I'll be out of town and lacking the interweb until...Thursdayish. I'll probably post Friday.

One of the many odd little habits I have is a penchant for collecting fortune cookie fortunes. Usually I get them from the cookies themselves (I'm a bit of an addict), but I also seem to have a talent for finding fortunes. I've found fortunes in parking lots, supermarket lobbies, various restaurants (never Chinese ones, oddly), and even once in a cathedral.

I never pay attention to the fortunes at the time. Instead, I write the date I found/got the fortune on the back of it, and I keep them in a glass bottle. When I get bored, I pull out the bottle and check the fortunes against the journal. They actually tend to match; I hear that's the thing about intentional vagueness. Every once in awhile, though, the fortune and the events match disturbingly well.

I was poking through my glass bottle today, and I came across a fortune with a back that bore a scribbled "2 June 04 University Mall parking lot." I flipped it around, and I read the fortune (that bit comes later). Something clicked in my brain, and I checked the date again. 2 June 04. I went back in the archives of Supernouveau, and I pulled up 3 June 2004. The clicky-thing in my brain got all proud of itself; June 2nd was the date when someone and I first started...I don't know, whatever you want to call it. "Seeing each other." It was the date when things went from acquaintances to "are they or aren't they?".

So, I was slightly disturbed by that, but I tucked the fortune into my pocket and the perturbation into the deep dark recesses of my mind. I drove over to Brookings to visit Chantel and a guy friend of ours. We all headed out to Perkins, and Chantel and I started talking as the guy friend browsed the menu. She's very into karma and all that crap, so I showed her the fortune and the date.

The clicky-thing in her brain went into effect, and she asked me, "Wasn't that about when you and--"

"Yeah," I interrupted. "Day of, actually. I thought it was...interesting."

"Ooh, fortune cookies!" Guy Friend interjected. "What you do with those is...well, you take the fortune, and you tack 'in bed' onto the end of it. They're better that way."

All right, at this point, I smiled. Guy Friend saw my short-lived grin, and he reached over and grabbed the fortune from me. He scanned it. Suddenly, he erupted into laughter, literally doubling over and nearly falling out of the booth. He continued to giggle like a schoolboy for the next ten minutes.

And so the lesson is learned: what hurts at first and makes you shake your head and go "Jesus" will soon become the source of someone else's infinite amusement. Silver linings and all that jazz, I guess. Finally, the fortune in question:

Trust him, but keep your eyes open.

If you think about it, bread is just raw toast.

Thank God. I did a little research about yesterday's rehab scare. There's good news and bad news.

Bad News: the friend is indeed being sent away for treatment.
Good News: it's not drug-related.
Bad News: he's a recovering alcoholic.
Good News: I could have told you that--I already knew he was a card-carrying member of AA.
Bad News: he's been a drinker since he was a kid. Hell, he still is a kid.
Good News: he can quit if he really wants.
Bad News: he's totally relapsed and has been drinking very heavily for the last three months.
Good News: he desperately wants to recover this time.
Bad News: he's a self-destructive drunk, and the incident that prompted the rehab involved his fist, a window, and forty stitches in his right arm.
Good News: he's really trying this time.

I feel better knowing that drugs aren't involved, but I still hurt for the boy. He's sixteen years old. He's sixteen years old and he's a member of Alcoholics Anonymous. He's sixteen years old and he's spending the next eight months in rehab. He's just a kid.

God, sometimes I forget how easy I have it.

Dear Lord, I am an emotional mess right now. I just found out that a friend of mine is going into rehab for the next eight months. Well, the word used was "treatment," but I've heard it's drug-related, so I'm sticking with rehab.

Rehab. He's 16 years old. He lives in rural South Dakota. Rehab. What the fuck is happening?

...what the fuck?

Various thoughts and worries (most stereotypically 16ish):

- Is a 1460 good? I thought it was pretty decent, but mi padre seems less than impressed.

- I get a little twinge of sadness every time I see a relatively new minivan in the strip club parking lot. Yeah, married guys should have fun, too, but couldn't he spend the time with his kids?

- I babysat for a friend of mine the other day. Her 14-month-old daughter is an absolute doll. The friend bears an odd resemblance to Twiggy (if Twiggy had a larger nose and slightly crooked teeth). She's crazy-skinny and crazy-long, and she had the exact same eyes and facial structure as Twiggy.

