Situation Normal. Atmosphere Breathable. Brainstem Injected. Dialogue Engaged.
Monday, October 28, 2002

Corps Spirit

I went to two parties this weekend.

I dressed up as a soldier. Camoulflage jacket, t-shirt, pants, green belt, green socks, personalized dog tags. Another guy showed up in the same thing. I mock saluted him, and he declined to respond with a rueful, bemused half-grin. I later learned that he used to be a marine.

His girlfriend was a short blond girl in a tight blue sweater. Not a costume, but she didn't need one wearing that. My friend Steve arrived around 2 am with Traci, and Traci had a red dress and a red feather boa draped around her neck. The marine's girlfriend badgered the two of them to switch costumes for about a half an hour, and the marine, Rogner, finally took the bait and off to the bathroom they went.

While they were changing, the girlfriend started screaming. "My boyfriend is a fucking faggot! My boyfriend sucks dicks when I'm not looking! etc., etc." What a bitch. It was her idea all along. He came out of the bathroom in the red dress, blushing cheeks to match, and made sure to point out to his girl that he still had his boxers on and that he didn't do anything bad in the bathroom. (they were in there for about five minutes, so he's probably honest) Traci came and sat on my knee, so we were quite a Kodak couple in our fatigues. About an hour later they returned each other's costumes.

That was the highlight of the second party. The first holds no great stories to share.
12:00 PM - Bottle Rocket Fire Alarm


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