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Kitty Bukkake
Standing Room Only
Beulah Bondi
Diaryland
Thursday, Apr. 21, 2005 - 4:23 p.m.
2:59 p.m. Slouched decumbent in the computer lab, the majority of my torso physically situated below the desk top, I'm absurdly relaxed and finding it difficult to concentrate on my ever-looming school assignments with imminent deadlines. As other students bang weightily on surrounding computer keyboards I find it difficult to task. I prefer to undertake staring at the massive unread book on the theory and practice of prevention and care integration anxiously awaiting a broken spine or at the piles of recently printed research findings thirsty for yellow ink from my highlight pen or blog onto the blank Word document originally designated for insightful and new thought on the problematic responsibility for administering AIDS health care, prevention, education and supportive service programs funded by state and federal governments.
3:06 p.m. As usual, most of my time I seem to be lost in a daydream about Chip, new guy I've been dating. Ah Chip. I've never dated a writer. Nope, I've never dated a writer and as my school chum Rolex said, �Let me just say that you don't know what it's like to date a writer until you have dated a writer.� Rolex makes a good point. The other day Rolex made another good point in telling me, �You've got to be strong to live strong.� And the week before told me, �Sponge Bob doesn't wear square pants for no reason.� Sometimes I think I'm the only one who believes that Rolex is a genius.
3:10 p.m. When I told Rolex that Chip spends a lot of his time researching and writing about the causal relationship, and fine line, between violence and sex Rolex said, �Well at least the man's got a plan.� Chip's last endeavor, the explaining of pop culture to the fly-over states, hits the bookshelves next week. He himself �hits� Oprah early May while I'm thick into finals. When I found out his appearance date I asked one of my professors if I could take the final early so that I could attend the taping but luck remained not on my side. After recounting the story to Rolex he said, �They make you prove you can move a mountain before those bastards let you drink from the stream.� Genius, right?
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