Systems up and down in Sannduhskeee
Jan. 7th, 2004 01:43 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thedarksiren2For several weeks, we made plans for me to invade the palace known as ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
cavemanhed's abode to fondle MOOGs, play with Phyllis the Ferret, and talk trash until 5AM in real-life, vis-a-vis stylings, as opposed to the AIM styles. They are aiight, but nothing to throw knives at successfully.
Nothing beats the sensation of flesh as it break to the caress of something sharp...
*shivers*
It was going to happen last weekend, like the one precvious to the one just passed? Something something something happened, however, and the slacker in me crumbled into a heap of anti-matter and would not drive anywhere for any given reason.
This weekend, it finally happened. I was bad, IMing at work (because I want any and all diversions from it right now) with the silly boy, and suddenly we were exchanging addresses and last names (I've known him for what seems like an eternity and have never known his last name), and I made my plans to depart shortly after work.
Well, needless to say I worked late. That happens. Also, my friend ROb from VA called, someone I have known 15+ years. We met when I was a freshman in high school. He was a senior, in classes with my sister Julene (F%&^%^$%^$#!!) and the best friend of one Philip Waddles whom I would later date, and become one of the most popular couples in school. Yes, I was popular for a minute, because I was thin and dating this tall, gorgeous guy with blond hair and amazing blue eyes.
Let me just say that it ended very badly, and Rob assures me that Philip still talks shite about me. *laughs*
So Rob called, and it's the first time I have heard his voice in well over a year. He's been living in Seoul(sp?), a Marine, and hating the pollution. He used to be this amazing writer, but the military stole that from him and replaced it with a manly exterior and great urges to grow vast amounts of facial hair. He told me about mutual friends, family, and we both shivered at the realization that it has been over ten years since we have seen one another. He would not be able to stop by OH on his way back overseas, so it will likely be several more years unless I find myself in Germany or France before, which is where he will be stationed.
So yeah, I get off the phone, call Christopher and find out there is a girl named Katie there as well, but no Penny, who was supposed to fondle the MOOGs with us, or play some mad drums. Something like that. I told him I would be leaving in 20 minutes, watched Scrat rearrange his nuts withwraptboy cackling away, got gas at a station on Scranton and Clark (because I am a brazen li'l white biotch. heh) and was off to Sandusky by midnight.
I got into town easily, as Mr.cavemanhed is supreme at giving faboo directions. I drive and drive, and my head is drifty, my windshield a slur of rainy-slushee, and when I see "E. M..." on a sign, I turn left as he said to do, and search for the "HUUUUUUGE praking lot" he mentioned. I find one right there, but it's on the right, which seems wrong, not to mention the building that surrounds it is not very apartment-like. Some kind of old drug store in front of it, but across the street is an apartment building, and a somewhat smaller lot. I leave my car behind, grabbing my Picker bookbag and purse and go searching for the buzzer that supposedly reads "#5" and has his name on it.
When I get to the door, I see two numbers of six, and neither of them read #5, nor do they say his last name. Several small patches of old white tape, once displayed names and numbers...#3 exists, but in a strange locale. I utilize it anyway, and decide that the top-most button on the left is #5, and buzz.
and buzz.
drip.drip.drip.
I have a hood on my coat, but it is slowly getting water-logged, along with my gloves and bookbag.
I buzz again and again, and then, confused beyond belief, I wander about the building, toward the other ones across the street, and then back to my car to get warm again.
I started my car thinking something felt wrong. I began to drive back in the direction I came from, looking for a phone booth. There was a large man in dark clothing pacing up and down the street near the only phone before the bridge. I drove for a while, and eventually he had wandered off. Good. I still drove my car onto the treelawn and had my headlights right on the phone. Had to be visible. Had to stay safe. Something was wrong, weird, off...
I called 411 because I forgot his number. It cost me a friggin' dollar to use the service this way, and then they told me that there was no Stephens listed on E. Main, but there was one on E. Market.
DING!DING!DING!DAWN'S A BIG DITZY DORKMONSTER!YAY! Of course, she still didn't get it...oh, the dumbass points!
I still called him, screaming at the top of my lungs because he cannot hear me through the phone. I finally just told him to go outside because the numbers were gone. He said OK, and I went back to the parking lot and building.
It only took me ten minutes to lose my cool. It was cold, and wet, and I was tired. I began yelling his name, "CHRISTOPHERRRR!!!"
No answer.
