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5:58 p.m. - December 03, 2001
words start up again
This afternoon after school I was slouching through the parking lot feeling fatigued and thinking about how much I just wanted to get home, still residually angry over an argument I had with my English teacher about work that either was or was not turned in (it was), and annoyance with people for not bothering to bathe and then sitting close to me and my very sensitive nose (for the love of god, please bathe), and in general just being an after-school-Monday-type teenager. I was throwing my things into the back of the car when I heard somebody yell, �Tracker woman!� or some such, and there was Sam, sitting at the bus stop.

I gave him a ride, even though it was on the other side of town and he didn�t ask for one, because I suddenly felt philanthropic, if that�s the right word... so we�re driving down Ridge and making small talk about a boy returning from another country (who I thought I hallucinated but I apparently didn�t), and exchange trips, et cetera et cetera, and as I let him out at the corner, he said something about not having seen me in awhile,, how he only ever saw me at Brodieman shows, and that we should �run into each other more often�. Driving away, I was smiling. Sam is one of those people that you can never tell whether he likes you or not, and I never really talked to him because he always looked a tad bit annoyed to see me, when he did see me. So I didn�t talk to him. Well..it was just nice to know that he didn�t dislike me.

Sometimes I think I assume the worst about people. There�s a large number of people that I�ve assumed didn�t like me in the past, and some of them are the same people who wrote their phone number in my yearbook, along with some really nice things. Of course, the people who I thought were my friends are always the ones who scrawl �Have a Nice Summer� and sign their name unintelligibly, so I guess it all turns a full circle. I wish I had better people-reading skills. I claim to be all philosophical and perceptive and such, but really, I�m just talking out my ass. The difference is; I think I know things about people, and I don�t hesitate to blabber on and on as if I�m an expert on the subject, making assumptions right and left, and doling out advice. Then I turn out to be totally, completely, off-track, and I get yelled at, and that is the end of that, though I daresay I�m getting better at trying not to do that, since last time I looked at myself, I stopped dead in my tracks and thought, �damn! I�d be up there in the ranks of some pretty bad psychologists�, and from then on I�ve been trying to correct it. Bad psychologists can be damaging as all hell, oh, what am I talking about now? What kind of fucking statement is that, �bad psychologists can be damaging as all hell�? I think this thread is now over.

So, the Smash Mouth concert. Fun. The mean age there was probably about thirty-five, which surprised me, but hey. Rachel and I ended up dancing with a man and his wife/girlfriend/I really couldn�t tell what the fuck they were. The singer took some kids up onstage with him, at first just one little girl, who he sang a ballad to, and at the end, about ten of them, boys and girls, who just kind of stood there and watched him sing �Let�s Rock�, except for two little boys, who clustered around him. One was probably about eight, the other was about four. The eight year old had ulterior motives up his sleeve; we realized that when he whipped out the disc jacket for the guy to sign, but the four year old was just having a blast, screaming, �LET�S ROCK!!� into the mike. One of his earplugs fell out, and you could almost hear his mothers sharp intake of breath, but the singer simply gave the kid the microphone to hold, picked up the earplug, and worked it right back into the little kid�s ear. It was just about the cutest thing I�ve seen in a very, very long while; this rock star putting an earplug back into this tiny child�s ear right onstage, while the tiny child screamed into the microphone.

However, I spent much of my time watching the bassist, who was a very very sexy man. Rachel pointed out later that he looked like an older version of Livio, which is exactly the logic I had been attempting to push out of my head all night (thanks very much, Rachel) so, of course I vociferously denied it (what are you TALKING about? He looks NOTHING like Livio! The very IDEA!) As a matter of fact (dammit) he really, really did (dammit).

 

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