Thursday, February 21, 2002

Emily has just introduced me- as she has been trying to do for a while- to Melissa Ferrick's Drive. It seems to be about a lesbian fingering another lesbian. This idea, in itself, doesn't do much for me- fingers? Weird. I've never really been intrigued by the idea of a finger up my....self, and while I hope to grow more accustomed to the idea so that, you know, I can actually be used to having anything at all up there before I lose my virginity (less than 6 months to my 18th birthday), the song didn't have the instant effect I was hoping it would, and Floyd and Emily both expected it to have on me.

It'll probably grow on me, as most songs do.

My head is killing me. Em says I should take something. My response to that is one that Andrew used to make fun of, as it was a very common saying for me when he and I dated: "I could." It's making a come-back...though not the inflection I used to say it with.

Emily's eyes have no pigment in them, which is why they're blue. It's the reflection of blood vessels. Temporarily, that makes me like them slightly less. So does the residual film of chinese food coating my entire digestive track. Makes me feel icky.

I don't like, in general, using words like "Icky".

"You're a freak."
"Yes, I am. Why do you hang out with me?"
"I dunno. Hoping one day you'll break up with Jeff?"

We laugh at the reference to lover-ly days when I was single (or, ya know, with Andrew) and we took advantage of that and our mutual....abbyism. (A title we gave ourselves during our relationship my freshmen year that refers to the fact that we don't believe sexual attraction has anything to do with gender. I don't know if I still subscribe to the theory, but whatever. I go both ways.)

"Haha, yeah, you and everyone else." I reply, giggling before I speak, something I've picked up from Jeff. "The entire population of Linda's friends, just waiting f.or that. 'We want our sex toy back!'"

We're listening to Screaming Infidelites now by Dashboard Confessional- I've never heard it before. I turned to play with her hair just before the part that talks about hair- "You're hair, it's everywhere, screaming infidelities and taking its wear." and she recoiled, as if rejecting the implications that I would have picked up on, knowing the next lines. And she's reading this now, so I feel inclined to point out that that was simply MY take on the situation, in a purely artistic way.

"You should be an English Major." She says, apparently because I come up with "weird correlations" that she never would have thought about. I remind her of her "The Modern Novel" class.

"A Plain Morning" now. Dashboard Confessional is apparently emo music- up until a few weeks ago, I had no idea what Emo meant- another Jacquie enrichment. It's great to have people in life who can expand your...horizons, I suppose would be the appropriate ending to a possibly irrelevant cliché.

Em and I are at my Grandmother's house in Gloucester, in case you were wondering, and I have a little over forty-five minutes of freedom left until I'll be watching *rolls eyes* the winter olympics.

Chad should experiment with better away messages- for my sake alone. I write this on here because I know he will if I do- that's the Chad persona. With girls, or maybe just with me, he does little shit like that to let one know he's paying attention. I love it about him. That and his skin and the fingers that are allowed to touch my nose when no one else's are. If I were him, I would feel elitist- he is the one who gets the end of my nose and my invitation to frank's pit, and...probably something else.

Went downstairs and came back up with this thought- if someone ate nothing but corn for a week, what would their bowel movements consist of?

We're listening to "Wicked Game" by Chris Isaak and all I can think of is Mr. Leighton and his screwed up music taste.

Printing Marilyn Monroe pictures- SOMEONE has to take advantage of my uncle's amazing printer. He just came in here, lectured Emily on folk music, and then when he left and I told him to close the door he said, and I quote: "No, leave it open. I don't trust you two." It was all we could do to contain the hysterical fits of telltale laughter.

The computer is on the fritz and I want to make sure I don't lose this, so I'm off. On with it.