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2001-10-31 || 12:29 p.m. || the revolving cast || the revolving cast: she lives in a neighborhood of stray dogs and stray cats and metal gates. knit hats and knit afghans and old man shoes, old lady sunglasses, and striped sweaters. the best collection of old photographs and sun-faded stationery and tiny elephants. says 'dude' a lot while playing nintendo. going on trips to seven-eleven for 'frozen cokes and cigs.' she read my tarot cards at denny's once. thrift store excursions and bowling nights and playing cards at club mallard. her front lawn is made of dirt and plastic figurines and a broken tricycle and strange moon-looking rocks. sweeps down to california by way of letters and postcards and early evening phone calls, full of loud loud 'shut up!'s at tops of lungs and laughing hard and expertly pushing well-worn buttons so that the neighbors grimace and close windows and turn their televisions up a bit. far-away stories of punk rawk tea parties and sharpened carpentry skills and discovering new restaurants on NE alberta. nebulous plans of moving into a motor home by the sea complete with duelling typewriters and hot chocolate. makes me miss walking on endless stretches of sidewalk and loafing on couches. why do we bring out the loaf in each other? he left the entire 'you belong to me' ukelele song from 'the jerk' on my answering machine once. he lives in a pink house. they live in an enchanted apartment on lake merritt, complete with a haunted crow's nest room on the top floor and flickery lights in the living room like the pirates of the caribbean. reunited alley kids and drinking red wine and guinness at shows. some serious shit-talkin softened by sentimental feelings for friends past, circa 1999. sitting in the kitchen while things bubble and boil on the stove. homemade dinners and hour-long cat discussions. weezer b-sides while crossing the bay bridge. crafty nights with construction paper and leaf-rubbings and i am so mad i always miss the crafty nights. she has a cat with thumbs, for reals. the cat's paws look like gloved people hands and it always freaks me out. the lighthouse beacon on alcatraz shines into her bedroom at night. plotting conspiratorial plans to snatch aline away from the oc to here, land of (finally) somewhat hmm. kind of. unanimous single-dom, dive bars, and expensive shoe stores. shared love for trashy reality teevee, i.e. love cruise and survivor. nerding out over biology stuff. the 'top secret' thai place on shattuck. philosophizing over the 'single girl' predicament: graphic details, mapping out relationships, biting lips and tugging on ears and trying to figure things out. hates going grocery shopping. takes no shit, man. he writes country songs. his apartment has a distinct smell of sunday morning breakfast and warm blankets and music coming in through open windows. he shined my shoes in the kitchen once. art made from cardboard and photos clipped from fat books. addictions to red bull and coffee. kitchen cabinet drawers flailed open always, displaying inventory of little debbie snack cakes and pasta and a spice collection that would surprise you. freckles on knuckles. hoodies and pants from jcpenney's. logical and level-headed but there are weak parts, and i have mapped them out and written them up and they are kept on a piece of paper in my back pocket.
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