Archive for February, 2009

Strange memories.

Sometime around 9pm last night, I got a strong urge to go to the grocery store. I’d eaten the “Mexplosion” salad from Greenleaf for four days in a row. Don’t get me wrong, each of them were delicious, but they are also $14 dollars a pop [with a diet coke and tax] – and why the fuck should I pay $14!!!!! for a salad [which doesn’t even have any meat component]?   So anyhow, I am on my way to the grocery store and all of a sudden, soon as I pulled into the store parking lot, I am overcome with flashbacks to my second summer home from law school.

It was a Saturday [I was supposed to go to a pool party with a guy I was in lurve with back then] in the weee early morning when my friend S. called to tell me that her dad died. Which fact was totally fucking trippy because 1) she left the msg on my voice mail, which necessitated a very awkward call back from me, and 2) I had seen her dad like two days before, and he was totally fine. Seriously, TOTALLY FINE.

I picked up S. from her parents and we went to the parking lot above the grocery store and smoked a pack of cigarettes each. Then we went to CPK. I remember S. ordering a glass of wine, and how strange lunch was because sometimes we’d forget that her dad had just died and we’d start having fun, and it would just be a regular day out [except my lungs hurt like a mother effer from all the smoking] until all of a sudden S. would say something like “my dad is fucking dead” and I’d say something like “yeah” and then she’d say “what I am I supposed to do” and then I’d respond, “I’m sorry, I have no idea.” I may have also suggested more wine.

S.’s dad was the first dead body I had ever seen. And at his funeral, my mom told me that she wants all the flowers at her funeral to be peach and pink – which I promised her I would make happen. Even though in my mind it seemed unrealistic, since it is not like I can direct the funeral mourners to only send peach and pink flowers. Plus, I hate the color peach.

I hope S. is doing well these days. We still talk [she doesn’t live in Los Angeles] on occasion, and she says she is happy, but I never can tell.

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