceful, sensuous, but not aroused, all at once. I feel natural and protected. The shower is a sanctified place. No one can touch me there, and no one can take that time from me. I’ve figured, quite naturally, that this feeling goes far beyond the natural shower. It could’ve been applied to any place, because really it’s a state of mind. Although, there is something comforting about standing in your most natural state, nude, while the steamy water pours down onto you.

After my shower (“Oh, my gosh, you take a thirty-minute shower!” Lacrosse Boy said to me) I quickly gelled my hair straight back. I went down and asked my father if it was presentable. He said no. I became very angry with him and said that if that wasn’t presentable then nothing was. However, he hadn’t been referring to my hair (well, not exactly). He was referring to my facial hair (however sparse it is). He said that I needed to shave and then he advised me to comb my hair just a bit more to the side. I did both of these things. The combing was easy. The shaving was a bit more difficult. In the end, he had to come and help me.

Lacrosse Boy waited patiently throughout all of this, at one point playing with Thomas’s miniature basketball hoop. Finally, Lacrosse Boy and I played Risk. He’d never played before, and he was thrilled with the game. It was actually quite funny. The game really can be addictive, it’s so fun, although I was genuinely tired of it.

I got some Doritos and Lacrosse Boy got some, too. I cautioned him heavily, though, to not get any food on the floor, as we were eating in the formal dining room, where the game was. My mother would have a fit if we made a mess out there. So, we played some more. I went to get more Doritos, and Lacrosse Boy blocked the box from me. So we fought (not really) over the Doritos. I won, and I took a bag into the bathroom with me. I suppose I was really just feeding the fire, but oh, well.

Then I chased Lacrosse Boy around the house, trying to pop the newspaper bag before he could, and, once again, I won. We concluded our game of Risk, even though we didn’t really finish. I told Lacrosse Boy that we’d play again later. We went to visit Part Canadian Boy, who broke his arm recently.

I heard from both Powell and Part Canadian Boy that the bone was making a bump in his flesh. He didn’t cry at all, not even when they had to bend the bone to fit his arm into the cast. Part Canadian Boy deserves a lot more credit for being a really great person than we ever gave him before.

We played some tennis in front of Part Canadian Boy’s house. Then we went inside and watched “The Man Show.” There must’ve been a marathon yesterday, because there were very many “Man Show” episodes. That show (albeit in a very crude way) is funny. Then we went outside again. Then we went into Part Canadian Boy’s backyard and into his next-door neighbor’s backyard. Then we got permission from my father to spent the night at Part Canadian Boy’s house.

Lacrosse Boy couldn’t get permission from his parents, but before he had to go we made some prank telephone calls, although they weren’t very successful because almost everything in Beautiful Town closes early.

Probably the most successful prank telephone call of the entire night (and it wasn’t even that funny) was a call to a local restaurant during which I pretended to be an eighty-five-year-old woman seeking employment. I asked if my age or any previous criminal record would be a hindrance to being hired. I told the woman that I’d been charged a year earlier, when I was eighty-four years old, of armed robbery. She quickly figured out that it was a prank telephone call and she asked questions that visibly voiced her suspicions. I began to laugh and she hung up on me. I said, at the end (after she hung up on me), “You want my number? It’s 1-800-KISS-MY-ASS you stupid bitch!” Lacrosse Boy was practically hysterical. He laid on the couch and rolled with laughter.

We put in the movie “Pitch Black” into the DVD player. Lacrosse Boy had to leave in the beginning of it and we walked to his house with him because he was frightened that someone would jump out and grab him. He told us that one night he and a friend were walking down my street when a man in a trench coat began to approach them rapidly. Lacrosse Boy said that they ran very quickly. I would have, too. Ever since, he’s been more cautious. I really can’t say that I blame him.

We stood on his porch talking until about midnight (I was in my pajamas once more), talking about school and who we disliked (Annoying Boy came up in that conversation) and different teachers. We also spoke of scary things, and all three of us became frightened. It was fun.

When Lacrosse Boy went inside, Part Canadian Boy and I walked back to his house, a bit more aware of our surroundings than we otherwise would have been. Part Canadian Boy fell asleep before the end of “Pitch Black,” which I took out. I was going to go to bed, but (embarrassingly enough) I couldn’t bring myself to turn off the light. I read part of a book of questions designed to teach you about yourself. I finally turned off the light.