Straight No Chaser

From Leah

telling grim just now reminded me: i've split the journals on my favorites list into two sublists, "good journals" and, just, "journals." cuts down the time i spend catching up by half. you should all try it.

"Anything" , by the way.

1. "If you could pick what you would be reincarnated into, what would it be?"

first time around, i'd want to be me again, so the extra experience would help me get it right.

second time, sexy italian male pop star. gay. for variety.

2. "What do you think your main defense mechanism is?"

pouting. definitely pouting. it's not something i'm proud of, and over the past couple of years i've gotten better, but i was a notorious pouter, back in the day. i learned it from my dad, who literally huffs and puffs when he doesn't get his way; won't say a word but makes it LOUDLY clear that he's unhappy.

i'm quieter about it. the effervescence dies, i fall silent, and nobody gets the satisfaction of making me smile, or even frown. ask me a question and i'll find a way to answer it in half a word. tell me a joke and i'll give you my out-loud hah. still without smiling. usually it takes some kind of physical intervention to turn me responsive again, like tickling when i was little.

it's different, though, from my dad's pouting, because his is meant as punishment. if he doesn't get his way, then he doesn't intend for anyone else to enjoy getting theirs, either. i couldn't care less, but i do like to keep quiet till i feel centered again.

3. "Do you ever go to the club?"

rarely. the club scene here is pretty intense, and i really don't like having to go so many hours without concentrated intellectual stimulation--i could sit and study the dancers, collect impressions of their social dynamics, but then i'd look like a reject and who needs that? i don't have to go to the club to look like a reject.

it worked out well, though, because i did go to the velvet room on the second weekend of school, and that's where i met who would become most of my current friends. sean and company. marcus. marcus and i slow-danced, which was scary because i knew he'd be better at it than me. he was, marginally. so i was glad i went, that time.

we went roller skating that same weekend, and that was fun. sean had an anxiety attack on the bus, and spent the whole ride with his butt in my lap and his head in treesje's shirt. everyone was shocked i was actually a graceful skater, as not thirty-six hours earlier they'd watched me head down the street with a book in my hand, and walk directly into a pole.