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Monthly Archives: December 2011

You Googled WHAT to get to my Blog??

I’ve been writing Hippielib for 8 months now.  I love it.  I really do.  It’s a wonderful creative outlet, sounding board and soap box for me.  It’s like having a job you love:

  1. It’s cheap. (No gas money.)
  2. I work only the hours I want. (Which really means the hours I don’t want…during my free time between 9 pm and 1 am.)
  3. I get paid extremely well to do it. (The currency being not so much actual money as much as me wishing it was actual money.)

I love writing.  And if no one ever read a single post I made I’d still write it.  The diary obsession, I suppose.  We all want a voice even if no one is listening.

In reality though it thrills me that anyone, anywhere takes even a minute out of their day to read anything I have to say – whether they love it or hate it – and I appreciate all who visit here.

Writing a blog is a sociological experiment on so many levels.  There are so many interesting things about doing it:  the comments you get, what you learn during your research on a post, the very interesting people you meet from all over the world who take time to read what you think is important at any given time, the connections you make when people like what you have to say (or really don’t like it at all), and through those connections coming across all the other voices out there you find fascinating in one way or another.

But one of the most interesting things is that you can monitor your “traffic”.  It’s a very fun and enlightening part of this job.  You can look at your stats every day to see how many hits you get and in a general sense where those hits come from.

You can’t see personal information such as e-mail addresses or anything like that from hits, but you can see if someone used a search engine to reach you and what they typed in to get to your site.

For instance if someone types something into Google, and for some reason my blog pops up in their search and they actually click on it  –  I can’t see who they are or any personal information – only what they typed to get here.

And…you can see exactly what they typed in.  Word-for-word.

When you write a blog entry you are encouraged to “tag” your posts.  Tags are words or phrases which are tied to your post and help categorize it for people who are searching for information on the subject you are writing about.

As an example, I could add a tag to a post labeled “making ice cream” and people searching the web for information on how to make ice cream may be directed to my blog.  But what these tags also do is…blend together.

I call them “BLAGS”…for blended tags.  (Remind me to copyright that).

Anyway, for instance I could tag a post with “eating ice cream at church when it’s hot outside”, but also add the tag “ice cream and your body”, because I write about how eating too much of it may make you gain weight, and the next thing you know someone who Googles “Rubbing Ice Cream All Over Your Hot Body” gets directed to my purely informational and non-pornographic post on holiday ice-cream making.  I was “blagged”.

But at that point it’s done…they’ve Googled it, they’ve clicked on whichever post best correlates with their search and/or blags, and voila!  I now have a record of exactly what they typed in.

There is rarely a day that goes by when I don’t laugh at what someone has Googled (let’s just use Google to encompass all search engines shall we?) to get to my blog.

Some search phrases and words are rather disturbing to read, some make perfect sense and some are hilarious and leave me scratching my head wondering how even the Internets came up with the blag (remember, blended tag) to get them to my site…and why on Earth once they saw where they were, did that particular person actually click on Hippielib at all.

I realize if you are not a regular follower of Hippielib (like most of the population) you may not get some of the references below so I will add links to the posts they are referring to when I think it might help.

So without further ado…the following are just some of the actual search engine words and terms, verbatim, which have shown up in my stats throughout the 8 month existence of Hippielib:


  • MEN MAKE ME FEEL WORTHLESS – This phrase, verbatim, has been Googled and directed to my blog many, many times since I wrote the post Hold The Door.  It’s very interesting yet obviously unsettling.  I’m wondering if men Google “women make me feel worthless” just as much.   I doubt it.  There have also been many searches using the phrase: Is it oppressive to hold the door open for women?  Good Lord.  No.  The answer is NO.  Definitively No.  For the woman who views it as oppressive for a man to hold the door open for her, I say…perhaps you are overreaching for shit to get pissed off at men about?  There are so many legitimate reasons to be pissed at them why make them up?  That may be my next post:  “The Legitimate Reasons To Get Pissed Off at Men”.  It’s in the works, ladies.

