(this is annie)


Two summers ago, I met a shaggy-haired boy at Danny's. He was quietly surveying the scene, looking mildly bewildered by the bustle of activity. "Aha," I thought. "Looks like I am not the only one who thinks it is a little too loud and a lot too dark in here." So I said hello and we chatted about something or other. I don't remember the details, but we exchanged numbers and I gave him the nickname of The Freshmaker. We were supposed to get together at some point, but you know how that goes. Dirty jeans + good hair + bad posture = Flaky Rocker Boy Who Will Blow You Off.

At the time, I wrote about it in my SUPER SECRET INTERWEB DIARYLAND SITE (the entry has been reproduced here).

Apparently, my hot bod did not make the right impression on the Freshmaker, as he never called again. I got over it for the most part, as I always do when people pull that move. With time I was able to see that where I'd thought he was quiet and deep, he was spacey because homeboy was often high as a kite. This realization came in part from looking at his band's song titles, many of which are about doing lots of drugs. Lame. I forgot about him, his only honor being designated Assclown of the Week.

Well, earlier this spring, I was helping Tim move some plants to his new apartment. And who do I see walking down Milwaukee, all pomp and swagger, but the Freshmakaaaah. Now, the thing you have to understand is that when people do not follow through on what they say they'll do, they feel sheepish. I know this because I was flaky once, and I felt like a jerk about it. When the Freshmaker saw me, his face looked startled, as though he half-expected me to call him out on his merde. At this point, it wasn't worth the effort, and any papercut to my ego had healed a long time ago. But when he darted his eyes away from mine, trying to pretend like he didn't see me, I realized that, in a paraphrase of 1990s dance group SNAP, I got the power. Snap indeed!

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    it's anniet at gmail.


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