On Friday afternoon I was walking across the Berkeley campus with Emily on our way to get a bit of dinner. As we passed through the glade, I was overcome with a warm, pleasant feeling that I just couldn’t shake. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, the hippies were smoking out and playing hackey-sack. Even the “front yard tipi” man had exchanged his diatribe about Amish Nazi’s for an inspirational speech about spreading love and happiness. In the moment, I thought “wow, this is so relaxing, I wish I could hang out one this grassy knoll more often.” And then I thought “wait a second, I used to hang out on this grassy knoll every week!”
It is with these thoughts in mind that I propose THE RETURN OF BASEBALL. Now, I know that baseball was a summer activity last year. But I say we bring it back in the spring! We only stopped in the fall because the rain was making things inconvenient, right??? I bet my bottom dollar that the carnies are back in action, shouldn’t we be too? C’mon people, we can’t let the carnies show us up!
Ok, I’ve spoken my peace for now. What say you?
So, last night I had a second dream in just as many weeks that one of my close friends hates me. Up in Tahoe, I had this dream that Emily hated me and that she was only hanging out with me because her mother had forced us together in the hopes that we would start dating (which actually has a kernel of truth). Last night, Erica was the source of distress. Here’s how the dream went down…
Michele calls me out of the blue sounding hesitant. After a while of heming and hahing, she tells me that Erica has just sent out a mass e-mail to all of our friends ranting about what an incredible bitch I am. There isn’t any incident detailed in the letter that has sparked this hatred. It appears that Erica has simply waited until this moment to finally unleash all of the anger that she has been holding against me for years and years. While I’m still on the phone with Michele, Erica calls on the other line to confirm everything has Michele has told me. She completely bitches me out with no apparent intention beyond making me miserable. I spend the rest of the dream depressed and bewildered.
Now, the thing that is crazy about these dreams is that I NEVER DREAM. And, when I do have fragments of dreams, they are distant and abstract. However, these “all of your friends hate you” dreams are realistic and vivid. I woke up this morning actually thinking that Erica hated me.
I ask you, my friends, what the fuck is up with that shit?
PS – Please do not reply in jest with “Erica actually does hate you and she just hasn’t told you yet,” or I'm likely to kick your ass.
Erica and I were sitting here reading the CH pages together and commenting minutes apart from one another… and suddenly it clicked…. You could say we had a simultaneous, mutual epiphany, of sorts. Perhaps the two of us are around each other often enough to post together every once in a while! We were so foolish and short sighted before. So here goes… our second post… together… again….
Wait, no, apparently we are too tired to be clever at the moment. Apparently we are going to take naps instead. Erica sends her regards from the couch.
dear erica, jason and jolie:
I feel like I just don't know you three well enough. as if I'm missing some crucial detail in our friendship which I'm not missing in my friendships with, for example, michele, or pants, or cute brian.
what could this missing element be?
I think it is the blog. yes, the blog. such a small syllable which has come to mean so much.
think about all the hours and minutes and seconds that you spend not
blogging. don't they feel sort of empty? wouldn't you rather employ them by doing this, the newest and funnest of verbs? and think about what will happen when jason leaves. how cut off we will feel from him. how, gradually, we will forget him, because our minds are not made to remember people for more than two weeks without reminders. do you want to forget jason? does he want to be forgotten? do we want him to forget us?
here is a hint: the answer to these questions is, NO. the answer to these questions is, blogs.
I hope you will think about what I have said, and then you will post that thought process on your new CH blogs.
your friend,
kristen
p.s. think about how if I had more blogs to read, my days would not be so empty and void of purpose and I might not send out these goddamn communist mass emails all the goddamn communist time. see how everyone could benefit from this?
dear kristen,
erica and jolie are starting a blog together (get with the times, commie
compatriot). they are still debating on a name however. i am still pro pro PRO , with the tagline of 3/4's
white, 3/4's gay. although that other missy elliot line one was pretty good too. though i can't remember it now.
jason, that lazy slacker, good for nothing, has been thinking about getting a blog. but really doesn't want one. i think out method of not forgetting will be that he shall spend ALL HIS TIME on our blogs while he is gone.
thank you for your concern.
-michele
Dear concerned friends:
We are pleased to inform you that our long-awaited blog, threequarters, has finally come to fruition. It was not an easy task, dear friends. We daresay that our friendship of old was nearly dashed to pieces by such trivial matters as burntorange versus darkmagenta. In the end, papayawhip renewed our faith in one another’s aesthetic sanity (kind of). While the discovery that our color preferences are shockingly dissimilar was quite troublesome, we take solace in the fact that henceforth the focus of our blog will rest not in hues, but in our daily lives, which are unnervingly similar. While the creation of this particular entry has been relatively unproblematic, to avoid further consternation and possible harm to our respective persons, we will henceforth create our posts separately. We would like to thank Kristen, for her belated encouragement, and Michele, for her endless mockery of our non-blog status. And, of course, Gene, for being the brilliant computer geek that he is.
Sincerely,
Jolie “j*2the*olie” and Erica “ms*d”
p.s. Now we up. Jason, where you at, dog? Slacker.