Wuv, Twoo Wuv

We've begun to suspect something.

Guess what? My boyfriend used to do meth. A lot of it.

Guess what else? For the next two days, he's going to be in a juvenile corrections facility.

Guess what else? From January 5th to the 29th, he's going to be on house arrest, with an ankle monitor and everything.

Guess what (yes, besides all that) else? After that, he's on indefinite probation. No curfew or anything--from what I can tell, it's mostly RDT.

I started dating him despite knowing all that.

I don't regret it for a second.

It's Christmas Eve and I have to work.

Yesterday I did all my Christmas shopping--all of it. Kevin, the cute Barnes & Noble guy, made fun of me muchly for this. I couldn't hate Kevin, however, because he called all over Sioux Falls and managed to locate a copy of Kurt Cobain's Journals. With the tiny amount of money I had left, I bought myself a David Bowie t-shirt and that print of the turtlenecked hippie sticking flowers in the soldier's guns.

Joe bought me trinkets for Christmas--a gaudy quarter-machine ring to satiate my hunger for shiny things and a fucking awesome button with a 50's style waitress and the words "God knows when you don't tip." He bought me Napoleon Dynamite on DVD, which we are going to watch after work tonight, and he has promised me something else, which I will receive prior to movie-watching.

Antici..................................pation.

He and I have been dating for exactly nine days, and things are good. I have, unfortunately, hit a point wherein I don't really like my friends, and that makes me kind of want to cry. I've found that my social life is kind of hollow.

News of my various concert/partying exploits finally reached my hometown, and I suddenly find myself much more popular. Suddenly the Queen Bees are telling me that they like my shoes/shirt/bracelet/Levis. They're asking me which bands I like, where I got this or that, which show I'm going to attend next (December 26th, L.A.W./csnvtt! tour kickoff, the Urban Hermit). They wave me over at basketball games and introduce themselves to my boyfriend. They ask how I met him; they tell me, "He's so...cool." They pause and add, as an afterthought, "You're so...cool."

Since when am I the Cool Kid?

So that's my life right now, and I'm pissing myself off with my own dissatisfaction. Maybe it's the Christmas thing.

I kind of hate Christmas.

Things I Have Never Done

- tasted any kind of salad dressing
- been south of the equator
- crocheted
- worn Burberry Brit
- seen Citizen Kane
- read an entire Hemingway novel
- asked for my meal "to go" at a drive-through
- kissed a boy in a Laundromat

Here's a major addition to your cast of characters.

Name: Joe
Age: 17
Occupation: Corporate Pizza Joint waiter (yes, the oft-mentioned fellow who got me the job)
First Appearance: Saturday, May 22, 2004
Significance: the author's current beloved

He's freaking adorable.

Tonight we did the Time Warp in the middle of Hansina Avenue at 10:30 p.m.

This Boy rules.

This Boy is complicated.

...I'd explain, but it's all so contradictory that it makes perfect sense. (See what I mean about complicated?)

I like it.

I spoke to him for four and a half hours last night.

And for a good two of those hours, I was overcome by the fact that I suddenly knew the reason for everything.

He was, too. He told me so. Over and over, we exchanged these words of recognition, failing only to admit what we felt simply. I told him, "My hands are shaking."

He told me, "This is perfection."

Every word was loaded with the meaning of the universe.

We could only come to one conclusion: this is the point. This is the point of it all. This is why.

More importantly, this is what is.

If that is what I think it is, I'm terrified.

I think I've sold out.

"Candy is food for the soul. Well, actually, it's food for the stomach, but you're not listening to me anyway."
"...What?"

That's what I get for trying to converse with my own friends.

Also, this is the phone call I fielded Friday night:

"Thank you for choosing Corporate Pizza Joint. My name is Allison. I'm sorry, but we're closed."
"How long's it take for delivery?"
"I'm sorry, sir, but we're closed."
"What? When did you close?"
"Midnight--about half an hour ago."
"Then why did you answer the phone?"
"Store policy, sir. We always answer."
"Well, you fucked up. Fuck you!"

I am so close to getting what I have wanted for the last three months.

More on this if it develops.