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December 2, 2004

Taking a study break with the Chellester soon for fish and chips and a rousing game of pool at the local pub. It’s the first time I’ve been out of the house (except for SCHOOL) since Turkey Day and the grand holiday buffet for 30 at the Olson’s. June served two birds, one corn-fed, one smoked, and Marcia, Ginger, and the kids were invited. They brought along some women singers, a folk group called Mujer–a la the Roches–who provided some nice if amateur entertainment. (I myself probably could’ve sang better, if not for my nerves. I always get that choked-up sound in front of a lot of people, you know?) Everyone joined in for the standard ditties. The food was great. Everything went smoothly. It was neat.

After the guests started motoring, about 8:00, Brett and I rendezvoused back in his brother and sister’s playhouse, a white clapboard shack balanced precariously over the creek, huddled in our ski jackets, and made up for lost time on a pile of leaf-littered sleeping bags.  Just like regular Pilgrims. But it got so cold with all the cracks in the walls (Brett covered them with plastic sheeting, but the dogs tore it all down), the mist was blowing out our faces. After an hour we went back inside, microwaved some leftovers (having helped serve, we hardly had a bite to eat), and sat out in the truck, where we munched out and talked. He finally said the words I was waiting for, that he “wished I’d transfer,” but I didn’t answer. Of course I want to keep the relationship going, but I’m heading into senior year, now.

Oh, I did manage to hit Sharrie’s party. I waited until I thought it would be over, than stopped by to drop off the presents and wish her well. In addition to the CD, I found a nice little ceramic chai tea set I thought she’d like. I got one for Mom last Spring and she adored it.

“Cute,” Birthday Girl murmured, setting it aside on the bookshelf in the den. She insisted I stick around. Though half her friends and relatives had cleared out, the band was still there puttering around, joking, guffawing.

“Don’t you want to meet Scott??”

“Sure.” So I did and it was okay. The guys were super nice, chivalrous, not as intimidating as I expected for an ingenue act, even though Sharrie was in and out of the room and I was pretty much on my own with a bunch of strangers. Scott was quite pleased with the picks I bought, an economy box of a hundred plain metal ones the salesperson recommended. He made sure I was included in the conversation, all shop talk that went way over my little head that Brucie would’ve really dug. I wish I’d come with him.   Later on Sharrie and I had a stiff drink alone and she told me the story of her life.   Anyway, I don’t regret it. Donna and the gang were all ears when I got home.

Other than that, I miss my boyfriend and wanna cry.   Maybe I’ll meet some hottie at the pool hall   It’s such a pick-up parlor; last time we went, some ne’er do well who looked just like Blaine hit on me.   What a trip!