long weekend..

9 months..sheesh....i dont know how pregnant women do it..or why people would have more than one kid for that matter..it defies all principles of conditioning really..why would you want another screaming kicking crying......thing ...around the house..and why would you want any in the first place? point is, 9 months is a long time just for that...

this really isnt about pregnant women though..

i want to write about this weekend ..lots of funny shit happened..yet it seems rather pointless to mention any of it because you two are the only ones who read my blog and you know perfectly well what went on..at least the things that are worth writing about ...nonetheless..i seem to like recapping the things that go on ..especially since i no longer keep a diary (sorry hun)..

id hate to forget anything though, which leads me to my next point..

we need to take more pictures (yes i said it)..and by take more pictures i mean start taking pictures....then ill print this shit out along with your blogs one day and we can have a very discriptive photo album..that is if were all still friends whenever "then" is...

maybe its better that we dont have any of those bondage looking pics.....but guys..next time you play drunk charades it really is a must.

how else can one capture the essence of ..scott drooling on the floor...scott as "channel 5"...scott screaming "fuck me in the ass!" while pulling his ass cheeks apart ...scott being tony hawk...(what a clever way to play by the way, when you are so dependent on a prompt) ..scott being a stomach..and just scott in general because for the most part all of those looked the same...
these moments would make a great credit card commercial...because even though anyone can afford the wine, scott is truly priceless..enough to make all three of us drop on the bed laughing..

of course there are other things, like mikhail immitating his.. well..twin with the words "she looks just like me...thats disgusting!"...indeed..with a touch of lip gloss, you really would not be able to tell them apart..and having a picture of that..well..says a thousand words...we could send it to to her and everything...put the two side by side...

and no i didnt forget about pictionary ..but those things remain saved on nikitas computer...and can be retrieved rather quickly, without going through the whole reconstructive memory deal..another reason why pics are useful..we all know how inaccurate eyewitness testimony realy is..

we also must go to chilis and take a pciture of the chips, and put that on the cover of the album. it would be sweet..
(especialy since we all suck and its not gonna happen, and so im forced to write this..i hope youre happy with yourself)

anyway,
i must say..staying in this weekend wasnt all that bad..

the smartest thing ive ever done is let the other person talk

bus thoughts ..pretty boring and pointless

My thoughts come to me like lines from a shitty novel. Printed words on yellow pages. Short sentences, frequent periods and no commas. I’m sitting on the bus back from Boulder, examining a bald head. The owner of the head is driving the bus. I stare. No hat. He isn’t embarrassed of his baldness, probably even shaves his head. He scratches it periodically. I’m not sure if that’s a sign of stupidity, or just the hair growing back. RTD emblem on his sweater. A neat, ironed collar peaks from underneath. And when the head turns, the fat on the back of his neck wrinkles and folds. Two small “flesh tunnel” piercings in each earlobe. Still a tough guy. Driving a bus. With an ironed collar? Must be married. I could be wrong, no one wants to marry a bus driver.

How much can you learn about a person based only on their physical appearance? It seems the answer lies within the details. Streaks of originality, personal touches (if they do exist) are found in the meticulous elements of a way of life. Conformity is a general term, especially when it comes to appearance, precision escapes its glance, as it escapes the glance of most persons.

The owner of the head, which I am studying so carefully, stops the bus. A blond, sun burnt kid steps on. Elongated “luggage”, bag, whatever. An Athlete. Skier. He asks the bald head how much it is to go to the airport. The head turns, the fat neck wrinkles, and a surprisingly kind voice answers, “ten dollars”. The kid only has a twenty, 7 in single dollars, and no change. A young woman behind the bald head starts shuffling through her purse. She hands the kid three bucks. He starts to say something about ‘at the airport….” She smiles and says that it’s fine. I think of derailed and close my purse. My thoughts come to me like lines from a shitty novel.

The skier tries to justify himself to the bus driver, he wants to stick all the bills into the machine at the same time, but the head corrects him. A man sitting next to me finally bursts out laughing, he’s been smiling at the poor kid the whole time. I shrug my shoulders and smile while thinking how to pronounce schadenfreude. I should have known, the word comes from German apparently. The bus moves. The kid talks on the phone “ aw dude, the competition last night was sick, one of the skiers broke a leg..i was…” assumption confirmed.

I stare at the bald head in front of me. Big guy, with a kind voice. The type you wouldn’t expect to be a serial killer when he actually is. My imagination takes off. Time goes by fast.

Last stop on the east side of the airport. Apparently I didn’t have to pay ten dollars. the driver, the big, bald, ear piercings and everything, driver, makes a puppy face. I shouldn’t have paid that much. He hands me a transfer note so I don’t have to pay on the next trip. Maybe he likes his job. I step off the bus. The kid is waiting for me. He thanks me again. I smile again. I don’t have time for this. He looks like he wants to say something deep. I want to say something deep, something like maybe we’ll meet again, along the lines of God works in mysterious ways, just to make an impression. Instead I walk towards island 5 to catch the next bus. It's chilly, but it's not raining like it would be in a shitty novel.