Okay. This morning I woke up with a mosquito bite on the crack of my ass.
I think I've had enough. My legs are covered with small red polka dots. Steve's ankles look like a study in pointillism.
They fucking suck. I hate them. I want to kill them all.
And it's the rain's fault too. Oh, yeah, thanks a lot, rain and then let the sun out to bake those little mosquito eggs right up so they hatch and suck all my blood. Make the living conditions perfect for them, with their long pointy beak, and thin gossamer wings. Millions and millions of them, all with one purpose, to suck the blood from your ankles.
Nice.
Julia - 8:50 AM
Tuesday, July 22, 2003
I was talking to Patty's cousin Ronny who I had just met. A real nice guy, wearing jeans, no shirt, a tattoo on his lower back, a cap over his long hair which was loosely pulled in a pony tail. He had a low drawling voice. I asked where he lived. "Clove Road," he said with a sneer. "Oh, you don't like that street," I said. "No, why?" he replied. "Oh nothing," I said. I had assumed the sneer was a physical gesture to indicate his dislike, but I was wrong, and noticed this was just a tic of his, to lift his top lip into his nose, like how kids pretend to be a bunny sniffing. Well, we start talking about weather and he tells me how Montana is so miserable, the roads are screwed by the snow etc. Huh, say. What made you live in Montana? I asked.
I met my lady there, he said.
Later on in the conversation he mentions how much he detests the cold weather.
How did you make it through those awful winters, I asked.
Speed, he said, and with that he left with Jani and Patty to go to Deep Hole to swim off the heat.
Aha, I thought, the answer to his sneering tic.
Julia - 10:38 AM
Sunday, July 20, 2003
so.
we asked this friend of ours where to get a good egg sandwich and he laughed in our faces. after gathering himself together, he told us we could go up to Nanny's, or whatever it was called and if you felt up to it you could try and explain to them what the intense dynamics of an egg/cheese/meat of your choice sandwich was, and then hope for the best. He warned us however, that when he last endeavored this risk, he received a rude awakening. The woman he took five or so minutes to explain this equation to somehow decided that he needed a big glob of mayonaisse on this sandwich (which said friend calls "white death" and is phobic of) which when he bit into the seemingly innocent sandwich blorped out onto his hands, and he subsequently threw the egg sandwich on the ground in anger.
egg sandwiches are not easy to come by.
Julia - 9:02 AM
