February 6th, 1995
Damn. “Posession” is a sexy song.
Anyway, 22 was an amazing birthday. Drank. Bced. And I didn’t throw up. Surrounded by many friends who also had a great time. Three days later and my body still hasn’t recovered. My neck and inner thighs ache from all the hip-swiveling grind.
Mon and I continue our talk show circuit…My smiling, laughing face represented, for a split-second or three, the pleasure of one of Dave Letterman’s jokes as experienced by one of his audience memebers for all of CBS’s viewers at approximately 11:40pm this evening. My national TV debut.
And on Wednesday I could be set up by none other than Montell Williams. As long as it’s not with one of those Fabio-looking men from the Hunks o’the Firehouse calendar. Or a CCpendale. Those guys are stuck in a perpetual state of 1986: Ape drapes, spandex, Crisco-oiled pecs. I would never go to a strip club because they don’t hire the types of guys I find appealling. There is no Boys of the Ivies calendar. No Joyce Carol Oates-toting boy with longish hair and wire-rimmed glasses. No button down shirts or well-worn 501s for me to tuck my twenties into.
My suitemate, Mon, would like to be set up WITH Montell. She thinks Montell is THE MAN, and this is before I told her that in addition to being a graduate of the Naval Academy, he is a former pugilist, a singer, and designer of his own line of clothing: The Montell Williams Collection.
“He belives in masculine elegance, but doesn’t conform to the traditional suit and tie aeshtetic. That’s why he wears those snappy vests.”
“Oh.”
I don’t feel like I’m with the academic program at all. I’m caught up on reading in all my classes, except CC which doesn’t count because no one could possibly do all the required reading for that class EVER. I still feel like I’m behind. And I’m paranoid that I’m breaking out into hives right now. My hands have a rash and my butt is itchy.
I hate that I was tired and achy and pretty much cranky all day but now…NOW I’ve got just enough edge to keep me awake. Not enough to make me want to read my CC or start working on my paper that’s due next week but enough to complain about it.
Can’t sleep. Can’t sleep. Can’t sleep.
