Skeleton key

Handwritten page of a diary dated February 7, 1970

laid his keys down on the counter while he ordered. On the key ring was a skeleton key!

Since I could do this job with half my brain I had plenty of time to wonder what that key opens. I’m dropping his two hamburgers into a sack and I’m thinking that skeleton key opens an old steamer trunk in his room where he keeps his army discharge papers and a picture of his first wife who wrote him a Dear John letter which he received on the night before he stormed the beach at Normandy.

Either that or he lives in an old creaky house with his mother and before he leaves to go get them each a hamburger he has to lock her in her old antique bedroom because otherwise she might try to get out of bed and put on her flannel robe with lace on the collar and go down the stairs by herself and light a fire in the fireplace while the flue is closed and die of smoke inhalation.

Whichever is the right story, he deserved the complementary order of onion rings I decided to slip into his bag.


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Published in: on December 30, 2010 at 1:46 am  Leave a Comment  

Hair gel-related injury

Handwritten page of a diary dated June 15, 1984

because he wasn’t talking, which he usually can’t stop doing. I kept saying what’s the matter? and he’d shrug.

Finally — without moving his mouth much, he said his jaw was sore, and then when I bugged him for a reason, he said it was a yawning accident. Sounded weird. YAWNING ACCIDENT? Huh?

I really should work for the CIA or Interpol, because if I want to get to the bottom of a situation, believe me, you have no choice but to spill the truth. I finally got this story out of him:

Well, when we were going to the club last weekend you guys were all waiting for me but I realized I was out of a certain … product. (long pause) OK, I’ll say it, normally my hair is gelled to the max.

Yeah, yeah, we all know this, go on.

So I decided that to keep my regular look the only thing I could do was stay in motion that night and flip my hair around a lot and when I was dancing with that girl with the boots I guess I had my mouth open and did a hair flip at the same time. It threw my jaw out.


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Published in: on December 28, 2010 at 3:58 pm  Leave a Comment  


Handwritten page of a diary dated September 14, 1995

stupidly agreed to meet her outside the entrance, which means I was stuck out there waiting without anything to look at except people walking in and out. I had a pen and I was doodling a little but then I started writing down parts of various people’s conversations.

“I’ll buy every issue of JFK’s new magazine as long as there are pictures of his cute self in there.”

“Your mama and I want you to find some clothes that are more wholesome.”

“The glove company executive said, yeah that’s the same kind of gloves O.J. wears and that’s the same color and the same size.” “Well, when they do finally throw the book at him of course they’ll interrupt my soap operas AGAIN.”

“Let’s at least eat somewhere with real silverware.” “Shut up. I’m gettin a big pretzel and a corn dog and a slice of pizza from Anthony’s.”

“No you cannot buy a CD called GANSTA’S PARADISE.”


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Published in: on December 23, 2010 at 11:59 am  Comments (1)  

Rode the Zipper and lived to tell about it

Handwritten page of a diary dated June 16, 1968

because at the festival they have the pizza with the bubbly cheese. And it’s the only time of year to get a real corn dog, though Mom tried to fry some at home for my birthday (I said mmm delicious — ALTHOUGH if the guys from Dragnet had me on the hot seat, I’d  have to admit they were not so delicious in truth.)

After I ate pizza and a few corn dogs and a gigantic cream puff, I rode this brand new ride called the Zipper — which is super completely fun until you get off of it and you have to walk straight even though you’re dizzy, and you have to convince yourself not to throw up in public which would make you look like a Goober.


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Published in: on December 22, 2010 at 2:40 am  Leave a Comment  

Would you like …?

Handwritten page of a diary dated December 24, 1989

told me I could choose between custard filling and white cream filling and I guess I paused for long enough that it made her say “would you like them both?” Why yes I would like them both. I’ve never seen that before. Yes.
It made me think of a time when I woke up from surgery, and I was euphoric on some good good drugs. A nurse came up to me and said, “Would you like a fluffier pillow?” Yes. A fluffier pillow rocked my little world then, like the eclairs will rock my Christmas world tonight.


