..:S...P...I...D...E...R...B...I...T...E...S:..

Tuesday, January 13, 2004

“They say they found my high school ring clutched in your fingers tight...”
- Teen Angel

“They say they found my high school ring...imbedded in your eye...”
- Teen Angel (as performed by The Bucketmen)


i like it here. another boat went by outside. this time at night. it’s not like a car, not nearly as many lights or noises. i had to look twice to make sure that’s what i was seeing. something big, slowly creeping by in the dark. cool. as. fuck.

got to hang with some ex-college friends this weekend. mostly females which is always worth the drive. just the opposite of Carnegie Mellon University and it’s notorious Daves-to-Girls ratio. but as smart and interesting as the females are that i like to surround myself with and made friends with back in the day, they sometimes will revert to talking about (sigh) relationshits. i mean, relationships. problem is, my perspective sometimes hurts more than it helps. that reminds me of a story a girl was telling me about how her dude proposed to her:

she said, “we went on a hike, climbing hills for hours, we were actually lost for awhile, sweating and coughing when he finally got down on one knee..."

i interrupt to say, “well, at least he didn’t try to make shit all perfect, at least it was a more interesting situation, with you sweating and all that.”

she says, "yeah, it was cool. he found an arrowhead and gave it to me and said that it was symbolic and that’s why he’d decided to-”

red flag. my bullshit detector is in overdrive.

“wait, hold on.” i say. “so he wouldn’t have proposed if he hadn’t found that arrowhead?”
“i guess. so what?”
“what did it look like?”
“huh?”
“big? small?”
“this big.” fingers 3 inches apart.
“what color?”
“rock color.”
“did you see him find it?”
“yeah.”
“did you see him pick it up?”
“i think. why?”
“nothing. go on, you were saying?”
“anyway, it was cool because the last time we went hiking out there i found an arrowhead. and he said he almost proposed to me back then.”
“whoa. back up. he found one years before? okay, remember when you said you were lost? who was lost?”
“he was. he’s the one who goes there.”
“yeah, no shit. think about it. don’t you think that he might have been lost looking for the arrowhead he stashed so he could find it in front of you and then act like it inspired him to-”

angry looks coming my way. people seem to think that it’s cool that he went to all this trouble to make this moment but i contend that this manufactured moment, and therefore the entire proposal and resulting union, will be based on a LIE.

(by the way, “relationshit” was a typo in a script i was writing with my friend Rachel and, when she circled it, it wasn’t to correct my grammar, instead she thought it would make a good name for a band. she also thought of “Toxic Shock Syndrome” for an all girls band. seeing how i wrote a story based on the instructions to a box of tampons, i thought that was a brilliant idea. i hear there is a band with that name now. she thought of it first. i was there)

anyway, don’t think that i ruined everyone’s night or anything. drinking and college flashbacks can erase any memory of me potentially fucking up someone’s beautiful pink memories. hell, at least that dude was trying right? at least he gave it some thought, right? wrong.

arrowhead my ass. i'd take that thing to the fucking lab. try to find “made it Taiwan” or a barcode on that back of it. he was right though. it is symbolic.

i should talk though. i remember giving my high school class ring to a girl by sticking it on a teddy bear. i think that ring ended up coming back to me by being bounced off my chest in the lunch room. now that’s a break-up. ring rattling across a lunch tray. where’s the 80’s music for that scene? still a fond memory though. the things we used that teddy bear to clean up...

in other news:

- S.W.A.T ain’t good. change one letter in the title and it would be.

- i just realized i've passed ten thousands hits to this site. thanks. please continue to read.

- a girl’s apartment, hands, car keys and cds all smell good. even when they have cats. their cats must shit bubblegum and rosebuds or something.

- i've rewritten the opening of the short story below (above?) so that it makes more sense when no one reads it.

- there is a creepy red glowing cross on the hill overlooking my apartment.

epilogue:

just got back some pictures from our night of Bar Christmas Caroling. i'll post some later (i can only do one at a time) but let's get this out of the way. for the ones out there who doubted the existence of Santa, Jesus AND the midget that lived on the bar at a place called Casey's:

here he is!

check him out, all small. did he sell his soul? you decide. that red curtain behind him (next to his right elbow) is the entrance to his little treehouse at the end of the bar. hey, what if there's another little house in there, with people even smaller than him??? madness! ain't he cute though? don't you just want to run around with him under your arm like a football?

::: david - 4:47 PM [+] :::
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