- A girl I hadn't gotten the best impression of originally may end up being a pretty close friend of mine. Having someone pour her soul out to you after just-barely-knowing her for two days is...strange. It's odd, but it makes you feel nice to realize that you are the kind of person everyone can tell their troubles to (it happens a lot). Maybe I should be a shrink.

- It just occurred to me that I hang out with a pregnant girl, a sex offender, and several high school dropouts. I hang out with normal people, too, don't I? . . . Yep, two cheerleaders (one of whom is a guy), two soldiers who served in Iraq and a couple who are about to, several minorities (which, in South Dakota, is a pretty mean feat), a couple of jocks, a homeschooler, three members of the National Honor Society, one gay guy, several artists, and one Smartest Person I've Ever Met. Oddly, the SMIEP is also one of the high-school dropouts. Go figure.

- I got a Foxy New Haircut. I had originally dubbed it Decidedly Unfoxy, but it's growing on me. Oh, Jesus--horrible pun totally not intended. My hair keeps getting shorter. If I listen to my primal urges any longer, I'll be bald.

- I always think it's weird how Sinead O'Connor's first name is two letters away from Skinhead. She probably realized that. I'm glad I'm not bald.

Ooh, before I forget, yesterday totally had a Conversation of the Day. Speakers, in order, are me and Chantel's brother.

"I can't believe your mom had the ambition to make homemade egg rolls."
(a beat) "Oh, I was confused for a second there. I thought you said 'homemade Eggos.'"
"A homemade Eggo? That would be a waffle."

"I see a darkness." - Johnny Cash
"I can't see the light." - the Clash
"I wear my sunglasses at night." - Corey Hart

Answers:

1) Both.
2) No one knows.
3) Yes, you stuck-up little bitch.
4) Yep.
5) It's a mystery.
6) Because they're insanely attractive.
7) Because he's evil.
8) You'd never skipped a rock before.
9) Not very, considering the fact that the statewide curfew doesn't exist anymore.
10) Apparently not considering he let you drive on.
11) A construction company.

Awright, awright, questions:

1) The active ingredients in Rolaids are magnesium and calcium. Which one makes your stomach stop hurting?

2) Why does my stomach hurt?

3) Is it bad that I took the ACT today and thought it was laughably easy?

4) Is it weird that I'd be perfectly willing to pop cherry Rolaids like candy?

5) What are those two little muscle-line-things that cut inward on a well-built guy's hips?

6) Why do I find those little muscle-line-things insanely attractive?

7) Why did one of my best guy friends have to take off his shirt and be all ridiculously physically attractive?

8) Why can't I skip rocks properly at the lake?

9) How scary is it that I was out past the statewide curfew and got stopped for a random sobriety check and the cop didn't even ask how old I was?

10) Seriously, man, did it look like I'd been drinking?

11) When it all falls down, who you gonna call now?

Every once in awhile I get this intense desire to weird people out.

I like to sneak past teenage strangers standing in a group so that I can learn the name of one of them. Then, I go back, walk up to that person, and go, "Oh, my God, Jamie, is that you? It's been so long!"

Usually they get all flustered and try to fake their way through it. "Oh, wow, it's so weird seeing you again!" It works especially well if you've got somebody with you because then you can go, "Oh, Kate, this is my friend Jamie. I can't even remember the last time I saw her!"

Every once in awhile, though, you get some smartass who says they don't know you (those tend to be guys). Then, though, you can just explain that you enjoy walking up to random people and trying to make them uncomfortable. Usually they think that's really cool, although there's almost always some snarky stalker comment thrown in there since you bothered to find out their name.

Someday, when I'm braver, I'm going to escalate this hobby. I want to *69 and dial random numbers on the phone. If somebody picks up, I'll tell them I'm naked. Then, I, fully clothed, will get to enjoy either a hangup, a flustered, "Um...that's nice," or a diatribe on decency. Of course, I'd be a little flustered myself if they like, enjoyed the call.

I desperately love making people nervous.

spillfuckedCOMP,somekeysdontwork,willfix,REturnsoon.

Dammit, that's six in the last eight years. Goddamn, Smarty, I thought you had it in you.

It's been a long day, and I've got the SAT writing test tomorrow. That means I have to get up all early-like and drive an hour and a half to get to the testing center. South Dakota is too damn big, and its towns are too damn small.

Have I mentioned that the new maybe-Monster is a dead ringer for a teenaged John Cusack? I am a very lucky girl.

Why are people still wearing trucker hats? Gah! Stop it!