Another ten minutes passed before I noticed that the sign that read, "E. M..." well, the "..." I kept overlooking actually read "Monroe," and I about died from self-humiliation. I laughed and went back to my car and began driving further into Sandusky. Three or ten blocks later, I saw the mondo lot on my left, and the giant brick building, and the sign read "E. Market St." and all was well with the world again.
He walked out and met me, and we hugged hellos and I told him my stupidity-tale which he was kind enough not to poke fun about too much.
His name and his apartment number were where they should have been, and we walked very quietly to the top floor.
Now, lemme say this - his apartment building is unlike anything I have seen. It is set up oddly, kinda like the commons area at Tri-C west. There are apartments on all the outside walls, but the interior area is large and has handrails so you can look down on the other floors, and above is stained glass everywhere. It is the ceiling, and I was giddy about finally being where I was.
Walking into his apartment was like walking into a '60's sitcom, or maybe The Jetsons, what with all the retro space-like furniture, mostly in greens and oranges, or other earthy tones. And huge. Huge huge HUGE! I drop my shtuff next to the first couch (one of like four or five in his place?), and notice the most adorable seafoam-green shoes amongst all the others. I would soon learn they belong to an adorable little gal named Katie who wears large green bows in her hair and has '60's style glasses with gems in the corners that make her face brighter and eyes glimmery. A total doll, only 5' tall and dressed in lime green and a small black cardigan.
Utilize the toilet surrounded by big-eyed children paintings by one Keane painter-lady, as well as two dolls looking at one another upside-down on the back of the monster of a toilet, sitting beside the clawed tub. I want the one painting badly, but he is hell-bent on is being his. Bastage!
The night got better from here. We made tasty drinks made of vodka, rum, banana something or another and OJ...fruity-tooty yumminess. We then sat on his large white fun-fur rug, just between the green stripey-couch and the brown weird one, along with a bunch of fluffy pillows, and he pulled out an original Atari box, complete with a dozen or so games. I about died!
We spent the next hour or more playing games, mostly focused on Pong and giggling at our inabilities. Well,cavemanhed whooped my arse, but he plays it all the time. Katie was more my equal, and a bit tipsy no less. Mad giggling and silliness ensued.
Then he was all, "Hey let's go play with the MOOGs!" and we were all "YAY!" and we went and he told me about his landlord somewhere in all of this who is super weird about noise in the building and it's all no-smoking and huge (cavemanhed's place is BEASTLY, you just don't even understand). "You must turn the handle to your door to close it more quietly." LOL
cavemanhed's abode to fondle MOOGs, play with Phyllis the Ferret, and talk trash until 5AM in real-life, vis-a-vis stylings, as opposed to the AIM styles. They are aiight, but nothing to throw knives at successfully. Nothing beats the sensation of flesh as it break to the caress of something sharp...
*shivers*
It was going to happen last weekend, like the one pre
This weekend, it finally happened. I was bad, IMing at work (because I want any and all diversions from it right now) with the silly boy, and suddenly we were exchanging addresses and last names (I've known him for what seems like an eternity and have never known his last name), and I made my plans to depart shortly after work.
Well, needless to say I worked late. That happens. Also, my friend ROb from VA called, someone I have known 15+ years. We met when I was a freshman in high school. He was a senior, in classes with my sister Julene (F%&^%^$%^$#!!) and the best friend of one Philip Waddles whom I would later date, and become one of the most popular couples in school. Yes, I was popular for a minute, because I was thin and dating this tall, gorgeous guy with blond hair and amazing blue eyes.
Let me just say that it ended very badly, and Rob assures me that Philip still talks shite about me. *laughs*
So Rob called, and it's the first time I have heard his voice in well over a year. He's been living in Seoul(sp?), a Marine, and hating the pollution. He used to be this amazing writer, but the military stole that from him and replaced it with a manly exterior and great urges to grow vast amounts of facial hair. He told me about mutual friends, family, and we both shivered at the realization that it has been over ten years since we have seen one another. He would not be able to stop by OH on his way back overseas, so it will likely be several more years unless I find myself in Germany or France before, which is where he will be stationed.
