mood rings and slimfast

Every time Mr. Browne draws attention to this girl in my band class by speaking to her, she blushes. I always stare at her face and watch it turn colors like a mood ring.

I had a dream about Resa a few nights ago. I was reading an entry of hers and she mentioned vaguely that she had been smoking weed and her dad came home as she was doing so. Suddenly all three of us were outside the local McDonald's at two o'clock in the morning. Everything was stuffy and still. There roads were empty, and all of the establishments within miles were closed for the evening. Resa's dad took her aside and sternly sentenced her to a day of being locked in the house. I saw Resa sitting on the floor leaning over a low table later in the day drawing in a coloring book. Then I woke up. Which is unfortunate, because there's few things more fun than coloring books. Sometime last week I was toiling away over a math assignment, and this girl who sits head of me withdrew a Disney coloring book from her backpack and a little sack of markers. She told me she had stolen it from a little girl she baby-sat for. She laughed as she spun around in her seat and resumed her coloring.

Yesterday someone set off a smoke bomb at school sometime around lunchtime. Later an urgent announcement was given over the P.A. system that when the bomb was lit, a patch of carpet caught on fire. I didn't hear much else about what she had to say because I was doubled over in laughter. For whatever reason, the mental image of carpet igniting in a little inferno tickles me. My teacher chastised those of us who found the announcement amusing. It was said that a reward would be given to anyone who had any information about the perpetrators, and as the announcements changed hands and a student began giving deadlines for the three pages stapled together that some call the school newspaper, I wondered what that reward would be. I concluded that it was either a small amount of money or a stick of gum.

Pat had the day off yesterday, so we rented "The Full Monty" and bought Resa's birthday gift. At the movie store I had gotten a gum ball, so as I was in the check-out line at Best Buy, the women behind the counter asked me for a piece of gum. I smiled but then realized she was serious. I told her I had gotten it at a gum ball machine, and she went off about how she had just taken a lunch break and needed a stick of gum. As I was paying, I was shuffling through my wallet looking for bills, and Pat thrust a ten dollar bill forth. I swatted his hand away, and the salesclerk giggled and said to me, "He's a keeper."

"I think so, too," I grinned, handing her a twenty.

Resa called me and relayed the news that her eldest cat had to be put to sleep an hour or two before. I invited her over to partake in the viewing of "The Full Monty" (whatever wounds you suffer from, naked men will cure), but she declined. I'm planning on giving her the birthday gift I bought her on Saturday. A party is being held for her then.

"The Full Monty" would have been better if I could have deciphered the characters' thick English accents and if the two gay members had been more heavily focused upon. Otherwise, I liked it.

I gave a presentation today in English class, along with the three additional members of my group. We drew the view of feminists in the controversy regarding whether or not The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn should be required reading in American literature classes. I thought it went well, despite the fact that I had completed the group outline only minutes before and made up the conclusion as I went along, like a dot-to-dot puzzle. Nick loathes feminists, so he lovingly named our feminist group S.L.I.M.F.A.S.T., Sovereign Ladies in Minnesota Fighting Against Sexual Tyranny. Nick borrowed an empty can of Slimfast from his math teacher, and during the presentation we gathered in a pyramid formation and whispered "Slimfast!" whenever Nick inserted a pause.

Anyway, it's already an hour past my bedtime.

Goodnight.