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Published in: on December 20, 2010 at 8:01 pm  Leave a Comment  

I need me some Grinch shoes

Handwritten page of a diary dated December 11, 2009

“Every Who down in Whoville liked Christmas a lot, but the Grinch, who lived just north of Whoville, did not. The Grinch hated Christmas — the whole Christmas season. Oh, please don’t ask why, no one quite knows the reason. It could be, perhaps, that his shoes were too tight. Or maybe his head wasn’t screwed on just right.”                — Dr. Seuss

Aunt Frannie asked what I wanted for xmas and I thought I’d put these shoes on my list, but they only come in sizes for 12-year-olds and younger. If I tried to wear them, my shoes would be too tight, just like the Grinch’s. Add to that, my head is also not screwed on just right. I’m the first to admit it.

If I don’t tell Aunt Frannie something I want, she’ll end up getting me an xmas tree ornament with a sparkly fairy giving Santa a ride on her pink unicorn, or a poster for my room with kitties and bunnies frolicking together under a rainbow.


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Published in: on December 17, 2010 at 11:54 am  Comments (1)  

Trip before a trip

Handwritten page of a diary dated June 5, 2000

probably not the best idea to schedule an intense dentist appointment in the morning and a long flight in the afternoon.

When I was waiting for him to come in to drill holes in my teeth, raindrops started pelting the giant window. When the drugs kicked in, the window was a shimmery curtain of solid water. Then I thought it was a wall made of clear Jello, just a little bit wobbly.

And that’s the last thing I remember until I was in the back of a cab in the airport parking lot. The rain had stopped, but the parking lot had turned into a lake, and the cab was floating in it.


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Published in: on December 15, 2010 at 10:34 pm  Leave a Comment  

Tempted by the white hair

Handwritten page of a diary dated August 4, 1994

I’d seen the messy-white-haired guy before in the cafe where they have computers. I go in there because of my pretend serious romance with Lonnie237, my AOL chatroom boyfriend who lives in Texas I think (far enough away that I won’t have to worry about deciding to meet him for lunch in a weak moment).

Yesterday though, the white-haired guy, whose name is Jack, actually came up and talked to me. He brought me one of those iced coffees that look like they would be delicious if you like coffee. I had to tell him I don’t like coffee, and he said I would be responsible for him drinking both glasses and staying up too late. Good line, because I felt sort of guilty and I stayed there talking to him a long time after I’d said goodnight to Lonnie237, who is in the Central time zone.

Jack sent me off with a hot chocolate refill and said he hoped he would see me in there again soon, but I’m not in the mood for a boyfriend who lives in the same town. That leads to trouble eventually. But I will say this — I sure would like to touch his hair.


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Published in: on December 14, 2010 at 3:33 pm  Leave a Comment  

‘Afternoon Delight’

Handwritten page of a diary dated February 24, 1977

just peeked into the room where I have to go to the lecture, disguised as a LUNCHEON. I have tried and tried to think of a way to get out of it but Candy said she wanted to sit with me and if I didn’t show, she would tell Mr. Mitchellson.
Here are five things I’d rather do than go to this lecture:

1. Cut off three or four of my toes and then sew them back on with a rusty needle.
2. Go into Jill’s room and stay there an hour and set her record player so it keeps playing “Afternoon Delight” over and over.
3. Eat a skunk brain sandwich.
4. Get to go backstage at a Led Zeppelin concert — but I have to wear a bicentennial sweatshirt and red white and blue polyester pants.
5. Go on a date with Mr. Mitchellson — with french kissing.

OK, no, not that last one.


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Published in: on December 13, 2010 at 2:30 pm  Comments (2)  

These are not slacks

Handwritten page of a diary dated August 21, 1966

she pulls out this magazine picture of a French actress and I about died. Yeah, I told her I’d sew her some slacks that are nice enough to try to get our school to not make us have to wear dresses every day of our lives. But I wasn’t exactly counting on balloon pants when I only have about a week till school starts and I’m going to have to make these up out of my head since there’s sure not a Simplicity pattern for pants you would wear if you were trying to dance for the King of Siam.

But I must admit, it would be funny to see the look on our brand new principal’s face when he shows up the first day and she’s wearing these.


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Published in: on December 11, 2010 at 1:30 pm  Leave a Comment