So yeah, I get off the phone, call Christopher and find out there is a girl named Katie there as well, but no Penny, who was supposed to fondle the MOOGs with us, or play some mad drums. Something like that. I told him I would be leaving in 20 minutes, watched Scrat rearrange his nuts with
wraptboy cackling away, got gas at a station on Scranton and Clark (because I am a brazen li'l white biotch. heh) and was off to Sandusky by midnight.I got into town easily, as Mr.
cavemanhed is supreme at giving faboo directions. I drive and drive, and my head is drifty, my windshield a slur of rainy-slushee, and when I see "E. M..." on a sign, I turn left as he said to do, and search for the "HUUUUUUGE praking lot" he mentioned. I find one right there, but it's on the right, which seems wrong, not to mention the building that surrounds it is not very apartment-like. Some kind of old drug store in front of it, but across the street is an apartment building, and a somewhat smaller lot. I leave my car behind, grabbing my Picker bookbag and purse and go searching for the buzzer that supposedly reads "#5" and has his name on it. When I get to the door, I see two numbers of six, and neither of them read #5, nor do they say his last name. Several small patches of old white tape, once displayed names and numbers...#3 exists, but in a strange locale. I utilize it anyway, and decide that the top-most button on the left is #5, and buzz.
and buzz.
drip.drip.drip.
I have a hood on my coat, but it is slowly getting water-logged, along with my gloves and bookbag.
I buzz again and again, and then, confused beyond belief, I wander about the building, toward the other ones across the street, and then back to my car to get warm again.
I started my car thinking something felt wrong. I began to drive back in the direction I came from, looking for a phone booth. There was a large man in dark clothing pacing up and down the street near the only phone before the bridge. I drove for a while, and eventually he had wandered off. Good. I still drove my car onto the treelawn and had my headlights right on the phone. Had to be visible. Had to stay safe. Something was wrong, weird, off...
I called 411 because I forgot his number. It cost me a friggin' dollar to use the service this way, and then they told me that there was no Stephens listed on E. Main, but there was one on E. Market.
DING!DING!DING!DAWN'S A BIG DITZY DORKMONSTER!YAY! Of course, she still didn't get it...oh, the dumbass points!
I still called him, screaming at the top of my lungs because he cannot hear me through the phone. I finally just told him to go outside because the numbers were gone. He said OK, and I went back to the parking lot and building.
It only took me ten minutes to lose my cool. It was cold, and wet, and I was tired. I began yelling his name, "CHRISTOPHERRRR!!!"
No answer.
Another ten minutes passed before I noticed that the sign that read, "E. M..." well, the "..." I kept overlooking actually read "Monroe," and I about died from self-humiliation. I laughed and went back to my car and began driving further into Sandusky. Three or ten blocks later, I saw the mondo lot on my left, and the giant brick building, and the sign read "E. Market St." and all was well with the world again.
He walked out and met me, and we hugged hellos and I told him my stupidity-tale which he was kind enough not to poke fun about too much.
His name and his apartment number were where they should have been, and we walked very quietly to the top floor.
Now, lemme say this - his apartment building is unlike anything I have seen. It is set up oddly, kinda like the commons area at Tri-C west. There are apartments on all the outside walls, but the interior area is large and has handrails so you can look down on the other floors, and above is stained glass everywhere. It is the ceiling, and I was giddy about finally being where I was.
Walking into his apartment was like walking into a '60's sitcom, or maybe The Jetsons, what with all the retro space-like furniture, mostly in greens and oranges, or other earthy tones. And huge. Huge huge HUGE! I drop my shtuff next to the first couch (one of like four or five in his place?), and notice the most adorable seafoam-green shoes amongst all the others. I would soon learn they belong to an adorable little gal named Katie who wears large green bows in her hair and has '60's style glasses with gems in the corners that make her face brighter and eyes glimmery. A total doll, only 5' tall and dressed in lime green and a small black cardigan.
Utilize the toilet surrounded by big-eyed children paintings by one Keane painter-lady, as well as two dolls looking at one another upside-down on the back of the monster of a toilet, sitting beside the clawed tub. I want the one painting badly, but he is hell-bent on is being his. Bastage!
The night got better from here. We made tasty drinks made of vodka, rum, banana something or another and OJ...fruity-tooty yumminess. We then sat on his large white fun-fur rug, just between the green stripey-couch and the brown weird one, along with a bunch of fluffy pillows, and he pulled out an original Atari box, complete with a dozen or so games. I about died!
We spent the next hour or more playing games, mostly focused on Pong and giggling at our inabilities. Well,
cavemanhed whooped my arse, but he plays it all the time. Katie was more my equal, and a bit tipsy no less. Mad giggling and silliness ensued.Then he was all, "Hey let's go play with the MOOGs!" and we were all "YAY!" and we went and he told me about his landlord somewhere in all of this who is super weird about noise in the building and it's all no-smoking and huge (
cavemanhed's place is BEASTLY, you just don't even understand). "You must turn the handle to your door to close it more quietly." LOL[Error: Irreparable invalid markup ('<lj-cut="yet>') in entry. Owner must fix manually. Raw contents below.]
