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- My back. I didn't do anything, I "slept on it wrong". Again, something I've heard other people say but never myself. I'm afraid this is an old person thing that I've come down with. I can't bend over... well, bending over is okay, but I can't come back up without wincing at the icky feeling. My back. My back is fucked up for no reason. As I prepare to move all my possessions for the fourth time in a year and a half. Meanwhile the fucking network/wireless/lan/fuckerfucker fucking shit my goddamn laptop it's wasting all my time, I was going to get so much packed tonight, instead I've been wrestling with wirelessness. I remain a confused individual. I did not wear a skirt today. I have not yet. I have to get a different shirt. These things take time and planning and careful shaving. ♥ Making you laugh or smile has always been the best thing to me. ♥ ♥ ♥ I wish maybe that I could talk to someone who has a real-life perspective on the situation. Kevin apparently isn't talking to me this week. My gmail seems to be fucked. I seem to have given up on thinking up titles for entries. The Fairweather Friendships of Myrtle B. Jones Myrtle scanned the room nervously. She finally found Taffy in a corner that was lit up only by the glowing red eyes of a bull's head mounted on the dark purple wall. Taffy was talking and laughing with a man in a black ribbed turtleneck who was smoking a pipe. "Taffy, we really should go," Myrtle whispered, pulling Taffy's arm. "Excuse me," the man in the turtleneck said. "Tafitha and I are engaged in conversation and you, miss, are being very rude." "Tafitha?" Myrtle furrowed her brows. "Myrtrude, go get me another drink," Taffy said haughtily, pushing her glass at Myrtle and spilling the remnants of her mint hachitori on Myrtle's cashmere sweater. Myrtle, pissed, grabbed Taffy's arm and pulled her away from the corner. The man in the turtleneck exaggerated an exhalation and turned to face the bull, mumbling. "Tafitha? Myrtrude?" Myrtle hissed at Taffy. "What is this crap?" "I just thought it would help us blend in better," Taffy said. "Going by stupid names? That only makes us stand out even more than these matching sweaters you stole for us. If you hadn't noticed, we're the only people wearing pink in the entire city. Everyone else is in black." "Stop being so mean," Taffy said, tears welling in her eyes. "Oh please, stop crying," Myrtle said. "You're always such a crybaby." Suddenly the man in the turtleneck came up. "Tafitha, oh my god! Why do you cry?" He pushed Myrtle away and put his arms around Taffy. They walked towards the door together. Myrtle watched for a few seconds, then ran after them. "Hold up, you pedophilic pervert, where are you going with my best friend?" "Myrtrude, Tafitha may be your best friend, but you certainly aren't hers," the man said without stopping. "My name isn't Myrtrude, moron!" The man stopped walking. "And her name isn't Tafitha either." Myrtle felt triumphant as she watched the man's hold on Taffy loosen. "So I thought," the man muttered grimly. "So I thought. It's Taffy Black and Myrtle B. Jones, isn't it? The juvenile outlaw duo from New Jersey, on a crime spree across the country. Now you've made it to San Francisco. You're at the edge of the continent. Where to now, Myrtle? Now what? What's your big plan now? Huh, Myrtle the Turtle?" He was taunting her like the bullies from school, tempting her to punch him in the face. "I'll tell you where you're going next, big shot," the man continued. "You're going to the clink, the big house, yes." He was laughing menacingly, and then he pulled two pairs of handcuffs from his back pocket. "On the ground! SFPD!" Myrtle and Taffy remained where they were. The man looked at them, they looked back. Then he pulled out a gun and began shouting. "I said on the ground! Everyone on the ground!" Stoned beatniks turned their heads. No one was impressed. The turtlenecked man shouted again, the pitch of his voice getting higher. "Come on people! There's a gun here! Come on! I'm a police officer!" "That guy's so lame," someone across the room said. "Yeah, that turtleneck stinks," someone else said. The man fired at the ceiling. Plaster rained down. People began jumping around, yelping. Taffy looked at Myrtle, Myrtle looked at Taffy, and they rolled their eyes. "This party sucks," Taffy said. "No shit," Myrtle said. They walked out the door into the night. It had stopped raining. The small dog they had left near the fire hydrant was still there guarding the sack full of hundred dollar bills. The vase of tulips, though, had been kicked over, the vase shattered, the tulips pilfered for their opium. Join us next week, when Taffy's philanthropic work is recognized by the Queen in a grand ceremony at Buckingham Palace! But will Myrtle's ex-fiance, the evil Dr. Fischratt, ruin the party?
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