  • ABORTION – This makes sense.  I have written several times about my Pro-Choice stance.  There are many variations on the search terms though:  necessary abortion, what are my choices abortion, my God and abortion, what are my rights abortion, abortion please help.  And not once, as some on the Religious Right would have you believe, has someone gotten here by searching “I’m Pro-Abortion and Proud” or “I’m so excited to have an abortion” or “Yippee I’m pregnant again and can’t wait to have an abortion because I use it as birth control”.  Nope.
  • ASTRONAUT QUOTES:  Also many who have searched Astronaut quotes about religion.  A Little Faith is where I compiled as many quotes from astronauts as I could find.  There are entire websites dedicated to only the quotes from astronauts after they’ve been in space. Because one can only imagine how that changes a person and we should listen to what these chosen few have to say. Fascinating stuff.
  • DREAMS ABOUT BEING IN A BUILDING UNDER WATER – Since The Closet Superhero I’m kind of astounded as to just how many people search for information on dreams about being in buildings under water – which is exactly what I wrote about.  The following phrase with only slight variations in wording has been Googled, I would guess, close to 50 times:  “Wall of water a hundred feet high in dreams”.  There has to be some inborn psychological mechanism within the human brain which hard-wires us to dream of this scenario with such specificity that it must go beyond a simple fear of drowning or Freudian sexual frustration.  Right?

  • HERD MENTALITY – Since You Herd It Here First a lot of people have typed this in.  I like to think of these people as unsuspecting hard-core Tea Partiers hoping to find fodder for their dislike and distrust of us Libs, and then…..BLAM!  It’s flipped on ’em.   I’m kidding.  Sort of.
  • FATE VS DESTINY – Easily one of the most frequently searched phrases that leads to Hippielib, and of course to Fate vs Destiny.  Here are some of the variations:  What is Fate vs Destiny?, Which came first fate or destiny?, Can I change my fate or destiny?, What is the difference between fate and destiny?  Gee, I really thought I was the only one trying to determine the difference between them. Just when you think you’re unique in ALL the world…damn.
  • MID-FORTIES PHYSIQUE – There are lots-o-people stressing about reaching middle age.  Shocking I know.  I hope they aren’t hoping they’ll find any valuable insight from me regarding this milestone, and certainly not from “Dipshit” is the new “30”.  Because as you can ascertain by the title of this post…. meaningful insight is severelllllly lacking here.

  • I’M SO SAD MENOPAUSE – Menopause makes me sad, menopause sweating, menopause sucks…all variations on a theme which I assume leads them again to “Dipshit is the new 30”.  And I haven’t even gone through menopause yet.  Wait til I do though.  Only four-letter-words will guide the unsuspecting person to my posts at that time, as I’ll be all pissed off and hot-flashing because I’ve lost my bifocals and can’t remember where I put my estrogen pills.


  • JUGGSBig juggs, Shake your Juggs, huge juggs in corset, Huge juggs pregnant, jingling juggs, Big brown juggs.  What can I say?  People looovvve big juggs.  Lots and LOTS of people.  And with two “G’s”!  I’m proud to say that Just Say No. Well…Maybe and the mention of “Juggs Magazine” is the culprit here.  I feel bad though.  I keep picturing some sweet, little old farmer woman innocently searching for a nice country store that sells “big brown juggs” in which to store her freshly churned butter.  But then poor Mrs. McFarmer gets directed to a post about reefer madness and theft – replete with a mention and picture of a fetish magazine about absolutely enormous boobs.  Sure, I bet that’s exactly who searched “big brown juggs”.  Riiggghhht.

  • BEST FEMALE SOLDIER MOVIES– This phrase and its variations rival “Fate vs Destiny” for most Google searches leading to my blog.  The post Ain’t it a Bitch  gets a lot of traffic.  Hollywood should take note:  People are really jonesing for some good female soldier movies.  But sometimes the um, awkward variations get them here too:  Bitch female soldiers, Female bitch soldiers, Women Soldiers in Movies who are bitches.  Hmmm.  Let me clarify people:  A woman is NOT automatically a bitch when she becomes a soldier.  I mean she might indeed be a bitch, but it has nothing to do with being a soldier.  Come on!  Grow up.  And in keeping with that theme:
  • SIGOURNEY WEAVER MASCULINE SOLDIER – Lots of searches for Sigourney Weaver as a masculine soldier.  As a woman, I didn’t find her masculine in “Aliens”.  I thought she was hot and I wanted to be her and look like her.  So I got my hair cut just like her.  Only it didn’t look just like hers.  It looked like Ted Koppel’s.  Back in my acting days I actually had head-shots done with that hair style.  I’ll post a lot of shameful things about myself here, but that head-shot won’t be one of them.