For several weeks, we made plans for me to invade the palace known as <user site="livejournal.com" user="cavemanhed">'s abode to fondle MOOGs, play with Phyllis the Ferret, and talk trash until 5AM in real-life, vis-a-vis stylings, as opposed to the AIM styles. They are aiight, but nothing to throw knives at successfully.
<i>Nothing beats the sensation of flesh as it break to the caress of something sharp...
*shivers*</i>
It was going to happen last weekend, like the one pre<strike>c</strike>vious to the one just passed? Something something something happened, however, and the slacker in me crumbled into a heap of anti-matter and would not drive anywhere for any given reason.
This weekend, it finally happened. I was bad, IMing at work (because I want any and all diversions from it right now) with the silly boy, and suddenly we were exchanging addresses and last names (I've known him for what seems like an eternity and have never known his last name), and I made my plans to depart shortly after work.
Well, needless to say I worked late. That happens. Also, my friend ROb from VA called, someone I have known 15+ years. We met when I was a freshman in high school. He was a senior, in classes with my sister Julene (F%&^%^$%^$#!!) and the best friend of one Philip Waddles whom I would later date, and become one of the most popular couples in school. Yes, I was popular for a minute, because I was thin and dating this tall, gorgeous guy with blond hair and amazing blue eyes.
Let me just say that it ended very badly, and Rob assures me that Philip still talks shite about me. <i>*laughs*</i>
So <lj-cut text="Rob called">Rob called, and it's the first time I have heard his voice in well over a year. He's been living in Seoul(sp?), a Marine, and hating the pollution. He used to be this amazing writer, but the military stole that from him and replaced it with a manly exterior and great urges to grow vast amounts of facial hair. He told me about mutual friends, family, and we both shivered at the realization that it has been over ten years since we have seen one another. He would not be able to stop by OH on his way back overseas, so it will likely be several more years unless I find myself in Germany or France before, which is where he will be stationed.</lj-cut>
So yeah, I get off the phone, call Christopher and find out there is a girl named Katie there as well, but no Penny, who was supposed to fondle the MOOGs with us, or play some mad drums. Something like that. I told him I would be leaving in 20 minutes, watched Scrat rearrange his nuts with <user site="livejournal.com" user="wraptboy"> cackling away, got gas at a station on Scranton and Clark (because I am a brazen li'l white biotch. heh) and was off to Sandusky by midnight.
<lj-cut text="The Journey">
I got into town easily, as Mr. <user site="livejournal.com" user="cavemanhed"> is supreme at giving faboo directions. I drive and drive, and my head is drifty, my windshield a slur of rainy-slushee, and when I see "E. M..." on a sign, I turn left as he said to do, and search for the "HUUUUUUGE praking lot" he mentioned. I find one right there, but it's on the right, which seems wrong, not to mention the building that surrounds it is not very apartment-like. Some kind of old drug store in front of it, but across the street is an apartment building, and a somewhat smaller lot. I leave my car behind, grabbing my Picker bookbag and purse and go searching for the buzzer that supposedly reads "#5" and has his name on it.
When I get to the door, I see two numbers of six, and neither of them read #5, nor do they say his last name. Several small patches of old white tape, once displayed names and numbers...#3 exists, but in a strange locale. I utilize it anyway, and decide that the top-most button on the left is #5, and buzz.
and buzz.
<i>drip.drip.drip.</i>
I have a hood on my coat, but it is slowly getting water-logged, along with my gloves and bookbag.
I buzz again and again, and then, confused beyond belief, I wander about the building, toward the other ones across the street, and then back to my car to get warm again.
I started my car thinking something felt wrong. I began to drive back in the direction I came from, looking for a phone booth. There was a large man in dark clothing pacing up and down the street near the only phone before the bridge. I drove for a while, and eventually he had wandered off. Good. I still drove my car onto the treelawn and had my headlights right on the phone. Had to be visible. Had to stay safe. Something was wrong, weird, off...
I called 411 because I forgot his number. It cost me a friggin' dollar to use the service this way, and then they told me that there was no Stephens listed on E. Main, but there was one on E. Market.
