May 27th, 2001


Mt. Madonna

The minute I got home, I ran for the shower. I used anti-bacterial soap, heavy duty phisoderm, and even this horrid nasty stuff that smells like a freshly-tarred road.
But it was too late.
I got poison oak on the back of my legs. ARRRRRRR.
Now I'll never wear shorts again.
Okay, technically, that never happened. I'm immune to poison oak or something, because I've rolled in patches of it and not gotten it. But I thought a nice, terrible, sad adventure scene would be a good way to start this diary entry. Because that pretty much is what did not happen during my short excursion up to Mt. Madonna.
We got there about noon, and Corrine (daughter of Mr. Joe I-Live-To-Torment-Sam Dude.) decided to talk to me because we were both very bored. (Star, my best friend that I see about three times a year, was nowhere to be found.) So we talked. And talked. About books, beliefs, college, school, politics. Whatever. And talked. And it was very nice. Because, really, I don't get intelligent conversation very often. And it was good. Because, truly, I don't think deeply that often anymore, but Corrine's questions forced me to. And that was good.
At dinnertime she went back to her campsite and I went back to Harry Potter. Lucky for me, but unlucky for Harry (who was about to fight a dragon, poor thing) Star came spinning up in her green VW diesel Bug. (It cracks me up. They don't sell diesel gas around here, so she has to have it sent in from Kansas. Nya ha ha.) Anyway, so we're busy swapping stories and telling each other about what's happened in the past five months when her brother, Nova, shows up, bringing gloom and doom raining down upon us.
Not really. What he actually brought was a Pre-Calc book, so Star could study for her final, which was Thursdsay. But it might as well been G&D, as neither of us can stand math in any shape or form.
The thing that surprised me, though, was how much Nova had grown up. I mean, I've known him for nearly 10 years now, and I tend to think of him in his high school freshmen stage, when he was this kinda-pudgy-not-too-exciting-super-math-geek-boy-with-the-dopey-haircut.
Thing is, he isn't at all like that anymore. Now he's cute. Now he's pretty damn hot, thank you very much. Very tall (I'm guessing 6'3") and he's grown his hair and lost a ton of weight and basically looks like your stereotypical bohemian-Santa-Cruz-musician. He even had this sweater on that was simply fantastic. It had "Perry Hall" in goldenrod letters on it, and was a navy blue hood. What was so awesome, though, was that at some point he'd spilled bleach on it and there were holes coming in and out and around his stomach and sleeves and the cloth was ragged and discolored and it was just fantastic. I loved it.
Unfortunately, mentally he is still a math geek, which makes for pretty unexciting conversation. Still, though, he's almost cool, and I told him so.
Star went bowling in the evening (I was invited, but Mom doesn't trust Star on the twisty mountain roads, so I got to stay in the van, alone with my history textbook. -_-) with some of the other girls at camp, and in the morning we came back home.
So overall, it was as I said. Nice, terrible, sad.
And I can't wait to do it again in August.

It just keeps getting...dumber.

Okay, so I'm thinking I should go apologize to Davy because I was pretty rude to him Friday night, so I wander on over after taking a shower, combing my hair, and washing the Mt. Madonna experience out ot my pores. I walk up to his door, take a deep breath, and ring the doorbell.
And wait. And watch a minute tick by. And knock on the door.

He's not home. Swell. Great. Teee-riffic. I go back home and paint my toenails neon green.

I'll apologize tomorrow, I think to myself, and send an email to Star, inviting her to come play minature golf when school's out.

See? I'm nice to at least one of my friends.