October 10, 2004

  • What can I say, but Friday was a blast.   We can't wait to go on the ride again.   We must be addicted to being SCARED. 


    I don't know where it's going with Jeremiah, though; I know he wants something in return for all this besides a pork-out party,  especially now that Brett's out of the way.   He kept hinting what a pro he is at muff diving in the car going home.   I thought, Shine him on with Brucie, but what about Chelle?!?   I don't want to ruin our trust.   Mom thinks I'm crazy.   She rather likes the Jermeister, from what she's heard.  She doesn't think Olson will ever get serious.


    Also on the social front, Thea has warmed up to me quite a bit.   She must be lonely since her "gal fren'" transferred out of state.   We took the bus to a far off mall yesterday, one of her old haunts, and went shopping.   I got some cultured pearl earrings, she some designer yardage.   We spent all night talking after she got out of the shower, her sitting cross-legged on the bed in nothing but her scant silk kimono, me hovering awkwardly in the doorway.   


    One of our buys was some stage make-up.   In keeping with our current Indian craze, we decided to each dress up as our power animal for All Hallows this year.   The Costanoans were highly skilled in the art of camouflage, Auntie heard, and were notorious for their vivid and often terrifying body (particularly facial) paint; they even drew fake sores on their skin to scare off lascivious Spaniards.   Thea shall be Wolf, Donna the infamous Wily Coyote, Chelle the prairie dog, and me Coon Gurl (pun intended), in light of an intense dream I had in San Carlos about living in a straight-sided bamboo hut and having a raccoon for a pet.  I'm gonna have a black, doglike nose with thick black and white stripes radiating from it; for my body and bushy tail, fake fur, black leggings, and thin black rubber gloves.     


    To this day, coons often scamper down from the San Carlos hills to wash their paws in city dwellers' swimming pools.   Males fighting over nubile females parry along the high wooden fences every Spring, hissing like cats.   They look much cuter as themselves, though..   I practiced on my face a little while ago and it looks shockingly  savage, like a headhunter's.   Oooh.


    With Thea being half Cherokee, Donna Mexican, Chelle Paison, and me mostly Sicilian, we might hang out at one of the reservations this Fall and do some charitable work.   Thea says the natives are surprisingly very receptive to Angelinos on an Indian kick, what with being so guilty about getting everything free from the government so they can maintain their dying lifestyle.   They don't mind if we invade their harvest fest circle and spin our supernatural tales around the campfire like old medicine men.   Chelle was putting together one of those new Betty Crocker complete dessert mixes last night, and Thea commented how they test those at the reservation.   Kewel!


    Right now I'm trying to remember the ingredients for "Chickonderoga," a yummy casserole I made once for my honey's birthday.   It's based on Country Captain, and named not after the famous battle of Ticonderoga (which I never knew about), but a favorite drafting pencil of  mine.   I could kill myself for not writing it down.   Damn!   It's my night to cook dinner.