An Even Bigger Butterfly, Part 7.
Wendy was, frankly, a gibbering lunatic. She didn't mind displaying this fact in public, either. Chances are, if you haven't met someone like her, you won't because you're in solitary confinement. Otherwise? I recommend garlic, crosses, silver, fresh-hewn ash stakes, and, if all that fails, surrounding yourself with pretty girls and boys to distract the beast. She wasn't terribly picky in her distractions. A mop of shiny black hair with a veritable graveyard of Manic Panic attempts hiding at the scalp level. Two spindly legs, invariably in a black mini that looked like it was stolen from Roseanne Barr. Big, brown pleading eyes that said, "Shackle me! Confine me before the moon rises again!"
Yes, Wendy was Trouble for some. Thankfully, I was already aswoon over my lethal friend from downtown...at least for a little bit longer. That train was headed for a curve, and doing 90.
Teri was a really pretty girl, light eyes (I never got close enough to verify their color, though not for lack of fumbling effort), glasses, brown hair, and if memory serves, she was wearing a polo shirt that night. Teri was in a couple classes with me (probably the Honors College, before I dropped out), sang in the college choir with me, and never seemed to remember my name from one meeting to the next. I had a damn-near-black fern on my head, making me appear seven feet tall. I wore some of the worst-coordinated outfits since Paul Benedict on The Jeffersons (and somewhat proudly, as it disproved the urban legend of my homosexuality). Didn't matter. Every time I saw Teri, I had to remind her who I was. This did nothing to cool my ardor; for some reason, I thought she was one of the hottest women at any party. As I write this, I don't know why. All I remember is her being really, really attractive...even when there was considerable competition.
Competition was running hot that night, too; my friend Gina had stopped in with her recently-extradited-to-CT friend Dawn. Dawn was this post-modern sensible chick with feathered hair, eyes you could swim in, and a laugh that started somewhere near her duodenum. Needless to say, the Estroscope was working overtime.
My Guthrie-Sense was so distracted that when the cops showed up, I was completely surprised. That was a first.
Wendy was, frankly, a gibbering lunatic. She didn't mind displaying this fact in public, either. Chances are, if you haven't met someone like her, you won't because you're in solitary confinement. Otherwise? I recommend garlic, crosses, silver, fresh-hewn ash stakes, and, if all that fails, surrounding yourself with pretty girls and boys to distract the beast. She wasn't terribly picky in her distractions. A mop of shiny black hair with a veritable graveyard of Manic Panic attempts hiding at the scalp level. Two spindly legs, invariably in a black mini that looked like it was stolen from Roseanne Barr. Big, brown pleading eyes that said, "Shackle me! Confine me before the moon rises again!"
Yes, Wendy was Trouble for some. Thankfully, I was already aswoon over my lethal friend from downtown...at least for a little bit longer. That train was headed for a curve, and doing 90.
Teri was a really pretty girl, light eyes (I never got close enough to verify their color, though not for lack of fumbling effort), glasses, brown hair, and if memory serves, she was wearing a polo shirt that night. Teri was in a couple classes with me (probably the Honors College, before I dropped out), sang in the college choir with me, and never seemed to remember my name from one meeting to the next. I had a damn-near-black fern on my head, making me appear seven feet tall. I wore some of the worst-coordinated outfits since Paul Benedict on The Jeffersons (and somewhat proudly, as it disproved the urban legend of my homosexuality). Didn't matter. Every time I saw Teri, I had to remind her who I was. This did nothing to cool my ardor; for some reason, I thought she was one of the hottest women at any party. As I write this, I don't know why. All I remember is her being really, really attractive...even when there was considerable competition.
Competition was running hot that night, too; my friend Gina had stopped in with her recently-extradited-to-CT friend Dawn. Dawn was this post-modern sensible chick with feathered hair, eyes you could swim in, and a laugh that started somewhere near her duodenum. Needless to say, the Estroscope was working overtime.
My Guthrie-Sense was so distracted that when the cops showed up, I was completely surprised. That was a first.
posted by Thom Guthrie, Bassist and Adventurer at 9:01 AM
5 Comments:
I still can't believe that John O'Grady, the Whitest Man in New Haven during his tenure at SCSU, was friends with Hobbit Dave. Must be something in that Southbury water.
Thanks for the assist, Elaine...and for dragging Teri into the Sphere of Influence.
Really, Lil. One would hope that, given your propensity toward literary activities, you'd have taken notes on a napkin or something.
I can't be everywhere...although I certainly made a game effort, back in those days.
-Guthrie, who still can't drive past Viva's without a slow-burning smile.
That's right.
Viva's.
hmmmmm ... have stumbled across this blog while showing my housemate how blogging works and how you can click on an interest or fave book or whatever in your profile and generate a list of all other bloggers who have listed that. must say i'm very impressed with my lists so far as my fellow bloggers with common listings seem so brilliant.
have skimmed through parts of this blog and found it hugely entertaining, thanks. but outside-of-workhours-time is limited and precious, thus will have a good read of this one at work sometime.
cheers!
leesun-
I'm glad you've enjoyed some of this. Time's been tight for me, lately, and I haven't updated nearly as often as I did just a month or so ago, but I love this stuff.
Hope all goes well on your side of the sea,
-Guthrie
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