  • BRUCE WILLIS GUNSBruce Willis…With a Complex is a fairly popular post.  People like Bruce a whole lot.  And they’re definitely searching for information on the “Die Hard”-era-Bruce as opposed to the “Moonlighting”/Seagram’s Wine Cooler-era-Bruce.  I sure bet they are disappointed when they realize that the title of the piece belies Bruce’s involvement in it.  It’s a classic bait-and-switch.  I can’t wait to write the post entitled “Justin Bieber and the Exit Strategy”.  It will be about our involvement in Afghanistan and the precise measures I think we should take to get out of there.    I will mention Justin once, only in relation to how little I know about him and don’t know what little girls see in him, but wonder what he thinks of the Afghan War.  And then I will add his picture.  I know it’s wrong, but the title alone will increase my traffic by about 10 billion percent and little girls will get to see yet another picture of The Biebs on yet another website.  It’s a win-win for everyone.

  • SUPER MARIO ALLEGORY –  This post gets hit a lot.  People actually type in Super Mario Allegory or Allegory Super Mario – and often.  The Allegory of Super Mario is naturally where they land.  I find that so cool, and strange.  Perhaps I should also copyright “You play Nintendo like you live your life”.
  • FUNNY THINGS TO MAKE A HIPPIE LAUGH – Yes, tie-dye humor is searched for quite a bit.  What-oh-what will make that crazy hippie laugh?  Also searched:  Hippie clothing, What do hippie women look for in men, Hippies in Video games (are there hippies in video games?  With guns blazing and grand theft auto-ing?), Hippie feminist sexist (Do those exist?  I thought those kind were extinct).

  • MY CHEER LEADING UNIFORM SHRANK – Also:  Help my cheer leading uniform shrank, can you unshrink a cheer leading uniform.  Oh, those poor girls.  I understand the inexplicable trauma as described in 15 Minutes
  • CASEY ANTHONY PARENTAL RESPONSIBILITIES – Also:  What were Casey Anthony’s parental responsibilities, and variations of Casey’s “responsibility”.  They were led to The Mother of All Panic Buttons.  And obviously the answer is:  She fucking had none.


  • SIGOURNEY IS NOT THE ALIEN MOTHER SHE’S THE CUNT –  Uh huh.  Wowza.  I don’t know about you but I sense some significant anger issues at play here.  That’s just not right at all.
  • ALIEN MOTHER AND PLANET AND I LOVER HER MUCH – I….hmmm.  I’ll chalk this one up to a language-translation-barrier issue.  Please God let that be it.
  • DIET PEPSI WITH WORLD TRADE CENTER ON IT –  Also:  Diet Pepsi Twin Towers, Diet Pepsi can with WTC jets, and Diet Pepsi World Trade Center Jet Image.  I understand the blags – I mention both Diet Pepsi and the World Trade Center in my post about 9/11 entitled The Instant-Replay.  But what am I missing here?  Is Pepsi doing some promotional campaign with depictions of the Twin Towers on their cans?  Oi.  Here’s some unsolicited advice, Pepsi:  Don’t do that.  Just don’t…dothat.
  • SLUT FINGER ON OVARY POSSIBLY PREGNANT – Yes, I did mention the word “slut” in Dear Diary, but I believe this might be the best example of blagging yet:  I think this phrase blended tags from five different posts, each word coming from a different one.  And for those of you who believe sex-ed is an unnecessary and religiously compromising addition to the curriculum in our public schools, please read this sentence over…and over…and over…and over…again.


  • OLD ENGLISH PHOTO OF A MAN HOLDING A TORTOISE OVER HIS HEAD – Wow.  I don’t know.  I really don’t.  I haven’t Googled this phrase myself yet, but I will.  I’m still too nervous at what I might find.

  • FREE TUBE OF HIGH QUALITY BIG FAT WELL SHAPED WOMEN – Hot damn there are some freaks out there on Planet Earth.  Maybe that makes me sound a little uppity, a little better and more “normal” than others.  But that’s only because it’s TRUE.  Come on!
  • DOUCHE BAG – I don’t remember writing about douches or douche bags in any of my posts, and I resent the Internets for sending this douche bag here.  Uh, see…now I’ve done it.
  • WE HAD 1 STAIR IN THE BASEMENT WITH 2 TERMITE LARVAE.  THE HOUSE HAS BEEN FREE AND CLEAR FOR TWO YEARS.  DO WE NEED TO DISCLOSE THIS INFORMATION TO POTENTIAL BUYERS – Uh huh.  Someone typed that whole thing in and got here, and then not only got here but read the name of this blog and most likely clicked on the post “Ain’t it a Bitch” (in which I mention the word “larvae”) because they were thinking…”Hey, maybe this bitch knows if I have to disclose or not!”  As a homeowner, I believe you do have to disclose for up to five years.  But please check with your state and local guidelines on this matter.  DISCLAIMER:  I’m making that up.  I have no idea.  But I’m glad you stopped by nonetheless.  Good luck to you.
  • DIPSHIT –  I know you are but what am I?  What is someone hoping to find when they search with just the word “Dipshit”?  Probably something really inane…oh, wait….Hey.  I resemble that.
  • DIPSHIT HAT –   I wonder what a dipshit hat looks like and where I can find one.  Oh, never mind…found it.

