Big Shock: I was late for the party. Luckily there was still food left to be ravaged by the girls in wallpaper-turban-togas. Sra -- I'm pretty sure your entire offering was eaten by four of us. Not that I'm complaining. In fact I only drove you home so you'd invite me in for more. Haha, I'm kidding! (OR AM I?!?!)
Relevant quote: "These don't just taste like pretzel buns, they are pretzel buns!" (Allie)
First of All: What was with the guitar man? Where did he come from? And why did he call Carly a cunt? Clearly he's the one that needs to write his life story in blog form. It's probably full of crazy stories. Plus sometimes the distancing of the net is a good idea.
And then there was Shirley: I met Shirley at the Ontario Student's Classics Conference a couple years back. Her high school beat my high school at everything. Every damn thing. (Except slinging: my old calculus teacher was involved in the creation of our sling; his motto "it's all in the tangent" pulled us through.) Anyway, the point is that I am unable to harbour any resentment towards her now because it's wildly clear from her writing that she is lovely. She also drank sloe gin out of a honeybee honey container and said things like: "I don't like that it gets sticky..." and I thought that was pretty funny.
Did I ever tell you that David Alexander is the taller, straighter version of Josh Ezekiel (conveniently shown to the left)? I'm not going to lie: probably my favourite moment of the party was Dave standing in our net (that is, standing between a twig and a Mazda), intelligensexily chewing on end of his glasses and waiting to head the ball when it came his way.Kind-of-relevant quote: "Go Tanya! Yeah, you like gettin' head, don't you?!" (Amanda, the Soccer Mom from Hell.)
And now you're probably wondering you played soccer? What kind of a fucked up blog party is that? At MY blog parties we play Boggle and exchange html secrets! Well I don't know. We also had a pompa. Explain that. Our team lost the game. I can't decide whether to blame it on my lack of footwear or the fact that we just felt sorry for the other guys. Hoodie being a machine might have had something to do with it too.
Blogs are to blogging as: Blogs are like the Blob, because they pull you in and you can't escape them and the first three letters are the same. When I got to the party, it was dark already and I had a hard time recognizing people, even the people I know. I spent a lot of time pretending not to know the things I know about you all. Not that I don't like what I read; it's more that I'm embarrassed I don't offer more personal things here. I feel as though I've been less honest with you than you have with me.
Blogs are hard to talk about. I wanted to tell Laura that I've been reading hers for ages and when I noticed that a dark-haired boy in a motorcycle jacket had started hanging around outside Cyborg Tutorial, it felt like these worlds were colliding, and all I could do was pretend not to notice and look at Mackerman with a smirk on my face. Reason #146 for M. Ackerman to think I'm crazy.
It was also hard to say goodbye to Chris Clemens without really saying goodbye, because he's right, his words will be around, whether we care to hear them or not. Still, I wanted to hug him because once he kissed me on the forehead when I needed it, and I'll remember him like that whether he likes it or not.
Quote from the poem on my post-Fringe-party apology mixed-tape that I wanted to tell you: "America, I'm sick of your demands. When can I go into the supermarket and buy what I need with my good looks?" (Allen Ginsberg)
Allie's boyfriend let me lick his eyeball. Without hesitation. It was awesome.
Seriously, though, what was with that guitar man?
So the mammoth post is over.
And the summary is: I'm watching you.
