August 18, 2001
Don't drink the Waffles
Clare's extended family is insane. Friday night was insane. I am insane.
The stage is set, as much as Jill's stage ever is. She has about half a brain (let's remember that she did have to spend more than fifteen minutes in the library on Friday and her mother had the unfailing courtesy to yell at her) and has just been squashed into the back of Clare's dad's car with Kelsi and Clare beside her and Cassy sprawled across their laps.
And they were dancing.
The quartet enters the smoke ringed living room of Clare's obscenely cluttered home. There are about four, five teenage males on assorted couches and chairs. They are listening to Tool. They are smoking like chimneys.
So much testerone in one room jars our heroine a considerable amount.
They sit. They observe. Clare paws her boyfriend, and images of Ryan are conjured almost immediately in Jill's mind.
She shrugs them off, a pitiful sort of resignation creeping into her soul.
Swiss guy enters. Cassy struggles to restrain herself from collapsing in his lap.
Barely.
She lands somewhere near his knee.
While group of teenage guys discuss Saigon Whores, Swiss guy somehow gets the delusion that they are talking about horses.
Perhaps they are the same in Switzerland.
I absolutely apologize to any Swiss individual who may stumble across this. It was too easy.
Now neither the Catholic people nor the Swiss will talk to me.
At any rate, we went to Waffle House. The group is veritably obsessed with the greasy, gritty (and I mean grits, people) joint. Our waitress, their close personal friend, was named Bonnie.
She kind of ignored us.
She did, however, comment on Kenny's (random teenage boy in group) headband which said 'shit happens.'
Kenny terrifies me.
Kenny blares Vanilla Ice out of his banana colored convertible vehicle.
The boys commandeer the jukebox and play Alan Jackson's Chattahoochee and Shaggy. In conjunction.
They sing along.
I shudder and eat my waffle.
Clare's boyfriend Corey eats orgasm pie.
He tells us to order it by that name.
Well, let me tell you, I jumped on that one.
We return to Clare's house after an hour and a half of taking up the entire left wing of Waffle House.
And we begin to watch The Neverending Story, the Next Chapter.
That is the cheesiest piece of shit that ever tried to soil a perfectly decent fantasy film.
Worse even than The Lost World, the neverending Jurassic Park extension.
Why is it just Jurassic park? Aren't some of those dinosaurs from different ages?
I guess Cretaceous Park didn't have the same ring.
astera at lazy