  • SMART MONKEY –  This one cracks me up because I too searched for this picture to compliment a portion of The Indignity Between 6 and 8, in which I justifiably compare my mathematical intelligence to that of a primate.  I literally Googled “Smart Monkey”.  People have also gotten here several times by typing in Monkey Wearing Glasses.  No one doesn’t like a monkey wearing glasses.

  • PRESIDENT OBAMA MAKING A BABY IN A TEST TUBE – So not only do some people think our President is the reincarnation of Hitler, or the Anti-Christ, or a screaming Socialist (as opposed to the not-so-closet Conservative he’s turning out to be)…he’s now a mad-scientist cookin’ up babies in tubes.  I wish I had better health care coverage to help pay for the whiplash I’m getting from shaking my fucking HEAD.
  • BRAIN SURGEON MATH FORMULAS – Cackling maniacally to myself.  Oh man, that is rich.  Some poor intern at Johns Hopkins was simply searching for the elusive “Brain Surgeon Math Formula” so he could study for the brain surgery final…and got my blog about how I only got a 7 in Math on my ACT exam.  I instantly made that person feel like the most super-smart person on the planet.  Glad I made their day.


  • FUCK MATH I’M GONNA BE A MUSICIAN – Whoever this person is I love him with all my heart and want to marry him and live happily ever after with him in a commune somewhere.  I assume that he clicked on The Indignity Between 6 and 8 and if he read it, surely realizes we are soul mates.  Call me??



Dear Diary.

Posted on

When I was 9 years old my mother took me to Woolworth’s.  Oh how I loved that store.  Being surrounded by all the neat stuff there (otherwise known to us adults as crapola) was like being in Heaven for me.  I’m sure my mother did everything she could to avoid taking me and my sister to Woolworth’s mainly because she’d end up spending hard-earned money on well, crapola.

My life in some pages...

I tended to gravitate toward the paper aisle.  Scads and heaps and troves of paper as far as the eye could see.  Notebooks made heart race.  I wanted to buy all of them; one big shopping cart full of empty pages to be filled with drawings or doodles, but mostly writing.

It was there in that aisle my mother let me pick out a little spiral bound notebook.  It was green.  It cost .33 according to its top, right-hand corner, and it would be my very first diary.  I wrote this warning on the cover:  “DO NOT OPEN – Notebook for Notes!”   Above that I had scratched out the word “Diary”, which you can still clearly read.  I think it really threw people off the scent of its true function.

I kept one diary every year for 12 years, starting from the age of 9 – 4th grade, through the age of 21 – Junior/Senior year in college.  I’ve kept all of them, although I seem to have temporarily misplaced 1979 and a few others.  They’ll turn up.

There is no better way I could travel back in time than reading these things.  Not even with a DeLorean.

I will now give you some random excerpts from just a few of these diaries because, well, it’s scintillating stuff.  The depth and worldliness of my observations is kind of astonishing.  There’s really no other word for it.   Please take a moment and enter my pre and emerging pubescent mind, with some 43-year-old commentary.  If you dare.

Has held up well for 33 cents. 1978.

March 19, 1978 – Age 9:  My boyfriend Mike moved because his father had to move closer to his work.  I loved him. And he loved me.  It was true love. 

Mike once asked me to say “robin red-breast”, so I did.  He laughed and said “you said breast”.  I fell hook, line and sinker.  How could I not?  Our love was deep, and it was binding.


March 28, 1978 – Age 9:  I’m sorry that I’m so late in writing but I got tied up.  I haven’t seen Mike since he moved.  I’m sure he’s forgotten all about me.  I like Jeff.

I must have been tied up in meetings.  I think 9 days was an appropriate mourning period.


March 29, 1978 – Age 9: My friend Jan stayed overnight last night.  We had a super busy day.  We went to see Close Encounters of the Third Kind.  It was about UFO’s (flying saucers).  Then we went home and ate and then we went into the basement and skated.  Boy what a busy day.