<i>DING!DING!DING!DAWN'S A BIG DITZY DORKMONSTER!YAY! Of course, she still didn't get it...oh, the dumbass points!</i>
I still called him, screaming at the top of my lungs because he cannot hear me through the phone. I finally just told him to go outside because the numbers were gone. He said OK, and I went back to the parking lot and building.
It only took me ten minutes to lose my cool. It was cold, and wet, and I was tired. I began yelling his name, "CHRISTOPHERRRR!!!"
No answer.
Another ten minutes passed before I noticed that the sign that read, "E. M..." well, the "..." I kept overlooking actually read "Monroe," and I about died from self-humiliation. I laughed and went back to my car and began driving further into Sandusky. Three or ten blocks later, I saw the mondo lot on my left, and the giant brick building, and the sign read "E. Market St." and all was well with the world again.
He walked out and met me, and we hugged hellos and I told him my stupidity-tale which he was kind enough not to poke fun about too much.
His name and his apartment number were where they should have been, and we walked very quietly to the top floor.</lj-cut>
Now, lemme say this - <lj-cut text="his apartment...">his apartment building is unlike anything I have seen. It is set up oddly, kinda like the commons area at Tri-C west. There are apartments on all the outside walls, but the interior area is large and has handrails so you can look down on the other floors, and above is stained glass everywhere. It is the ceiling, and I was giddy about finally being where I was.
Walking into his apartment was like walking into a '60's sitcom, or maybe The Jetsons, what with all the retro space-like furniture, mostly in greens and oranges, or other earthy tones. And huge. Huge huge HUGE! I drop my shtuff next to the first couch (one of like four or five in his place?), and notice the most adorable seafoam-green shoes amongst all the others. I would soon learn they belong to an adorable little gal named Katie who wears large green bows in her hair and has '60's style glasses with gems in the corners that make her face brighter and eyes glimmery. A total doll, only 5' tall and dressed in lime green and a small black cardigan.
Utilize the toilet surrounded by big-eyed children paintings by one Keane painter-lady, as well as two dolls looking at one another upside-down on the back of the monster of a toilet, sitting beside the clawed tub. I want the one painting badly, but he is hell-bent on is being his. Bastage!
</lj-cut>
The night got better from here. We made tasty drinks made of vodka, rum, banana something or another and OJ...fruity-tooty yumminess. We then sat on his large white fun-fur rug, just between the green stripey-couch and the brown weird one, along with a bunch of fluffy pillows, and he pulled out an original Atari box, complete with a dozen or so games. I about died!
We spent the next hour or more playing games, mostly focused on Pong and giggling at our inabilities. Well, <user site="livejournal.com" user="cavemanhed"> whooped my arse, but he plays it all the time. Katie was more my equal, and a bit tipsy no less. Mad giggling and silliness ensued.
Then he was all, "Hey let's go play with the MOOGs!" and we were all "YAY!" and we went and he told me about his landlord somewhere in all of this who is super weird about noise in the building and it's all no-smoking and huge (<user site="livejournal.com" user="cavemanhed">'s place is BEASTLY, you just don't even understand). "You must turn the handle to your door to close it more quietly." LOL
<lj-cut="yet another journey, but more toys involved">
We rode in the red convertible he swore was a cop-magnet, and we drove through the area I had yelled his name in, apparently a former ghetto, or so he claimed. Turn rightish, then leftish, a warehouse magically appeared and poof! we were at the family headquarters, enter in the back-side.
Inside it smelled like my childhood, memories of Phil Wood and Co. bike shop grease, ancient elevators and oddly-shaped wheelchairs, racing between boxes and spokes and five 0'clock shadows. A dog was really a lion then.
I am not sure how we wound up where we were, being a tad tipsy myself by this point, but he lead Katie-girl to the bathroom while I played with a dumbec. He came in and turned on these seemingly small keyboards, but oh no. They were much more than that.
These were The MOOGs. And I began tweaking and fondling, turning and distorting. He had been playing with one of the two, but then wound up at the drum set, and from here it just becomes blurry. I know we had some awesome sounds coelescing in the night, all the while Katie-girl played with a yo-yo in the distance. Our groove became mezmerizing, and we both floated as we played. At some point our ears rang into one another, and we both stopped fairly abruptly, and decided it was time to leave. We'd all had our fill of Jim Morrison moments for one night.
Back at his mondo-space, we threw in the old movie <i>Thirteen Ghosts</i>, which seemed like a good idea at the time. Soon enough though, we all passed out and slept far too long.</lj-cut>
Woke up, cleaned up a bit, and off to the greasy spoon across the street. It was incredibly David Lynch-like, from the colors to the waitress who, love her to death, utilized the word "goober" far too well and easily. She liked my amber ring and Katie's bow tremendously. We smiled and thanked her graciously.
