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The sermon for Sunday, Mar. 24, 2002 is: You might as well jump 10:31 p.m. Colleen Hooper is petite, with freshly hennaed hair and sharp pointy teeth. Her eyes are as blue and icy as mentholated cough drops, and her voice (she's from Michigan -- did you know Michigan's shaped like a hand?) resembles that of a dockworker's. I have a crush on her. Earlier this week I found her sleeping in her car between classes, so I knocked on her window and took her hand and took her to the library, to show her my favourite secret napping places. I have a key to the library "sick room," where students seasick from study could take refuge; it's also where new mothers can go and breastfeed their children, or pump their breastmilk (how can one say that gracefully?), so it's also a place where I can do drugs without undue paranoia, since I can be assured that there's no cameras there. There's a floor lamp and a pull out bed there in the sick room; "wow," Colleen said in her dockworker's voice, "this place is the shit." I pulled out the bed and lay in it, and she sat down beside me. "I wish I had some coke," she muttered in passing, apropos of absolutely nothing in all. Can you tell then, dear Diary, that that was the moment I lost my heart? Or the next moment: Colleen leaned forward and turned the floor light off, and sat beside me there in the darkness, waiting for... waiting for what? Well she didn't get it. I immediately leapt out and opened the door. She followed me, blinking at the library, the afternoon light. "THANK YOU COLLEEN!" I shouted so my co-workers could hear me. "I knew you were going to do that," Colleen sighed. That was Thursday. Yesterday we went to the movies. We met at the candy store so we could stock our pockets with free samples. "Here, try this," I said, holding a gummy something. Colleen leaned forward and ate it out of my hand. Was she trying to tell me something? We watched "Y Tu Mama Tambien." There was a trailer right beforehand, advertising the movie and a contest for two lucky winners to go to Mexico. "Oh shit," Colleen said, "is this in Spanish? Does this mean I have to read the movie? I've never read a movie before!" My heart sank. But she's go goddamn cute! We went for dinner at an Afghan restaurant afterward ("voted most delicious terrorism in the city!"), and Colleen told me about her life. She was in 4-H; I didn't know such a thing existed! She's from Michigan; did you know Michigan's shaped like a hand? I didn't! She raised lambs and pigs in 4-H, and slaughtered them; the girl I was infatuated with is a murderer! And every time that someone went down on another in Y Tu Mama Tambien (which, spoiler, they do a lot), she would lean over and ask me in a little girl voice, "What are they doing?" I didn't jump her. I should've jumped her. I think she was expecting me to jump her. But I didn't jump her. I bought her dinner and a globe at a pawn shop, and then accepted her embrace and told her I would call her again. And I got home and emailed her a thank you note. I should've jumped her. But I didn't. Dammit.
 
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