2005-07-03 - 7:43 p.m.
At BIG DEALS I bought three sets of knee highs at 1 dollars per unit. In grey, black, and navy blue. I debated over the pill box with the napping polar bear, or the royal lion, and the po bear won by process of 'you are not to be it'. He fits approximately 9 Bupropions.
At the lake I took off my boots and lapsed into viewing the situation as Waldo, from Where's Waldo?
I see one man with a raft on his head and his boy is trying to mount him, and then there is a teen-aged reading Harry Potter. I see a generously proportioned pre-pubescent being leered at by two middle-aged father types, while a girlfriend and a boyfriend drink frappes. Look at the little roly girl covering her torso in mud. I see you're going to talk to me sir, but please don't unless you are willing to confirm the illusion that we are in a child's searching book. That's when I see a girl eating sunflower seeds and undoing new stockings from their package. (That girl is me, these knee hi's are like satined butter, i've never had better.)
So I am home from Olympia, where I decided that Olympia is not great. It is better than Boise, but not better than Portland.
I wonder what I will do for the holiday tomorrow? What I hope to happen is a yard party with my friends. I would like there to be bottle rockets involved, and would like to add to my various bottle rocket induced wounds. There are actually only two that have stuck on my body as scars. One occurred years ago near the swimming pool, as I was aiming my rocket gallantly upwards between two pine trees, through my pvc tube. The back-lash from the broiling stem sparked a mini-tinder fire on the nylon of my one-piece bathing suit, at the hip and through to the skin. Last year in battle, I crept down on my elbows and shot directly above me, as I found I had no other option. The explosive fell directly down, down my dress, marring my right breast with what is now a shiny splash.
I want to know what will happen now.