Author and Columnist
Venessa had wanted me to hang out with her, as I mentioned in my previous entry.
Venessa and I are not close any longer. I tried a few times over the years, but nothing came of it. As far as I can tell, she is still a worthwhile woman to know, but you have to let people go their own ways.
She was (and possibly is) a woman who is so physically small that it is hard to overlook her. She had a Fiona Apple vibe in composure and the sense that some trauma in her past twisted her days. I don't know what that might be--she did not tell me, to my recollection--and would not write it here even if I did.
I sense from things I've written here that I once considered her something close to a best friend. I can't pinpoint when that stopped, but it did.
So, I hopped in the Grape Ape (my car), hooked up my Discman to play Tori (I was going to listen to the Katie tape, but the battery died in the dictaphone and my car tape player is not yet hooked up.)
This is an aggressively nineties sentence. What else is there to say? I am glad that we have technologically improved.
I looked at the Dreaming Goddess. Noticed a tattoo and piercing parlor opened up next to Rhianna's and there was a large demon head looking at Rhianna's door. Bet she loves that.
Rhianna was a planet in your solar system, tweaking your gravity for most of your life. She will, fifteen years after this, be the officiant at your wedding after you met your wife in her backyard.
She began her tenure in your life when she ran Call of the Wild in Beacon, a more humble witchy shop. Mainly because of your influence, she began running teen circles to which you dragged several friends and girlfriends.
When you found that shop, it was close to a revelation. You could not have imagined that Beacon--at least the Beacon that existed them--could have supported a business of that ilk, but it encouraged your Paganism more than almost anything. You spent a lot of your money there, buying supplies for spells. I still have on my bookcase altar the now-broken wand she made for you for $20.
She moved not because her shop there wasn't profitable--as far as I know--but that Beacon offered her too much interpersonal drama.
So, I went back to Juliet's. The whole time I was outside, I have my whole "alone-but-dangerous-vampire" air about me. It's a protective thing.
Oh, my poor sweet boy. You are a candy-coated wisp of cotton, not even a little dangerous a moment in your life. It is your charm. The man who comes to know you best once refers to you as "aggressively nonthreatening."
[...]I began to wonder how many "witches" actually visited Cubby Hole. I suppose a lot, as Vassar, home of the Dianic Sapphos, is but a stone's throw away. Granted a rather aerodynamic stone. Possibly with wings. But a stone's throw, no less.
I look forward to when you write for a more generalized audience than your girlfriend, which I know I have said before. This just reeks of self-consciousness. "Look how clever I am." And you are smart, but cleverness does not have to draw attention to itself this much.
When we arrived at the house, they informed me that the beeper had been vibrating constantly since they got in the car.
Why would you let your friends steal a beeper? This is not an exciting and fun activity. It is both rude and a complication to your evening. I would consider it immoral, unnecessary, and boring, but it seems you did not.