Man cannot live by bread alone but by every word which proceeds from the mouth of Katie. And by mouth, I of course mean hands. So read on, little ones, and fill yourself full on this month of August, starting from the bottom of the page.
August 17th, 2003: Meeting people is, as they say, easy.
I think that I’m an Internet geek of the worst kind. You know, the kind who not only responds to e-mails sent by potential stalkers but actually agrees to meet them in not-totally-public places. I blame it on unpopular hobbies and unusual ideas of what constitutes “fun”. Strange as it may seem, not everyone “gets” the joy of silences forced by bookstores, and not everyone understands driving twelve hours to see a favourite band. Hell, a lot of people I know don’t even have a favourite band. Weird.
Luckily, this Dana character isn’t a stalker at all. He has plenty of friends; he even has a girlfriend. I know what you’re thinking: “A geek with a girlfriend?” No, seriously. But Dana found my website through our shared love of the band Jump, Little Children, and sweet Jesus, he actually liked it. So I invited him to Kentucky this weekend to see the band with me, only to learn that the venue is a 21+ deal, and he’s only a senior in high school. No, seriously. So we decided to go see my friend Aaron-who-I-met-in-an-English-class-last-year and his side project band play at this old school-turned-studio called Milo Arts where artists can rent space to live or work. Like, twenty people can fit into the room where they play. It’s so intimate. You should be so jealous.
It’s funny—once Dana told me that he’s only 17 years old, I automatically started picturing him as a small child. When I chatted with him, all that I could see in my mind was this 10 year-old boy whose legs weren’t long enough to reach the floor as he sat typing to me at an oversized computer desk. And it’s not that he writes like he’s that young or anything; it’s just that I overdramatise things in my mind, you know.
So boy, was I surprised when he stepped out of his car last night and unfolded into six-feet, four-inches of twenty-five year-old-looking man. I’m not even talking about the kind of “men” all over my college campus, either. I’m talking about chin-length black hair, bandana, black eyes, black tee-shirt, denim jacket; full beard, Johnny Depp in Pirates of the Caribbean man, okay? There I was, four years his senior, feeling like a small child again.
My friend Joshrea showed up to the “venue” shortly after I did and announced that he’s going to learn to fight with two hatchets soon. He also claims to be getting into real estate in order to make enough money to make his first film next year, though, so we’ll see how this hatchet thing pans out.
It was kind of weird introducing Dana to my friends at the show. I mean, really, what do you say when people ask how you met? My response was something along the lines of, “He just showed up on my front porch about ten minutes ago, and I decided to keep him.” Having permanent company in the form of Dana was also ultra-weird. I always go alone, knowing that I can always follow Aaron around before and after the show if I don’t find anyone else worth hanging out with, but I spent all of the pre-show talking to Dana and appreciating my friends’ inquisitive “Isn’t that a girl’s name?” looks every time that I made him shake their hands.
The show itself just made me smile the entire time. Aaron’s side project, Sheldon Marsh, is totally harmony-oriented, which is my wildest fantasy come true. The three members use acoustic guitars, a mandolin, and an organ to supplement their vocals, which actually don’t need any supplementing at all, because the guys are such Damn. Good. Singers. that it hurts. Dana described them as “tranquil”, and he was exactly right.
The other band that played was called Morella’s Forest, and apparently they’ve been around for a while, though I’d never heard them before I went on an illegal downloading spree yesterday. Aaron told me that I would like the vocalist, but I rarely ever like chick singers (unless they’re uber-angry, a la Courtney Love), so I was taken aback by this girl’s gentle-yet-totally-likeable voice and the cute way that she moved her mouth when she sang. She was backed by a lone acoustic guitarist rather than the usual full ensemble, and that, of course, pleased me. I let her know it by asking if she would come home with me.
After the show, I asked Dana if he wanted to do “something fun” since it was still early in the evening, and Joshrea agreed to join in. Aaron and the rest of Sheldon Marsh were already planning to go somewhere with their other friends and girlfriends, so Josh and Dana and I decided just to wait around for them. Dana showed off the fire-breathing skills that he’s developed over the years with the lighter that he carries around for the benefit of his smoking friends, while Josh further elaborated on his hatchet-fighting plans and how he wants to decorate his weapons with human teeth that he’ll get from local dentists so that he “can look like a badass without even having to kill anyone”. Brilliant.
We headed to Byrne’s Pub around 11:15 but discovered that they were both carding and charging a cover at the door. None of us had cash for the cover and one of us wasn’t exactly of legal drinking age yet, so we headed to Old Bag of Nails instead after far too much deliberation and after Dana had his moment in the spotlight when all fifteen people in our group in turn incredulously inquired, “You’re not 21 yet?” as we stood on the street corner, looking to get arrested for prostitution.
