i'm fixin' to wax on, wax off

I am two weeks away from hoop skirts and parasols.

My plan to get out of dodge has taken a southern turn. House. Maybe a newspaper job. Bike riding weather all year round. It sounds pretty nice. Good scenery nice. Change of pace nice. And the best part, my would-be roommate doesn’t seem the type to have heads in his freezer. So it’s all good.

My mother, however, isn’t speaking to me.

Here is what I think of that: she’ll get over it. Right? Really. I mean, she will, right?

M is back from Heaveland! He almost got punched today by a shifty quick change artist! He got hollered at by a guy wanting a phone book! I told him I was moving to Georgia with a stranger! WELCOME HOME!

The dead squirrel that has been the object of a mild obsession of mine is missing. Missing in inaction. I assume some lucky dog came upon him and is now burring him in their back yard. I was really hoping to follow his decomposing process all the way through to dirt, but no such luck. Last I saw him, he was pretty much like furry jerky.

I am gearing up for what promises to be a very tumultuous couple of weeks. I have stock piled family-sized boxes of Puffs with lotion. I have switched to tear-proof mascara. I have enough sleeping pills and cheese puffs to make it through an entire weekend without leaving the house. I have stashed away enough beer money to last me two weeks, three if I can hit at least part of happy hour each time. In the words of our verbally challenged el presidenté, bring it on.

Athens, Georgia day dream #345: Me and Pete Buck sitting on a porch swing and drinking mint juleps.

Here is how A asked me to hang out this weekend: Do you have planimals on Friday or Sunday Night?

The Canadian asked me if I was secretly hoping M would come fetch me from Athens, Georgia. I told him no. I was openly hoping to be fetched from Athens, Georgia. I guess that makes some kind of difference. I don’t fashion M a fetcher. He’s too laid back for that. While in the kitchen, in between making out and yelling at each other, I asked him if he had ever fetched anyone. He proceeded to list off all his crazy ex-girlfriends, each followed by a resounding “No.” I asked, “Never, not even when you liked them did you go fetch them when they stormed out of a room?” He replied, “If I did, it was only to argue some more.”

No good!!



Here is where I get all Karate Kid. We had fetching lessons today! I left. M came and got me. I said, “See, that wasn’t so hard. We’ll keep doing this every day and each day I’ll be a little farther away until I’m in Georgia.”

Here is what I know: one day soon, I’ll tell him I don’t want him to fetch me.

Here is the biggest surprise of all: I’ll mean it.

Here is my biggest worry about this journal entry: fetching has become some kind of kinky code word for some kind of kinky sexual act and suddenly my weblog is gonna be A LOT more popular.

Tomorrow is supposed to be the day we closed the deal on the store, instead it’s the day I sign an extension on closing the deal on the store. I guess that’s better than nothing. Wish me luck all the same.