18 July 2002 ~ Shit-talk with Aaron, infiltrating the CIA, and the Other Woman answers the phone...

Well, I'll be damned...

I really, really wish sometimes that Aaron and I hadn't made such a huge deal out of stupid, fucked-up little things. I miss that dude. And now -- RIGHT now -- I would absolutely love to talk to him. There's nobody else in the world whom I can talk to the way I talked with Aaron, except my brother John. Aaron is just about the only one in the world who COMPLETELY understands my shit-talkin', and doesn't hold ANYTHING sacred.

(Coincidentally, my brother and Aaron have made mischief in common; due to possible repercussions from the parental front, I will refrain from discussing the specifics...)

If Aaron was here, I'd suggest a crazed adventure: "Dude, let's go through all the garbage cans and recycle bins in town, and get all the cans people are recycling, and bring them down to Portland and redeem them!"

Aaron, of course, would say, "Whoa! Yeah!"

Then we would spend, like, five hours going through recycle bins, looting, hooting, and thinking we were the smartest people in the world. All the while, we would be griping about multiculturalism, Denny's, and strange sex.

I would say: "Hey, Aaron, remember how, like, you kept saying that stuff wouldn't work out when I moved to Olympia? Well, dude, like, some stuff kind of sucks, but mostly stuff is like, really good."

Then he would ask, "Yeah, like what sucks?" And I would reply: "Well, I finally got a job in a department store, which may or may not suck, and I'm going to have about a week to make two hundred dollars, and I don't know how I'm going to do it..."

So we would come up with some stupid scheme. The looted bottles and cans would somehow end up in his mom's car, because remnants from ALL my adventures with Aaron have ended up in his mom's car. We'd steal shit from other people's garage sales, and sell it in our own garage sale. We'd tell people they could have the best view in Olympia, from my very own roof, and then we'd charge them a modest fee of ten dollars, for use of my building's elevator. Aaron and I are entrepreneuers.

Aaron, here's the deal...

I'm sick of being in love, because it doesn't get me anywhere, just allows me to have something to complain about, and something to weep about after rum&cokes and Saturday night jazz at the Spar. I'm sick of depending on other people for food and money; even though I work as hard as I can doing the things I'm good at, I never manage to pay off my debts without feeling degraded and guilty. I'm sick of being nice to people who aren't nice to me. Dude, shit sucks sometimes. Let's get into trouble.

Aaron and I rarely ever REALLY got into trouble. We always TRIED to get into trouble, but, together, we never quite pulled it off... We'd ride around for hours talking about making a snuff film, but obviously we never did. We'd ride around talking about luring little internet girls into the forest and leaving them there to rot and wither. When all was said and done, we just couldn't bring ourselves to do it. We'd ride around talking about infiltrating the CIA, the Russian mafia, the local sorority houses, and the Binghamton University computer systems. But we never did. Hell, we talked about having sex with each other for like, ten years, and we never did THAT, either; THAT would have been the easiest one to pull off... The biggest "trouble" we ever caused was writing shit in a newly-laid sidewalk with Aaron's car keys. It wasn't even very fresh concrete.

I wish Aaron was here right now.

I wish I could be mean and brutal and talk nasty, awful shit without feeling guilty about it.

"So, dude, why'd you call me and tell me to come over?"

"Dude, you are never going to believe it..."

"You had anal sex!"

"Uh... no."

"What, then!?"

"Okay, I was at Jürgen's place, just like, hanging out and typing an entry and stuff, right? Because Jürgen told me it was cool if I used his computer. Well, he ALSO told me it was cool if I wanted to use his phone number to put on job applications, and he'd give me the messages... Okay, so I'm sitting at the computer, and I just called back this one woman who left a message yesterday... And I get ahold of her, but she's in the middle of something and says she'll call me back... Right?"

"Dude, YEAH? AND???"

"So I'm waiting for the phone to ring, and finally it does... And it's this OTHER job calling me back, telling me I'm not qualified to do jack shit... So I was like, 'gee, thanks a lot,' and I hang up, right?"

"Uh... yeah?"

"So THEN, the phone ring again, and I'm thinking, yes, of course it's this woman I'm waiting for..."

"But it WASN'T!"

"Dude, good call! It was Jürgen's other girlfriend!"

"NUH-UH!!!"

"Dude, yeah! I'm serious!"

"Dude, what did you SAY???"

"Well, I thought it was going to be this other woman, you know, calling for ME... So I was just like, 'uh...hello...?' And there's this LONG pause, like you get when a telemarketer is calling you... So I'm like, "HELLO?" And there's this tiny little voice that sounds like a sick mouse or some shit, and I don't understand ANYTHING she's saying..."

"Whoa! Dude!"

"So then, I'm like, 'Crap! It's one of Jürgen's overseas friends, and what if she doesn't know enough English to communicate a message to me, and I don't know enough Hungarian, or German, or ANYTHING, to communicate anything to her?'"

"Dude, you're awesome... What did you say? Did you tell her you've been sleeping with her man?"

"Fuck no, dude! She didn't do anything; I'm not going to be a bitch to HER! I figured I'd just let it go, and let her wonder about me so that she calls back later, totally frantic, asking Jürgen who I am, and then HE has to deal with his little love-polygon falling apart..."

"Dude, good idea!"

"But then SHE asks who *I* am and what I'm doing in Jürgen's house!"

"Nuh-UH!"

"Yeah!"

"What'd you say?"

"I was like, I'm Helena. Who are YOU?"

"Heh heh heh!"

"I mean, I totally didn't do anything WRONG... I was making a phone call that Jürgen had TOLD me I was free to make from his house, and then I was waiting for the woman to call me back..."

And Aaron would say: "Dude, Jürgen's an ASSHOLE!"

And I would say, "I KNOW, right?"

And Aaron would say, "let's go get some more bottles and cans to bring to the nearest state that does bottle-redemption!"

Then we'd take over the CIA, overthrow the Bush administration, and use money stolen from the Cuban drug cartel to finance even better German techno.

Or not.

More likely, we'd spend the rest of the night talking about thongs.

I'm going home now; I don't want to be near this phone anymore.

~Helena*