things i was going to write about, but didn’t:

about how when i was eleven, i was wandering around the makeup displays at wal-mart while i was waiting for my parents to finish their shopping. they had a display for debbie gibson’s electric youth perfume, with a tester bottle and everything. apparently eager to smell like debbie gibson, i tried it out, and i must have put on a lot of it because my dad had to roll down all the car windows on the way home. “how much of that stuff did you put on?” he choked, fanning his face with his hand as he drove. i guess one can smell like a little too much debbie gibson.

about this list of bands that have played at numbers. i’ve only been to five shows on the list, but the important thing is that once, on a weeknight, i danced on the stage. drunk. with my shoes off. right where REM played in 1981, right where the cure played in 1985. hey, it’s not much, but it’s all i’ve got.

about this dream i had last week where i found out i was pregnant. i spent the whole dream trying to decide if i was going to tell my doctor about it or if i was just going to check the internet to see how much abortions were and where i could get one. i didn’t know if i could even come up with the money. it’s rare that i’m relieved to wake up from a dream, but i was relieved to wake up from that one. i was relieved, too, to wake up from the one where the whole world was destroyed at the hands of terrorists wearing brightly colored foam uniforms and foam helmet cubes covering their entire heads. the foam terrorists started out by shooting people in their houses, then moved on to large-scale bombing. i was driving down the freeway when the bombing started, and i could see cars ahead of me getting buried in mountains of concrete from falling overpasses. somehow i knew i’d be buried, too, and would probably live for a couple of weeks, unable to get out of my car or out from under the rubble. i was going to die starved and alone, in the dark.

about how you’ve never really lived until you’ve given one of your coworkers a haircut on the porch at a bar. a few passes with the scissors, a few sips of beer, a few funny looks from other patrons, and you’re done. i did a pretty good job, if i do say so.

about how you’ve never really lived until you’ve screamed across a lake on a jetski at 55 miles an hour. when you try to take a turn at that speed, though, you throw both your passengers into the lake. “my shoes came off!” daniel yells from where he’s landed twenty feet away. mike is floating not too far from daniel, trying to get his bearings. somehow, you’ve managed to stay on.

about last night when i went to see pot roast at the last concert cafe, which essentially means i watched people get all high and dance barefoot, hooping and waving incense around. it is really not at all like me to watch people get high and dance barefoot hooping and waving incense around.

about how i’m not used to this blushing and stammering thing, but i think it might be okay.