The food was as a greasy spoon's should be. The coffee swirls were not Sal's, but did some justice no less. The fortune was mine.
Katie seemed to eat like a bird, and as a vegetarian. Some things fell into place as I realized she goes to Oberlin, and I related with her a little more easily. She is an art history major, eventually going into restoration or something. As she spoke and moved, each moment she seemed more like another friend of mine, Paula, whom I wonder about sometimes but do not know where she is anymore.
Before I knew it, it was 3-something, and I had to get back home to make dinner reservations with Teri. I thanked Christopher for his hospitality, got an awkward hug from Katie, and headed out to Fairuza.
She would not start.
<lj-cut text="the Trials and Tribulations of a Blue Car">
She turned over, which was a good thing at least. I kept begging her not to break down there, to wait until we got home, or at least in Cleveland. I made promises of oil and a full tank of gas. Eventually, after almost flooding the bitch, I got out and checked fluids. Everything was really OK, so I reached down, shook something very hard and cried out to her, "PLEASE WORK!"
Back inside, I pet her, assured her we could do it together. Sure enough, she was soothed, and we headed home.</lj-cut>
later that night, I met with Teri and she loved her gifts, particularly her voodoo doll. I just found it hilarious that I gave a devout Catholic a voodoo doll and they took it with such glee. Hilarious.
Anyway, my back hurts, and I am tired now. Hope you weren't bored to tears. This only took me, oh, three hours to write between pissing on the RIAA and AIM conversations. heh.
goodnight everyone.
<i>Nothing beats the sensation of flesh as it break to the caress of something sharp...
*shivers*</i>
It was going to happen last weekend, like the one pre<strike>c</strike>vious to the one just passed? Something something something happened, however, and the slacker in me crumbled into a heap of anti-matter and would not drive anywhere for any given reason.
This weekend, it finally happened. I was bad, IMing at work (because I want any and all diversions from it right now) with the silly boy, and suddenly we were exchanging addresses and last names (I've known him for what seems like an eternity and have never known his last name), and I made my plans to depart shortly after work.
Well, needless to say I worked late. That happens. Also, my friend ROb from VA called, someone I have known 15+ years. We met when I was a freshman in high school. He was a senior, in classes with my sister Julene (F%&^%^$%^$#!!) and the best friend of one Philip Waddles whom I would later date, and become one of the most popular couples in school. Yes, I was popular for a minute, because I was thin and dating this tall, gorgeous guy with blond hair and amazing blue eyes.
Let me just say that it ended very badly, and Rob assures me that Philip still talks shite about me. <i>*laughs*</i>
So <lj-cut text="Rob called">Rob called, and it's the first time I have heard his voice in well over a year. He's been living in Seoul(sp?), a Marine, and hating the pollution. He used to be this amazing writer, but the military stole that from him and replaced it with a manly exterior and great urges to grow vast amounts of facial hair. He told me about mutual friends, family, and we both shivered at the realization that it has been over ten years since we have seen one another. He would not be able to stop by OH on his way back overseas, so it will likely be several more years unless I find myself in Germany or France before, which is where he will be stationed.</lj-cut>
So yeah, I get off the phone, call Christopher and find out there is a girl named Katie there as well, but no Penny, who was supposed to fondle the MOOGs with us, or play some mad drums. Something like that. I told him I would be leaving in 20 minutes, watched Scrat rearrange his nuts with <user site="livejournal.com" user="wraptboy"> cackling away, got gas at a station on Scranton and Clark (because I am a brazen li'l white biotch. heh) and was off to Sandusky by midnight.
<lj-cut text="The Journey">
I got into town easily, as Mr. <user site="livejournal.com" user="cavemanhed"> is supreme at giving faboo directions. I drive and drive, and my head is drifty, my windshield a slur of rainy-slushee, and when I see "E. M..." on a sign, I turn left as he said to do, and search for the "HUUUUUUGE praking lot" he mentioned. I find one right there, but it's on the right, which seems wrong, not to mention the building that surrounds it is not very apartment-like. Some kind of old drug store in front of it, but across the street is an apartment building, and a somewhat smaller lot. I leave my car behind, grabbing my Picker bookbag and purse and go searching for the buzzer that supposedly reads "#5" and has his name on it.
