Sunday, August 27, 2006
Sunday Lite: Since U Been Gone
When I was in sixth grade, I had trouble getting the chicks to notice me. There was this one girl Shelley who was cute. I tried to make smalltalk about homework with her one day and she told me (and I remember it like it was yesterday) I should "fuck off" and punched me in the throat. It sounds harsh but I never washed my throat again. Seriously, you should see the state of it. It's disgusting.

The only one I ever knew who had a crush on me that year was Molly Palatino. Not the skinniest girl in our class by a long-shot, but I at least appreciated being in the position to reject someone else. Anyway, just before her birthday that year, she made me promise to bring her "something special." She was all up in my face, blocking my view of the back of Shelley's sexy, sexy head, so I said something like "yeah, sure, fine."

So her birthday comes and we're at lunch and Molly's, like, crying. Her one friend, the horsey-faced girl with the horn-rims and the headgear whose name I forget, was staring death-rays at me. She wasn't just glaring, there were literally death-rays coming out of her eyes. Something about the odd prescription of her glasses and the angle of the sun at that moment. I still have the scar on my neck. You can't see it because of the no-washing, but it's there.

Death-Ray Headgear says to me from across the table "You promised to bring her something. You promised." Flecks of spit were flying and foam collected at the corners of her mouth. It wasn't just that she was mad, it was just something that happened when she said S's.

When I would bring a Hostess cupcake to school, I would peel the top frosting layer off and suck the filling out through the little hole (and still for some reason nobody liked sitting with me). I was about 2/3 of the way through the process when I was proxy-confronted by Death-Ray, so in a half-mocking half-conciliatory gesture, I offered the indecently accosted cupcake.

She took it to her. And wouldn't you know it, the fat bitch ate it.

I proved two things that day: 1) I always keep my promises and 2) you CAN transmit mono by sharing food. It was nice that ole Molly was gone for a few months, but then I had to be the one everyone knew gave the fat girl "the kissing disease."

The point is, I keep my promises; this is not a guarantee that all those involved--myself included--will be happy with the outcome.

So here I am. It's Sunday. I promised to write on Sunday. And now I've written. I bet you all wish you got mono instead.

Just no time to throw together anything decent or even coherent, alas. It will be my first alarm-waking-up morning since June tomorrow. Also, I found out that sending TWO kids to school is, like, twice as much work as just sending one. This is why I majored in the humanities instead of anything requiring math.

Tomorrow is sketchy as it's a half-day for the kiddies. By Tuesday we should be into something approaching a routine again. It will be a small adjustment as I'll only have one child left at home to ignore, but we've been workshopping some imaginary friends so I should be able to blog guilt-free for the foreseeable future.

I really should apologize for this post, but I'm not sure what disease is appropriate for blog-suckage.

Until tomorrow.

Or Tuesday.

Or if you're reading this Monday, still tomorrow maybe. Or maybe later in the day. OK, I'm stopping now.

This post on the Narcissus Scale: 10.0



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