A Recounting Of My Halloween Adventures, Sans Pictures
If Beth rhymes with death, then Nate certainly rhymes with hate, and it is this hatred for Nate that has aquired new significance.
Yesterday was Halloween, but I didn't celebrate it yesterday, as I had a strict schedule of reading reading reading and then some writing to follow. The only activity I allowed myself was a trip to Wal-Mart to buy groceries, as I had two cans of tomato soup and a box of macaroni and cheese left to me. Mom, I know you're reading this and panicking, but it's okay. No one would let your little girl starve.
Anyway, Dallan called, and we met up in Wal-Mart, and he was dressed like a priest! He even had a Catholic Bible! It was enough to distract me from whatever argument Art and I were having (and even though I can't remember what we were talking about, I'm sure there was an argument, because that's how it goes between us, especially when he refuses to believe me that I'm the coolest person he's ever met), and it made my day. Dallan makes an excellent priest.
When we got back to the apartment, he made a game of tossing all my food at me for me to catch and put away, which put us in a jovial mood, and we sat around and talked for a while. I was keeping careful track of the clock, and determined to get back to my studies soon.
That was all shattered, though, with a knock on the door. I opened it and saw a stiffly sweater-vested young man standing there, asking for Johanna, one of my roommates. She wasn't there, but I invited him in anyway.
Ladies and gentlemen, Dallan and I hate this young man. He was there for about twenty minutes, and in that short span, we wanted to kill him or save him, we don't know which yet. He was enormously pompous, pulling out his ethos (excuse me, eetos, which is how all TRULY educated people pronounce it) at every opportunity along with his palm pilot. Yes! His fricking PALM PILOT! He pulled it out and made notes, as if that would impress anyone. And he's an econ major, did you know that! Well, we were certainly informed of such! Because, I suppose, majoring in economics makes you infallible, unlike the rest of the unwashed rabble, which Dallan and I were certainly a part of. Because we were making jokes! Jokes mean you are dumb, apparently. I hate people like that, who are so smug with themselves. Guess what, bucko, I wasn't impressed, and next time you try your little act, I'm not going to be nearly so nice.
Because I realized this was the same boy who kidnapped Johanna a few days earlier and told her her life was "a living hell" because she wasn't dating anyone. And he dropped hints all over the place about how he had soo much money and how he was soo going to heaven because of it.
Nate rhymes with hate, dude. Remember that next time you lean smarmily against my stovetop with your air of false superiority.
Yesterday was Halloween, but I didn't celebrate it yesterday, as I had a strict schedule of reading reading reading and then some writing to follow. The only activity I allowed myself was a trip to Wal-Mart to buy groceries, as I had two cans of tomato soup and a box of macaroni and cheese left to me. Mom, I know you're reading this and panicking, but it's okay. No one would let your little girl starve.
Anyway, Dallan called, and we met up in Wal-Mart, and he was dressed like a priest! He even had a Catholic Bible! It was enough to distract me from whatever argument Art and I were having (and even though I can't remember what we were talking about, I'm sure there was an argument, because that's how it goes between us, especially when he refuses to believe me that I'm the coolest person he's ever met), and it made my day. Dallan makes an excellent priest.
When we got back to the apartment, he made a game of tossing all my food at me for me to catch and put away, which put us in a jovial mood, and we sat around and talked for a while. I was keeping careful track of the clock, and determined to get back to my studies soon.
That was all shattered, though, with a knock on the door. I opened it and saw a stiffly sweater-vested young man standing there, asking for Johanna, one of my roommates. She wasn't there, but I invited him in anyway.
Ladies and gentlemen, Dallan and I hate this young man. He was there for about twenty minutes, and in that short span, we wanted to kill him or save him, we don't know which yet. He was enormously pompous, pulling out his ethos (excuse me, eetos, which is how all TRULY educated people pronounce it) at every opportunity along with his palm pilot. Yes! His fricking PALM PILOT! He pulled it out and made notes, as if that would impress anyone. And he's an econ major, did you know that! Well, we were certainly informed of such! Because, I suppose, majoring in economics makes you infallible, unlike the rest of the unwashed rabble, which Dallan and I were certainly a part of. Because we were making jokes! Jokes mean you are dumb, apparently. I hate people like that, who are so smug with themselves. Guess what, bucko, I wasn't impressed, and next time you try your little act, I'm not going to be nearly so nice.
Because I realized this was the same boy who kidnapped Johanna a few days earlier and told her her life was "a living hell" because she wasn't dating anyone. And he dropped hints all over the place about how he had soo much money and how he was soo going to heaven because of it.
Nate rhymes with hate, dude. Remember that next time you lean smarmily against my stovetop with your air of false superiority.
posted by juxtaposer at 2:49 PM
5 Comments:
Is Nate one of the "others"?
To quote myself: "we wanted to kill him or save him, we don't know which yet."
Of course he is an Other. But what would my moral responsibility to him be? And can you REALLY tell me what it would be? Because if you can, wow. Maybe you should write a book on the subject.
I'm allways in favor of pictures ,more pictures
No pictures. Sorry, B.
The only thing hotter than a bank teller in a sweater vest is an econ major in a sweater vest. Phew the room temperature raises a couple of degrees just thinking about him. And a palm pilot to boot? Dreamy. Ladies he is an early bird special; make a serious play for this one before it is too late. Make sure that you dance on your good foot (obligatory James Brown reference) around this one becuase if you don't I may just snatch him by the monacle and whisk him away to our own little gay wonderland.
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