When I get to the door, I see two numbers of six, and neither of them read #5, nor do they say his last name. Several small patches of old white tape, once displayed names and numbers...#3 exists, but in a strange locale. I utilize it anyway, and decide that the top-most button on the left is #5, and buzz.
and buzz.
<i>drip.drip.drip.</i>
I have a hood on my coat, but it is slowly getting water-logged, along with my gloves and bookbag.
I buzz again and again, and then, confused beyond belief, I wander about the building, toward the other ones across the street, and then back to my car to get warm again.
I started my car thinking something felt wrong. I began to drive back in the direction I came from, looking for a phone booth. There was a large man in dark clothing pacing up and down the street near the only phone before the bridge. I drove for a while, and eventually he had wandered off. Good. I still drove my car onto the treelawn and had my headlights right on the phone. Had to be visible. Had to stay safe. Something was wrong, weird, off...
I called 411 because I forgot his number. It cost me a friggin' dollar to use the service this way, and then they told me that there was no Stephens listed on E. Main, but there was one on E. Market.
<i>DING!DING!DING!DAWN'S A BIG DITZY DORKMONSTER!YAY! Of course, she still didn't get it...oh, the dumbass points!</i>
I still called him, screaming at the top of my lungs because he cannot hear me through the phone. I finally just told him to go outside because the numbers were gone. He said OK, and I went back to the parking lot and building.
It only took me ten minutes to lose my cool. It was cold, and wet, and I was tired. I began yelling his name, "CHRISTOPHERRRR!!!"
No answer.
Another ten minutes passed before I noticed that the sign that read, "E. M..." well, the "..." I kept overlooking actually read "Monroe," and I about died from self-humiliation. I laughed and went back to my car and began driving further into Sandusky. Three or ten blocks later, I saw the mondo lot on my left, and the giant brick building, and the sign read "E. Market St." and all was well with the world again.
He walked out and met me, and we hugged hellos and I told him my stupidity-tale which he was kind enough not to poke fun about too much.
His name and his apartment number were where they should have been, and we walked very quietly to the top floor.</lj-cut>
Now, lemme say this - <lj-cut text="his apartment...">his apartment building is unlike anything I have seen. It is set up oddly, kinda like the commons area at Tri-C west. There are apartments on all the outside walls, but the interior area is large and has handrails so you can look down on the other floors, and above is stained glass everywhere. It is the ceiling, and I was giddy about finally being where I was.
Walking into his apartment was like walking into a '60's sitcom, or maybe The Jetsons, what with all the retro space-like furniture, mostly in greens and oranges, or other earthy tones. And huge. Huge huge HUGE! I drop my shtuff next to the first couch (one of like four or five in his place?), and notice the most adorable seafoam-green shoes amongst all the others. I would soon learn they belong to an adorable little gal named Katie who wears large green bows in her hair and has '60's style glasses with gems in the corners that make her face brighter and eyes glimmery. A total doll, only 5' tall and dressed in lime green and a small black cardigan.
Utilize the toilet surrounded by big-eyed children paintings by one Keane painter-lady, as well as two dolls looking at one another upside-down on the back of the monster of a toilet, sitting beside the clawed tub. I want the one painting badly, but he is hell-bent on is being his. Bastage!
</lj-cut>
The night got better from here. We made tasty drinks made of vodka, rum, banana something or another and OJ...fruity-tooty yumminess. We then sat on his large white fun-fur rug, just between the green stripey-couch and the brown weird one, along with a bunch of fluffy pillows, and he pulled out an original Atari box, complete with a dozen or so games. I about died!
We spent the next hour or more playing games, mostly focused on Pong and giggling at our inabilities. Well, <user site="livejournal.com" user="cavemanhed"> whooped my arse, but he plays it all the time. Katie was more my equal, and a bit tipsy no less. Mad giggling and silliness ensued.
Then he was all, "Hey let's go play with the MOOGs!" and we were all "YAY!" and we went and he told me about his landlord somewhere in all of this who is super weird about noise in the building and it's all no-smoking and huge (<user site="livejournal.com" user="cavemanhed">'s place is BEASTLY, you just don't even understand). "You must turn the handle to your door to close it more quietly." LOL
<lj-cut="yet another journey, but more toys involved">
We rode in the red convertible he swore was a cop-magnet, and we drove through the area I had yelled his name in, apparently a former ghetto, or so he claimed. Turn rightish, then leftish, a warehouse magically appeared and poof! we were at the family headquarters, enter in the back-side.
