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2002-04-17 || 4:56 p.m. || being friends with the alphabet || a drives in an old car with windows down, bobbing her head, mouthing words. looks through magazines for ideas of what to wear the next day. thinks in three languages. b lives in a haunty apartment with a little dog and a little cat and a very nice boy who punches milions of holes in construction paper. oufits me with granny purses and dresses. used to be quite fond of the white russians at the alley. c is astroturf and shower curtains. open cabinets and thirty-year old time lifes. spazzy dancing. caffeine beading along his upper lip. jumping on the bed and kissing. d is small and shy, plaid shirts and skateboarding shoes. twirls his hair as a nervous habit. laughs the tiniest little boy laugh. once asked my sister if he was her 'steely dan.' loves leonard cohen. is a sweet poet writing in a hall closet. e loves cats like i do, in that achey mum way that leaves us worrying while driving on the freeway and trawling the supermarket aisles for presents and treats. employs one thousand cartoony voices. f g delivers workmail. leaves the reader's digests on my seat as a faithfully recurring halfhearted joke. has a moustache. it would not surprise me to learn he lives with his mummy. or in a boarding house in alabama. knows how to say 'you are a very pretty girl' in several languages. h i j keeps all the notes she catches her seven and eight year olds passing in class in a large drawer next to the silverware. drives to oki dog in the middle of the night just so we can marvel at the menu. paints her toenails in the kitchen. has the same southern california accent when applied to spanish, to german. k perpetually glows with the salt that's left on your skin after falling asleep at the beach. twenty-minute dresses. crying in restaurants. singing down the aisles of the drug store late at night. was in love with kenny rogers at the age of seven. l is mysterious and lovely. knit caps and holey tights. wears a tie. rattles chainlink fences with her fingers when walking down dark streets late at night. m can't sleep and steals away to his garage. moves his tools from one corner to the other. tapes talk shows off the radio. is metal siding and plaid cowboy shirts, old man shoes and pesto. his mum always makes the lasagna with the pine nuts when he comes for a visit. n o plays songs on the organ in the salvation army on valencia and 25th. comes up with the best song titles/band names/future children's names ever. is my favorite houseguest. sits across from me at the uc cafe and sings songs a capella while walking down telegraph avenue. p q r looked like tom selleck or the man on the tapatio bottle: moustache, dark hair, blue eyes. told me the story of how he met his wife while on the freeway in los angeles, driving at middle-aged speeds to visit his daughter at college. has had close calls. listens intently to the fuzziness of his beating heart. has called me olga since i was 10. s is physics and robots and sitting on a cement floor, playing video games. wears a hoodie every day. refers to my father as 'the naked guy'. takes a bus up and down the hill each day to have lunch with us. t is the russian dumpling. has a coat collection that rivals my own. is lovely like a small red apple. brings out the scandalous lady in me. wears stripes and stars and tiny shoes from japan. u v w is the world's best dancer. shares the self-haircutting gene. has a metal lunch box of sex toys and polaroids and isn't at all afraid of opening it in mixed company. x y is my bus driver. says good morning to my good morning every m through f. lets me bring coffee on with me, nodding and smiling with a conspiratorial wink. gets the sound of dropping change in his head long after he has gotten home. z guestbook || notes || archives || profile || photos || d-land |