Below are the 10 most recent journal entries recorded in hhs_stories' LiveJournal:

Friday, April 7th, 2006
9:38 pm	Acting Dancing I logged on to Tribe yesterday to add "Dance" to my list of interests, and promptly forgot. I am A REALLY bad dancer. BUT i dont dance to look good, I dance because I like to dance. Thats what finaly got me to just barely stick my toe into possibly the idea of taking a dance class. I thought I would start with a "workout class based on ballet" thats what it is, officially. I love it. I'm also just as bad at it as you would think a 31 year old who had never taken a dance class in her life could be. Worse, probably. But that's not the point, the point isn't about being good anymore, the point is that I love to dance, even if I do it badly. I was wondering where all this apprehension comes from, what holds us back from doing what we love, just because we love it, why do we have to push everything to the level of proffessionalisim, cant there just be joy in being a proffessional amature? This is the part perhaps I sholud re post in hhs stories. I think that we had a big problem growing up of "taking things too seriously" Not just the kids, but the adults as well, in fact they forced it on the kids sometimes. Just because I was good at art- I had to go to the fucking rhode island school of fucking design. You know why i didnt major in animation? I didnt want to have the fun sucked out of it. Ditto for film, ditto for apparell, ok, that one was because I wouldn't fit in. Or would I? water under the bridge, a very, very, expensive bridge. The HHS_Story here involves the musical "Guys and Dolls". I was not having fun. I did not get a speaking part, a lot of reasons were HHS politics, you had to be in drama to get a speacking part, tricha bushy, whatever. I also sing like a sick frog, that didn't help, I'm sure, and the choice of a morrissy song for the audicion, probably not the best. Funny, I cant stand Morressy now. I really cant listen to it, even for shlock nostalgia value. Ok, so I was not having fun. I really wanted to quit. I should have. I'm happy I have reached an age where I dont have to do things I dont want to do. About the time of one of the dress rehersals I found out that Zach and Josh were coming down and getting together with Kip at Josh's Grandma's in Birmingham for Josh's birthday, and I was invited along, this was when we were all just friends, and the first time I had joined them in one of these get togethers, and for all I knew it would be the last,(it wasnt but thats a whole other story). I wanted to go, so guess I wrote a note telling whoever the fuck her name was drama teacher that I was going out of town, I say I guess because I dont really remember, but I do remember what hall I was in when I had the conversation with her. I belive she pulled me out of english. She said something along the lines of "how can you do this youre not taking this seriously I want you to take drama class because youre really talented and I went out of my way to give you a bigger part...blah blah blah" I started to tear up. "why are you crying? Is it because I'm yelling at you?" "no" "or is it because you have decided that this is not what you want to do for the rest of your life?" "yes." Ok, the 30 year old me is like WTF? The rest of MY life? I was FOURTEEN! And just because I can't belive it, I have to write it again, F.O.U.R.T.E.E.N. I'm a teacher now, and let me tell you, the average 14 year old is lucky if they know what they want to do within the next half hour, let alone the rest of their life. Although it's true. There was a time when I wanted to be Sarah Bernheart, there was a time when community theatre was my life. But that wasnt it, not anymore. Its a part of growing up, when you outgrow something you used to think was fun. For me it was drama. I always saw it as when I decided to stop playing roles because I started to figure out who I was, and I wasn't an actress. But "the rest of my LIFE?" at 14? Did I really have to want to be an actress for the "Rest of my life" to be in a fucking High School Musical? So that's how I gave up acting. Forever. At least I'm pretty sure. I did go to Josh's birthday and I did have a good time, and Kip, (although not Zach or Josh) is still a part of my life, so I made the right choice, as far as "the rest of my life" was concerned. I slogged through the rest of Guys and Dolls, miserable as fuck, because I made a commitment, and I never had the desire to be on stage ever again. Like the story about Eleise, It corrolates to my life now. I got turned off of "firedancing" and "firedancers" because too many people around me started to take it too seriously, in the wrong way. "Were PROFESSIONAL Firedancers! LOOK at US! We are COMMITTED to our art! Blah blah blah" If you have to SAY