Inside it smelled like my childhood, memories of Phil Wood and Co. bike shop grease, ancient elevators and oddly-shaped wheelchairs, racing between boxes and spokes and five 0'clock shadows. A dog was really a lion then.
I am not sure how we wound up where we were, being a tad tipsy myself by this point, but he lead Katie-girl to the bathroom while I played with a dumbec. He came in and turned on these seemingly small keyboards, but oh no. They were much more than that.
These were The MOOGs. And I began tweaking and fondling, turning and distorting. He had been playing with one of the two, but then wound up at the drum set, and from here it just becomes blurry. I know we had some awesome sounds coelescing in the night, all the while Katie-girl played with a yo-yo in the distance. Our groove became mezmerizing, and we both floated as we played. At some point our ears rang into one another, and we both stopped fairly abruptly, and decided it was time to leave. We'd all had our fill of Jim Morrison moments for one night.
Back at his mondo-space, we threw in the old movie <i>Thirteen Ghosts</i>, which seemed like a good idea at the time. Soon enough though, we all passed out and slept far too long.</lj-cut>
Woke up, cleaned up a bit, and off to the greasy spoon across the street. It was incredibly David Lynch-like, from the colors to the waitress who, love her to death, utilized the word "goober" far too well and easily. She liked my amber ring and Katie's bow tremendously. We smiled and thanked her graciously.
The food was as a greasy spoon's should be. The coffee swirls were not Sal's, but did some justice no less. The fortune was mine.
Katie seemed to eat like a bird, and as a vegetarian. Some things fell into place as I realized she goes to Oberlin, and I related with her a little more easily. She is an art history major, eventually going into restoration or something. As she spoke and moved, each moment she seemed more like another friend of mine, Paula, whom I wonder about sometimes but do not know where she is anymore.
Before I knew it, it was 3-something, and I had to get back home to make dinner reservations with Teri. I thanked Christopher for his hospitality, got an awkward hug from Katie, and headed out to Fairuza.
She would not start.
<lj-cut text="the Trials and Tribulations of a Blue Car">
She turned over, which was a good thing at least. I kept begging her not to break down there, to wait until we got home, or at least in Cleveland. I made promises of oil and a full tank of gas. Eventually, after almost flooding the bitch, I got out and checked fluids. Everything was really OK, so I reached down, shook something very hard and cried out to her, "PLEASE WORK!"
Back inside, I pet her, assured her we could do it together. Sure enough, she was soothed, and we headed home.</lj-cut>
later that night, I met with Teri and she loved her gifts, particularly her voodoo doll. I just found it hilarious that I gave a devout Catholic a voodoo doll and they took it with such glee. Hilarious.
Anyway, my back hurts, and I am tired now. Hope you weren't bored to tears. This only took me, oh, three hours to write between pissing on the RIAA and AIM conversations. heh.
goodnight everyone.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
Okay I see how you are
Date: 2004-01-07 05:43 am (UTC)*breaks downs*
Bahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
So are you beliveing this?
I am glad you had a good time with your friend, sounds like an adventure!
Re: Okay I see how you are
Date: 2004-01-07 11:17 am (UTC)It was a silly time, which was what I needed that night and, really, all weekend. I had to work all weekend though, so in as much as I would have loved to come down and visit you guys, it just wasn't possible. I know the doors are open though.~8)
You have a mixed tape, I just have no money to send it with. Something got screwed up with payroll and I didn't get about 15 hours of pay. Oh yeah. I am LOVING this job more and more as time passes.
Re: Okay I see how you are
Date: 2004-01-07 12:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-01-07 04:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-01-08 10:23 pm (UTC)Actually though, it is something bigger than the fluids, it was just all I could do at that precise moment. After 161,000 miles, I think Fairuza is about to kick it. She's served me well, but what car can honestly take the beating of Cleveland for very long without croaking? She's done me well, but yeah. I am way past due on getting a new set of wheels.
Thanks for your concern & advice, guppy.~8)
no subject
Date: 2004-01-09 03:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-01-09 09:24 am (UTC)you're right though...it'd also be a really opportune time for me to make more money, but that would require me dropping necessary classes at Tri-C and working full-time again.
I've come to the conclusion that life is nothing but a line of catch-22's.
no subject
Date: 2004-01-08 11:28 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-01-08 10:24 pm (UTC)BTW...that pick looks like your eyes are popping out of your head. You should totally use the one of you in the windowsill if you want to attract hotties.~;D
no subject
Date: 2004-01-09 09:29 am (UTC)