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2:50 pm | 21 February 2003 | rough grit (for wood, paint, metal)

Oh my god i am the least smooth person ever. I started hanging out with a new person recently and we are still in that kind of tentative friend stage where you're not quite sure of the other person's limits and social conventions etc.--that stage where you're relieved the first time the other person swears because (if you're like me) you swear like the bastard offspring of a totally wasted Corsican pirate and a gangbanger from the mofuggin' South Side yo.

So i give in to the midafternoon sugar cravings and go downstairs, circling the Great Wall of Vending Machines like a twitchy, diabetic shark. I can smell one part chocolate to two million parts air, i think to myself, licking my rows of teeth in anticipation.

Having decided that an Olde New England Pecan Fudge Brownie (which, as far as i can tell, is like the Yank cousin of a Plantation Brownie, and is only manufactured for vending machines) will be my best choice today, i am inserting my dollar (the wrong way round, naturally) when New Friend walks up behind me.

New Friend: Can i help you?
Me (Startled, whipping around fast): Uh, no. Oh wait. Hi.
NF: What're you gonna get?
Me: Quick, think of something acceptable! Do not say Olde New England Oxymoron Shitty Brownie! Uh, i don't even know. This makes no sense! Divert! Divert! (Giggles stupidly) I was just, like, blindly inserting my dollar. Oh my god. Did that sound like an attempt to be "suggestive"? Idiot!
NF: So, how's it going?
Me: Ungh. This day is totally sucking my ass. Mentally hit self in head with heel of hand. Stupid! Stupid! Do not say "totally sucking my ass" to new person unfamiliar with such lingo! This trait is neither desirable nor charming!
NF: I'm sorry to hear that.
Me: Yeah, but when [ongoing celebration] ends in a couple of weeks, it'll all be over. Or i'll shoot myself...and then...it'll all be over. Oh my god. Why are you referencing this. Most people do not use 'different potential suicides' as fodder for levity.
NF (indulgently/consolingly): Oh, don't do that! What'll happen to your archive of paintings? They'll never get to see the world!
Me: Well, seeing as how i tend to burn everything every few years, they probably realistically have a better chance to survive if...uh...i don't. Oh good. Reinforce appearance of being desperately, dangerously unstable--that is the best plan.
NF (still, bless him, gamely trying to keep the conversation light/non-sucky): I'm sorry to hear that. Well, i'd better go eat my dinner. (Gestures with takeout box of no-doubt healthy Middle Eastern food, diametrically opposed to the crappy all-chemical content of Olde New England Pecan Fudge Brownie). Take care! (Walks away)

I also neglected to mention that i was fidgeting insanely during this conversation because, as with every change of weather, my nose is red and peeling for no reason, and i was, i don't know, hoping to distract him from my tubercular-Rudolph chic by flailing or some shit, and additionally at one point (i don't even remember the context of this stupidity) i actually bounced from foot to foot and gave little fist jabs. I must've looked like some kind of epileptic, raw-proboscised flea. God. clm.


the consolation prize.


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