Old Bag of Nails was getting ready to close as we drove up, but the manager announced that they would be staying open as long as we were drinking and asked, “Did you all come in a bus or what?” Dana was really feeling the need to go home at that point—saying that despite the fact that his parents were out of town, his conscience still wanted him to be home by curfew—but we had ridden to the bar in someone’s else car and therefore couldn’t just up and leave. He spent the majority of our time there tapping his fingers on the table and looking so bored that it hurt to watch him, but after enjoying some deep-fried pickles (no, seriously) and movie discussions, things seemed to get better. I think that Dana actually even (ugh) bonded with my male friends.
We finally crammed ourselves into Aaron’s car around 1:30 or 2 and headed back to Milo to get my car. On the drive back to my house, Dana claimed that he had a good time and that he plans to come to future Milo Arts-related events, so I feel like the evening was a success. Even if I didn’t liquor the boy up and steal his innocence.
August 14th, 2003: Well, if you didn’t consider me a freak of nature before, I’m about to change your mind. Things that you’ll need to know before reading the following include the fact that my mom died of brain cancer in 2000 and that my dad remarried (a woman who I really, really like) almost a year ago.
I dreamed last night about my mom, which is not totally unsurprising. Actually, it is kind of surprising, because I rarely ever have dreams about my mom, despite the fact that I’m nowhere near accepting her death and moving on with my life. However, a friend of mine recently died of stomach cancer, and before I went to bed last night, I was planning what to wear to her funeral this morning, so cancer and death were on my mind.
So, this dream. It was very short but very . . . .well, very sick. In it, a man who was apparently my boyfriend was sitting on a hardwood floor, leaning against a white-paneled wall, and I was straddling his legs, kissing him really very savagely. But, you know, savage in a way that he liked. Then, his mouth was suddenly covered in a little packet of peanut butter, a shallow plastic dish with a foil cover. I peeled the foil off with my teeth and then began licking the peanut butter off with my tongue in kind of a grotesquely erotic way. Until I suddenly sensed the presence of someone behind me and turned to see my dad peeking through the little crack that had formed between the hinges of the open door leading into the room and its door frame. He asked what I was doing, and I replied, “Making out with your wife.”
It was then that I looked back to my partner and realised that the person I was kissing was actually a woman, and it was actually my sleeping mother. Or at least I thought that she was sleeping in the dream. When I awoke this morning, I reasoned that she was probably dead in the dream but that I was unwilling to recognise it. You know, ‘cause if making out with your sleeping mother is weird, then I don’t know what to say about making out with your dead mother.
So, dream interpreters, what’s your diagnosis?
August 9th, 2003: Last night, I had a dream that Ariel Sharon was trying to gun me down from his perch atop a golf cart. Now, I’m not the most politically-minded person, so for me to be dreaming about the Israeli Prime Minister rather than, say, ice cream is rather odd. What’s odder is that I kept pronouncing his name incorrectly in the dream. Rather than scream, “Back off, Sha-RONE!”, I was actually calling him something more along the lines of the woman’s name, SHARE-un. And every time that I said his name that way, his gunshots missed me. It was like I was taunting him: “SHARE-un! SHARE-un! Na-na-na-na boo-boo!”
Upon my relaying the dream this morning, a friend asked me, “Is this any indication of your stand on the Israel-Palestine issue?”
“Probably not,” I replied.
“Any indication that little-by-little, you’re going insane?”
“Absolutely.”
August 2nd, 2003: Tonight, I attended the wedding of my high school best friend’s older brother and his German-speaking fiancé. Got that? I arrived about an hour early, as is my (incredibly annoying) nature and waited in my car until I saw my crazy great-aunt Dorothy walking into the church with my high school best friend’s mom. Are the pronouns getting maddening enough? The high school best friend is named Tracey, her older brother is Jeff, their parents are Jess and Gladys, and they’re my second family. I sat with Crazy Aunt Dorothy (“CAD” when she’s not within earshot), my friends Katie (The BIG K.N.) and Samantha, and one of my middle school teachers. Yeah, it’s totally normal to invite random teachers to your wedding. Totally.
The ceremony was in a Lutheran church so simply beautiful—bricks, giant hanging cross, blue stained glass windows—that it “spoke for itself” and needed no decorating, Tracey said. The bride wore a homemade dress, Jeff cried while declaring his vows, and the minister read a long list of the things that Jeff and Marie love about each other. Other than the three babies who felt the need to converse with each other and filled the entire room with babbling thanks to their strategic placement on both sides and in the back, it was all that anyone could ever hope for.
The problem with the reception is that Jeff and Marie are just too damn sensible. They played classical music rather than “The Chicken Dance”, served wine rather than Pabst Blue Ribbon, and placed rather than smushed cake into each other’s mouths. Plus, their hors d'oeuvres that looked like mini twice-baked potatoes turned out to be portabella mushrooms stuffed with crab. Good God.
Still, fun was had by all:
Note the placing.
Tracey's boyfriend, Ken, gets his first proof-of-existence on the website. It's only up from here.
Katie the Lush™ enjoys her own glass and prepares to down mine, too—after I discover that yes, I really do hate wine—as Sam uses her forked tongue to lap up some delicious, um, sculpted butter.
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