1984. This one is fairly sparse. Shame, it was a good year.

I’m not sure how I survived that day, yeesh.  Whew.  Just reading about it makes me super exhausted.  Those skates had metal wheels, not the fancy rubbery plastic kind.  No stoppers/breaks on the toes.  Those were some old-school skates.  The metal wheels were dented in places so it was kind of like skating on squares.  The laminate flooring in our basement bore the scars from our skate parties, and so did the walls and doors due to our roller derby, high-octane collisions.  Every few minutes from upstairs we’d hear “**%$^%$#….KNOCK IT OFF!”  But we were pretty bad-ass, so we didn’t.


Junior/Senior year in High School. 1985-86.

March 30, 1978 – Age 9:  I spent the night at Jan’s house last night.  Her Mom made us clean the house and vacuum the living room and I knocked over a plant.  Her mom was out somewhere and came home that very minute but I ran so she didn’t have time to yell at me.

There are so many things wrong here.  Why did my friend’s mom make a 9-year-old guest clean her house and vacuum her carpet, while she was out getting a mani/pedi?  I do not note whether or not I was paid, but I suspect not.  Why did I scamper away due to the toppled plant?  Where was I going…I lived five miles away?  Why didn’t I man-up and say “Bitch, clean your own house!” while throwing the vacuum cleaner handle down and stomping out with pride? I’ll never know the answers to these burning questions.


???? 12, 1978 – Age 10:  I got my report card today.  Last time I got a U, a big fat U, in “talking”.  But this time I got an S -.  So not too bad.  Man, if I got another U my dad would probably beat me. 

I wrote on this one with a peppermint scented pen. 1980-81.

Let me be clear, my father never beat me.  Back then you could make reference to even just the threat of “getting beat” by your parents without FOX News doing a sixty minute expose on it.  Those were the days.  I did talk a damn lot.  And most of my “U”s were in bright red ink, I think to emphasize the fact that if I could have gotten a “Z” in “talking” I would have.  It was the beginning of my disdain for the tail end of the alphabet.


December 27, 1978 – Age 10:  This year’s Christmas was pretty good excepting I got the chicken pox.  I was loaded with them on my head, in my ear, in my mouth and everywhere else you could name.  I got the pox the last day of school before Christmas vacation and I missed the party and I was in charge of it!  And then my Dad got tickets to the Nutcracker Suite but I couldn’t go because I had a lot of the pox all over me. 

The Pox.  The dreaded Pox.  I had it bad, but not as bad as one boy I knew who was rumored to have scratched his wiener completely off during his stint with The Pox.  I’m pretty sure it was true.  I’ve seen that boy a few times over the years and my eyes always…travel…down….


October 24, 1980 – Age 12:  Tonight at 7:00 I am going to my very first boy-girl dance!  Since I’m on student council I’ll get out of a whole day of school to decorate the gym.

This one is flannel. So comfy. 1986-87.

Really?  A WHOLE day??  To hang up some construction paper and sweep the floors?   No wonder I got a 7 in Math on my ACT.  I remember that day, and all we did was listen to the music us girls brought in so we could make the playlist..the playlist consisting of a 7 foot high stack of vinyl 45’s.

– Right now it’s 6:30 and me and Julie are getting ready for the dance.  I am wearing light blue pants and a blue turtle neck with a white vest.  I set my hair in curlers of course, but the curl didn’t stay in.  I put eye shadow and lip gloss on.

Several things:  1. Blue pants and turtle neck, with a white vest…I…I…don’t know what to say.  It’s not right.  2.  Curlers.  I remember those curlers of my mom’s.  They were steam curlers.  When you’d open the lid of the casing to pull one out scalding hot water would launch out of the top, along with enough scorching steam to melt your face.  You could have powered all of Vegas with my mom’s 12-curler set, the Hoover be damned.  3. I remember the eye shadow was green, which was the perfect choice to compliment my “Hee-Haw!” outfit.  I don’t know why someone didn’t help me.

– Now it’s 8 o’clock and the girls are on one side of the gym and the boys on another side.  All the girls took off their shoes because the boys were too short. 

