April 3, 2004

• Time seems to be moving so fast since Cokie’s been here, filling in on extracurricular activities where my friend’s leave off.    I can’t believe classes are starting again, and all we’ve done is fool around the last few days.    Thursday around five PM Brett got a call from some sorority alums who just formed their own punk band, “Pyracantha Rose.”    It was an invitation to come over to their bachelorette pad in Malibu for a party and jam session.    So we all piled into Bill’s van and motored over, Ashleigh in tow.    By the time we got there, the sun was melting into the placid waves like liquid gold on grey agatine against the dusty turquoise sky, so we huddled on the deck and watched the last of the surfers riding in.    The sand there’s so white and creamy, but alas littered with so much broken glass and SHIT it’s a bitch even for sandaled feet.  

  
  

  While the guys were talking politics, a really nice girl about my height and build appeared at my side and offered to share a joint.    We danced together like a couple of kittenish lezzies.   Within a half hour, the live bass rippled the floor boards beneath our feet as if we were wading across a tide pool, and a bite of pineapple upside-down cake exploded in my mouth with a rainbow of flavor, while the lead guitar sliced through all the noise with an almost spiritual clarity.    I thought, What fantastic dope!  But heading back home, Bill warned it was probably laced with PCP or something.    I wish I’d never breathed a word, cuz it was Ash’s moment to wax really big sisterlike and deliver a super heavy lecture on the evils of recreational drugs, pissing me off royal, cuz I’d never make a habit of it;  I actually hardly ever cut unless socially, and we ain’t exactly talking cola here (even though sis always keeps a whole case of diet Peps on hand  wherever she goes).    It only sounds like we’re a bunch of dopers the way I mention it; nobody wants to read about each cell phone message, my opinion on current issues, what we ate for each meal, etc, every freakin’ minute.   (Or would they??)   I wish she’d butt the fuck out.    I know she’s secretly jealous of my attending college and would jump for joy if I ever failed.    But, hey, that’s the Ash.  

  
  

  Anyway, here’s an opinion for ya:    Yesterday I called Mom to thank her for the 1978 phonograph, and she said the Bay Bridge and all the highways for miles around were jammed 13 hours cuz a suicidal guy was trying to jump off the bridge and peeps could hardly pass with the rescue team and coast guard standing by.    Of course, the news gave an hour by hour account.   We agreed it was just good old government guilt:   They ply unstable mental patients with pills so they can O.D. quietly and anonymously in the privacy of their own homes, but can’t stand it when they make a public scene, so they have to put on a big sympathy show.   Stop, stop, stop!    We care!   See all those headlights, man?   Yeah, sure; ordinarily it’s one more burden to society out of the way. 

  
  

  Bill’s one curious dude.    Last night he got the entire gang into Disneyland on his free pass.    (His cousin works there in administration.)   It was so horrendously packed at the hamburger restaurant, the waiter never returned with our tab.   It was going on two hours.   Bill, disgusted, had us all walk out without paying.   True, we could’ve left the money on the table, but “it would only get ripped off.”    That was the first time we ever did anything like that;  defiantly shoving our way out through the crowd was uncomfortable, yet strangely freeing.    It was so pre-law.    Now I really feel like Thelma And Louise.  

  • 6:59 pm
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