August 24, 2006 - 12:24 a.m.
in the middle of the mall in a town called middle of nowhere, i'm walking with my mom. holding a shopping bag from a store i never shop at, in the middle of an august afternoon.The situation is set up as the most unlikely of places, with details to match.
i hear, "hey?!"
it's my friend Z, from the close enough to be plausible, but far enough away to be oddly coincidental big city (provincially 'big') who I haven't seen since our East Asian buffet lunch right before i left the country three months ago. So I, not wearing my glasses, look to see if my mother is showing any vague signs of recognition as i squint at the fast-approaching shape.
the unmistakable silhouette of a girl who'll keep you double taking before she even says a word. Infamous by many accounts, mostly because she is the suspicion behind many a memorable night, but also because she bears the improbable doll-like proportions that make people spend hours at the gym and line up to see surgeons.
We realize that although we see eachother not often enough, the duration of our friendship can be charted through about three metres of hair and an array of colours. She's one of the few people who i still get extremely giddy to see who I've known since the days of Fiction Design, Geek Boutique and Snug clothing.
Standing in the mall, i'm less surprised to see her than i should be. I was fated for a run-in with fun. and so the night began.
She welcomes me to her home:
The most brilliantly smart, and funny girl, in a package that would fool the pants off you,
is rolling me joints in her suite at a spa, which her work has been putting her up in for the past few months.
I'm hearing about why. But that's another story. We catch up.
I've been in Europe; she's decided a casino vacation is definitely on the agenda every so often, even though she's been ingrained to perceive the inherent sleaze and trash of it all, it's one of those guilty things you can't help but shrug about, cause you just can't not like it. Like Michelle Branch. It embarasses me but I can't deny it without feeling like I'm chickening out of my own identity, alienating an entire dorky facet of my personality. i haven't figured out where my priority stands, pride or integrity. Clearly.
Wrapped in matching fluffy bathrobes we walk through manicured gardens, with bridges over water features straight out of a 'Kill Bill' fight scene. all we need is snow. Perched on a rock, z and I blow smoke into the sky and then float in the indoor swimming pool and, alternately, the hot tub, as the glass elevator and dining room dinner guests look on voyeuristically. the soundtrack to the evening is soothing relaxation standards. barefoot in the corridors, we ooze...
'while you were gone Caban shut down... I'm just filling you in on all the gossip'
I am amused. these are the days of our lives. I am a firm believer in environmental influences on behaviour and personality development. Too much of this and I could lose my mind in a sea of tranquil music and soft lighting.
talk: three months of model-crazy american girls, whistling duels with badly dressed German couples, amsterdam, wholesomeness, exes and new boyfriends.
"i don't really call him that. I'm just test-driving it".
In the middle of her pristine bed, amidst a tray of room service chocolate armageddon, we're laughing at her despicable taste in literature and the fact that the poor guy in the kitchen was probably cursing when some dumb lady called at 2 minutes to eleven to order a huge dessert just as he's getting ready to close up for the night, thinking... 'man, this stupid cow,...who orders a chocolate armageddon at midnight?.. Yeah, 'two forks', sure, lady, you're sitting there all alone ordering yourself a huge scooop of chocolate to cry yourself to sleep on.'
alternately, there are two fresh out of the pool girls, sitting around a plush suite in cushy bathrobes giggling like they're sixteen.
In my excitement over the chocolate, I begin strategically distancing myself from the impeccable white linens. this worry prevents me from wholeheartedly drowning myself in this catered plate of heaven. I move a pillow out of range.
'don't worry' she says,'I have like, seven of them.'
I have a homework assignment:
Wednesday, August 23, 2006.
Today's Homework.
Read chapters 1 through 10 of "No Coins Please" by Gordon Korman, author of Don't Care High (underlined) and be ready to discuss it.
so, sitting on her King sized pristine
