Straight No Chaser

Xanadoodles

my brother, his girlfriend, and bunch of their friends (all couples) are staying in a hotel room friday night, after their prom. my parents are being ridiculously naive about this. dad: "boys and girls are sleeping in separate rooms, right?"

i never got away with anything, and chad gets away with everything.

although, actually, they think i'll be staying with krystle when i fly back to atlanta for four days in june, when in fact i will be sleeping someplace far cozier than under the afghan on krystle's barcalounger.

i will be amazed if this works. when i made the flight reservations, planning entirely on sneakily sharing marcus's summertime dorm room with him throughout the entire visit, i was at the same time conveniently forgetting that he and i never get away with anything. even accidentally, when we act up, we always get in trouble. our scams are always failures, as illustrated most clearly by the texas trip and, later, our little police adventure, and yet we're really going to try to perpetrate something huge, this summer. it's going to work. it's going to work. i'm telling myself this over and over, because my fear that it might not work is totally fucking up the anticipation of it working, and being great.

i've been home a little under twenty-four hours. i slept in till two this afternoon. my mom was mad. i'll do it again tomorrow, because she'll be at work, and anyway it's my one week of freedom before the grind starts.

i was reading, in o magazine (which i only read when i'm home; my mom religiously renews her subscription months before it ever runs out), about the "mommy debate"--the thing about working women who don't have children resenting their coworkers who do, and vice versa. i wish i had a permanent job, and a baby. i wish i could write good poetry. i wish it were june already.

i wish the best dream of my life, last night, hadn't ended so abruptly.

i still hate the davinci code. my dad likes it, apparently. we read six chapters aloud in the car yesterday, and he squirreled it away into his office when we got home. it hasn't been seen since. it's my copy. i don't care, though, because i'm officially the one person in america who finds it mediocrely written and boring.

there's other stuff. tomorrow, when i have time (ha!), i will elaborate.