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Hey Everybody, Where Did Mary Go?

2004-07-05_xx_9:31 p.m.


This time last year I was on the east coast, watching fireworks from a baseball diamond in a bible town. We walked the national mall in a day and I still have the picture of me touching the top of the Washington monument in my cubicle at work. I chased lightning bugs through damp front yards and stood in a down pour drinking Miller Lites with a group of folks that might have been my in-laws, had circumstances not dictated otherwise. I played the worst (or possibly best) game of Asshole in my entire life, downing seven beers in three hands; fifteen minutes total game time.

It hasn't rained here since April, the dust swirls in the streets with the slightest breeze. The northern part of my oasis is a tinderbox, already burning in several places. And the heat is relentless, unending; 106, 107, 105, 107, 106 has been a typical five day forecast for weeks on end. The re-emergence of Jack (picture to follow soon, I promise) has my mind swirling on the fate of the Stoney girl and too many summers lost to ravages of time.

The writer, or the "it's not you it's me..." girl, eventually materialized back at the bar I met her at. This resulted in an awkward conversation where I was polite, but rebuffed her claims of missing talking to me and unfullfilled promises of reading lists to come were met with wary gazes and bored phrases, my favorite being, "I know you have other priorities my dear, don't trouble yourself with little ole me." Such a grand way to start my "holiday" weekend.

The rest of the weekend I played lots of video games, fell off the wagon and got horrificly stoned and didn't so much as glimpse a single exploding firework (although they did rattle the windows a couple of times). While I did have prangs of loneliness pop-up, overall the solitude was comforting. The calm before the storm?

Possibly. The Vegas trilogy completes in one week and three days and life will start again. Until then, I suppose I will be quite distracted.

The one bout of coherency I did have is an old adage about the loyalty of puppy dogs based on how many times you kick them across the room and they keep coming back. The same idea rings true for some women it seems and I would like to say I am most curious to come up with an algebraic equation to determine exactly how many times this can be done before the puppy...I mean girl...keeps coming back.

Seeing as how math has never really been my thing, I suppose I'll just give up such thoughts of therums and equations and give her what she desires. I'm quite certain this life lesson and the reapercussions that come with will be far more intriguing than any Advanced Calculus book could ever be. Don't you agree, dearest of diaries?

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