weekend

I started falling asleep in the papasan while reading, when suddenly my eyes popped open and I looked over the back of the chair at Mike, who was reading on the floor with headphones on. "Our anniversary was 2 days ago! And we didn't even remember!" "I remembered." "Not one thought about it! Or yesterday either!" "I thought about it." "Didn't even occur to me until just now! Well that wasn't so bad. Huh." Mike's lips flattened and he went back to reading. I frowned at him. He could at least get really ugly or go bald or something if he's going to be hanging around all the time. He has at least stopped crying for 5 days running, so his chances of surviving to find his own apartment by the 1st are improving.

Yesterday John called. "Giiiirl how you doing? No, it was time. It was time. You had to go and get on your own feet, we're 30 already! Well practically. I go out to clubs and the boys are like, 'dayum, you're 27? You're OLD' and I'm like 'shut UP, I know'. Anyways I made a pact with my friend and for our 30th birthdays we're going to have black parties. No, we're going to wear, like, all black, everything bllllack. You know, to mourn our lost 20s. No, you will not be eaten by wolves, shut up. You're not that lucky. No, you are a very attractive woman. If I ever turned straight you'd be the first person I'd call. Not Stacy - skank alert! Hahaha. Huh, I wonder how she's doing. Ok, you coming to the reunion this summer? Shit, that means I have to go, too. Well, call me more! Ok I love you, too." Got off phone feeling validated and also old.

Brooke called as well, but will not transcribe conversation as it involved a waaay too detailed argument about the merits of Battlestar vs. previous seasons vs. Firefly vs. Serenity vs. Hero, which I clearly won, although cannot really recall the outcome beyond, "yeah, get Netflix."

Bored, we went to the playground, where Gavin collected bits of colorful rubbish and raced them down the slides and I watched roving gangs of 10-year olds roll by on skateboards. They seemed to like me, which was nice, but they were also insane. "BAM BAM BAM! I'm all out of bullets," one of them said, twirling a plastic cap gun, "but I have more at home. I get this loaded and I can shoot eight bullets at once. I broke my fingers, look. Playing football at night. Then between these fingers got cut by glass. First there was a line and then pssshhhht it just starts shooting blood." He walked away, talking to himself. They looked like a group of kids from a Stephen King novel. I was still thinking about Uncle Steve (my cousin is married to his son) when I was at the book shop later a bit later, looking at the new Gunslinger comic. 7 installations? 7? I'll buy the first one as soon as I have 3 dollars to spend...