2002-01-26 || 9:35 p.m.

|| catalogue. ||

remember these things, if just for the sake of being a lonely eighty-nine year old woman (quite lucid for her age, of course, sharp as a tack and able to remember these things):

six to the booth and we're smoking over our pancakes for the sake of a smoking section. hashbrowns and pancakes and fish sticks and ashes and discarded lottery cards we can't understand. kids in the booth to the right of us who were at the show, who saw our failed attempt at a group song. i can't play drums. i get too excited and too scared and there is the funny phenomenon of boobs and drumming and oh i can't handle it.

fighting in vancouver. the nicest waiter and the worst tension and the only time i have ever seen o mad. vancouver hookers are very pretty. the dance club with the cute kids and m's famous pick up scenario. her: 'are you a robot?' m: 'no. i'm an american.' her: 'too bad. i like robots.'

saturday mornings after late late friday nights. riding in the back of the pick up truck to the bagel shop with the punk rawk girl behind the counter. collective fawning over punk rawk bagel girl. getting back in the pick up, smeared with cream cheese, to ride to the albany twin. sitting on the staircase while o and m and a dumped in the kernels and oil, brought down the till, replaced the caps of the soda machine. tipping our cups of sugared coffee to the matinee crowd, not bothering to get up from the staircase.

walking to the gas station on the corner for boone's farm. that one time b threw newspapers into the air to watch them fall in front of the church that gives finnish services, getting egged by a passing car of mean mean boys. ruining my magic hooded camel coat. taking it personally.

the trip to abbott's lagoon. getting lost in san dunes and fog with m and j. using driftwood as swords and speaking with pirate accents. sitting under a foot bridge and telling secrets. smoking like castaways.

the spin the bottle that went on for far far too long. spin three and j's closet and reading childhood books instead of making out. scandalous staged polaroids. sleeping feet. awkward angles and suits askew and the collective sigh of relief when it was all over.

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