It’s not like we were wearing stilettos.  Those boys were damn short.  Freakishly short.  Like Lilliputians, and I was only about 5’2″ at the time.  Um.  Yes. I took my diary with me lots of places.  Apparently I took it to this dance.  Geeeeeeeek.  What did I do, stick it in the back pocket of my electric blue pants next to my comb while I was swaying back and forth relentlessly…sorry, dancing…. with a boy?  I also wrote down who danced with who and how many times.  I made a chart.  What the….?

'Cuz nothing says "SECRET!" like huge black letters on a shiny, silver background screaming "SECRET!" 1981-82.


November 18, 1980 – Age 12:  Today I’m working on my book.  I watched some TV too.  Laverne & Shirley and Happy Days.  I need a new bra and some long sleeve shirts.  And I want a piano. 

“…the attention span of a gnat” takes on a whole new meaning here.


November 20, 1980 – Age 12:  Today we played dodge ball in gym class.  I ended up being the only one left on my side so naturally everyone on the other side was aiming for my head and neck.  I was lucky to only get hit hard in the side. 

Naturally the head and neck is where the four guys on the other side simultaneously aimed for me.  It makes perfect sense.  And I believe the gym teacher who sat off to the side, arms-folded on top of his beer belly literally pointing and laughing at me, yelled to me the phrase which Rip Torn inevitably pilfered:  “If you can dodge a wrench, you can dodge a ball!”


November 21, 1980 – Age 12:  We finally found out who shot J.R.!  I thought it was Cliff Barnes.  Grandma thought it was Kristin.  Mom thought it was Dr. Elby (he’s a sicko) and my sister thought it was Pam.  But Grandma was right!  But now Kristin is pregnant with J.R.’s baby so he can’t call the cops on her or his baby will be born in jail. 

My Grandmother was a prophet.  Who else could have ever guessed it was Kristin when you had that sicko Dr. Elby running loose?  Grandma should have played the lottery that day. 


My Grandma phase?? 1989-90.

December 1, 1980 – Age 12:  Today I feel like my life has ended.  John broke up with me in Art class.  He said we fight too much.  We went out for 1 month and 8 days.  He likes Jane.  She is such a slut. 

Ohhh, Johnny.  I really liked Johnny.  We did fight a lot though; about current events and who would be more rich and famous when we grew up.  I’m pretty sure I lost.  Also around that time I learned the difference between a “slut” and a “whore”.  Jane clearly deserved every bit of my appropriate assault on her chastity.  She DESERVED it.


December 25, 1980 – Age 12:  Merry Christmas!  I got some stationary, books, lots of earrings, the new Styx album, an alarm clock and ATARI!  I also got a new diary, with a lock on it.  Atari is the best though. 

It was the best.  But most of my friends had Intelevision.  I hated Intelevision and worked hard to eradicate it from existence.  I did pretty well.  Styx “Cornerstone”.  I still have it.  You know it’s you, Babe.


December 26, 1980 – Age 12:  I went to Mary’s slumber party tonight.  We watched The Amityville Horror.

The scene with Rod Steiger and the flies made me gag but I remember thinking it would have been scarier if they had been bats. And the bleeding walls made quite an impression.  I decided right then and there that I never wanted to live in a house with bleeding walls.  I’ve yet to cave on that decision.


December 27, 1980 – Age 12:  Today we went by my aunt and uncle’s house and spent the night.  We all went to the roller rink.  Later on when we were watching TV me and my cousin Joe got into a fight and he hit me and gave me a fat lip.  But then I kicked him in the head.

Uh huh, but that kick in the head came about a half-hour AFTER our parents made us apologize to each other. 

This one survived a flood. Barely. 1987-88.

Only I didn’t really think I – needed – to apologize.  So while all the cousins were on the floor quietly watching TV as the parents played Pinochle,  I seethed, waited for my opening…stood up, and kicked him in the head.  He ran crying upstairs like a little girl because, shit, I kicked him in the head.  Yeah, go on…RUN.  He started it.


December 28, 1980 – Age 12:  Played some Space Invaders today and then watched The Amityville Horror again and went to bed. 

Why was I always watching that movie???  Ahhh, right.  I forgot.  I was in love with James Brolin, going all the way back to Marcus Welby.  Mystery solved.


December 31, 1980 – Age 12:  We went to Grandma’s tonight because my parents went out.  Me and Grandma stayed up until 2:30 am.  It was a blast. 

I wasn’t being sarcastic here.  I loved my Grandma.  I miss her.


I hope you were able to absorb the profundity of these entries.  If so, check in some time in the future for the High School years.  It gets pretty steamy.  I won’t give it away but there is talk of (deep breaths)………………corduroys.

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