October 9, 2002
Imogene can't ruin my Birthday
"Are you trying to devour me? Like a snack cake?"
"Yes." I giggle. "You're my Little Debbie, Mike."
Happy Birthday to me. Hip Hip and a couple of hearty Hoorahs. Thus far, this has been the best birthday ever.
I wasn't worried about being mugged between Mike's truck and my dorm when I got back last night. It was a quarter 'til five in the morning. All the rapists were in bed.
We went to the Art Museum and I was ecstatic over Grecian pottery and Ionic featureless figures. I recognized styles, periods, materials. Who'd of thought I'd actually learn something from Art History?
I got my presents, including Weezer's 'Maladroit' and a stuffed Sully from Monster's Inc; not excluding CD-R's and cucumber melon candles that I won't be allowed to burn in my room at school. Sully has bendable arms, so, clearly, he had to attack Mike with fisticuff action.
We went to dinner at Bogart's at Argosy, because there is nothing more fun than being at work and not having to. They gave us the best table in the house, a corner table, candlelit, very secluded and romantic. Mike was wearing a black turtleneck sweater and looked absolutely adorable. He held my hand at the table. He gave me bites of his dinner and scoffed at my ordering my steak medium-well.
I just grinned madly and relished every moment of it.
He expresses his delight over being able to go out to dinner and talk at the same time. I can't stop thinking about how wonderful he is.
Later, I tell him so.
We lay in his bed and he voices his exasperation with The Guinness Book of World Records. His prime aggravation? The record for the shortest man ever to ride a moped and eat a bowl of peas at the same time. Jealousy, perhaps?
Is that even a real category?
I don't know if I am giggling because of how madly I adore him or because I am retarded-tired. Likely both.
We occupy ourselves with eachother for four hours. We talk. We kiss. I come way too close to tearing his underwear off with my teeth.
Did I just say that?
Yeah, but it's my diary. That whole honesty bit keeps getting in the way of me perpetuating my image of purity and goodness.
On the way back to school, I drink coffee and he drinks chocolate milk and the pair of us are far too animated for the hour. He bashes Bill Gates ruthlessly, and I regale him with the insanity that was my various experiences with my various friends in high school.
I jest that now that it is my birthday, I am twenty and just too old for him. He'll have to get him another teenage girl.
He sighs.
"Yeah. But we still have hours until you're officially twenty."
Which, in my book, and as far as last night was concerned, is forever.
I'm going to marry him, you know. Or date him for the rest of my life.
Mom and Dad are coming up to see me tonight and we are going out to dinner. Hopefully I don't crash mid-evening. I have to keep up a facade of sanity and coherence, because, as far as they are concerned, kids, Mike and I held hands last night and I got back to my dorm at 12:30.
Only a slight variation of the truth, of course.
astera at 10:49 a.m.