![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Jun. 16th, 1997 11:37 amMonday, June 16, 1997 11:37
I was at a party yesterday, and I managed to do something embarrassing and hilarious. But more about that later. I want to first mention my dreams. That’s three Shawn dreams in a row. This one first involved a cake contest, where it developed that I could ignore gravity to as much of an extent as I wished to. I was flying. And then there was something after that, and then I was in an elevatorish thing with Shawn and some other people, and I was going to teach him how to run some equipment, but we were just standing there, close together, arms around each other, talking. It was cozy and peaceful, but nonetheless, if he tries anything with me in real life, he’s going to get the surprise of his life. Well, one of them. It might hurt to have the girl who’s been madly in love with you ever since the two of you met reject you, but he’s got to learn sometime. He apparently has some incredibly pretty co-workers.
Anyway, about that party. I got there. I had with me two books, as I anticipated that this would be more of an affair for the adults rather than people my age. Within fifty feet of the house, I saw a girl, maybe fourteenish, wearing jeans, a black t-shirt, a loose denim shirt over that, and a sulky expression, with long brown hair in a ponytail. This is not what caught my attention. What caught my attention was the book she was carrying: Starship Troopers, by Robert Heinlein. This, in my opinion, is one of his more boring books. (I didn’t read it all that recently.) But hey, it was Heinlein, so I looked for her as soon as I got closer, but she disappeared, and I didn’t want to go and hunt for her; I want to be more subtle than that. I still didn’t see her, so I finished my own book, then headed for the food.
As I spied the pretzels, I also saw her. To all eyes intent on the pretzels, I zoomed over, then caught sight of the book and forgot the pretzels. I struck up a conversation with her…and as she answered, I realized that I’d made a critical mistake. "She" was really he. Okay, I can live with this, I thought, and continued the conversation, which lasted a good three or so hours. After recovering from a flubbed attempt to remember more of "Stairway to Heaven" beyond the first chorus of "Ooooh-oooh-oooh, and she’s buying the stairway to heaven," we exchanged e-mail addresses. (His is ********@juno.com) By this time, it was nearing ten, and we were both tired. He could and did talk about anything and everything, especially technobabble. He reminded me of somewhere across between a younger Shawn and Dot. At this point I thought to ask how old he was. He tried to pass himself off as twenty-three, but this attempt failed. I, to my marked chagrin, found that he was twelve, going into seventh grade in the fall. I told him that I was seventeen, which was met with disbelief until I showed him my permit, which clearly indicated that I was born in 1980. He had thought that I was fourteen. Woops. Not one of my more shining moments.
Rose-petal jelly. It’s going well; it’s fun. Lots thereof.
I was at a party yesterday, and I managed to do something embarrassing and hilarious. But more about that later. I want to first mention my dreams. That’s three Shawn dreams in a row. This one first involved a cake contest, where it developed that I could ignore gravity to as much of an extent as I wished to. I was flying. And then there was something after that, and then I was in an elevatorish thing with Shawn and some other people, and I was going to teach him how to run some equipment, but we were just standing there, close together, arms around each other, talking. It was cozy and peaceful, but nonetheless, if he tries anything with me in real life, he’s going to get the surprise of his life. Well, one of them. It might hurt to have the girl who’s been madly in love with you ever since the two of you met reject you, but he’s got to learn sometime. He apparently has some incredibly pretty co-workers.
Anyway, about that party. I got there. I had with me two books, as I anticipated that this would be more of an affair for the adults rather than people my age. Within fifty feet of the house, I saw a girl, maybe fourteenish, wearing jeans, a black t-shirt, a loose denim shirt over that, and a sulky expression, with long brown hair in a ponytail. This is not what caught my attention. What caught my attention was the book she was carrying: Starship Troopers, by Robert Heinlein. This, in my opinion, is one of his more boring books. (I didn’t read it all that recently.) But hey, it was Heinlein, so I looked for her as soon as I got closer, but she disappeared, and I didn’t want to go and hunt for her; I want to be more subtle than that. I still didn’t see her, so I finished my own book, then headed for the food.
As I spied the pretzels, I also saw her. To all eyes intent on the pretzels, I zoomed over, then caught sight of the book and forgot the pretzels. I struck up a conversation with her…and as she answered, I realized that I’d made a critical mistake. "She" was really he. Okay, I can live with this, I thought, and continued the conversation, which lasted a good three or so hours. After recovering from a flubbed attempt to remember more of "Stairway to Heaven" beyond the first chorus of "Ooooh-oooh-oooh, and she’s buying the stairway to heaven," we exchanged e-mail addresses. (His is ********@juno.com) By this time, it was nearing ten, and we were both tired. He could and did talk about anything and everything, especially technobabble. He reminded me of somewhere across between a younger Shawn and Dot. At this point I thought to ask how old he was. He tried to pass himself off as twenty-three, but this attempt failed. I, to my marked chagrin, found that he was twelve, going into seventh grade in the fall. I told him that I was seventeen, which was met with disbelief until I showed him my permit, which clearly indicated that I was born in 1980. He had thought that I was fourteen. Woops. Not one of my more shining moments.
Rose-petal jelly. It’s going well; it’s fun. Lots thereof.