it, then you don't get it. What I've learned recently is that real commitment is from the heart. The class I take is taught by Evylin Cisernos, (I know I'm spelling it wrong" a famous ballerina, and now shes teaching shlubs like me, and she thanks us for coming to her class. Now that I've started, I've never been made to feel awkward, and she clearly can tell that this is difficult for me, but she shows me nothing but warmth and understanding because she knows even though I'm awful, I'm there because I love it. And shes there because she loves it and wants to share it. She's taught me alot about teaching. I can tell that she feels about ballet how I feel about art. Its a part of her life, and she doesnt need to say anything to prove it. She just is. So the other day, I saw the practice Staffs in the exercise room at the club, and I stated spinning them to show off to the kids, but then, I kept spinning them, and thats when I remembered: I did this for fun. I didnt need to live in a wherehouse and devote myself to my art. I didnt need to turn my home into a business, but I also didnt need to give up sonething I loved, just because I didnt want to be on stage anymore. Or in this case, at all. I didnt even need to be good. I just needed to do what was in my heart. And that's why I dance. Now I understand: AQUARIUS (Jan 20 - Feb 18): Your need for affection is strong now, but you may not know the best way to find satisfaction. It's not just about a romantic inclination; you can easily express your powerful feelings through parental love or artistic creation. But one way or another, you must find a way to use your emotions to bring you closer to those you love. If you withdraw instead, it will be difficult to overcome the possible isolation. Alex is adrift. I don't like the term "partner". I'm starting to see why, he cant succeed at music until he stops taking it so seriously. Sucess isn't in accolades, its in fulfillment. I'm getting it now. Alex, Make music because you make music, but you aren't the music, it's in you, if its not in you, try something else. If you want to make music, make music. You dont need to be a rockstar. If have to be a rock star, you've missed the point Cin, Write because you write, write becaue it's in you, but it isn't all of you. Host because you love writing. Make art because it wants to be made. Sucess will come when you let go. Oh jesus, I sound like a fortune cookie. someone hit me with my Jaded Raver Stick before I start talking about Prana and Kundalini. (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Monday, April 3rd, 2006
8:51 pm	a little more about feet - from emchy pavement before i understood pedicures i believed the stories about superglue and plastic nails applied to child hands for some semblance of adult laying on top of silky sythetic pink blankets and the bedspread with rainbows running down the side fingernails buffed and sanded and polished and glued in pinks and reds lit by the white lamp with painted rosepetals and a dust shade i sat in the winters massacring my fingers as a sacrifice praying that if i honored this ritual of girl that the summers would come and tear off the artifice with trees and sand spinklers and fruit picking because hands and feet have their seasons to run, grab, dig, pull and shine and from april through october i never wore shoes april is clean, fragile and weak hands stain with baby grass pointing its way though frozen dirt while toes grow numb somehow feeling more pain as each pebble is a knife and play looks like a hobble from one piece of blacktop to the next. june is tougher the hazing and initiations and blood have paved the way feet of stone running across gravel driveways the rocksalt palms that can pick a thousand strawberries nails ground into flat wedges by bark clawed and balls thrown august was the month that the earth bit back one year it was a wayward fork stepped on and halfway through foot i thought the stone would bend it back as i lay howling on my side pulling stainless steel from the ball of my foot flexing, pointing, bleeding it was hospital stitches and crutches that ate into my freedom. next it was an educational error trying to teach the correct way to fall like a cartoon except that people don't bend like that and the stone broke while i walked on it for two weeks before finally the crutches came again. scratched and sore feet from my sidewalk sand are dreams. i am too old and know what happens on sidewalks. i know that forks are hiding in the shadows while the sisters broken green glass does more than glitter in this moonlight. while i want to throw away all of my shoes and run down the street in the rain and know that the breath of youth is right there between my skin and the pavement. (Comment on this)
7:54 pm	Cindy's Foot It seems like there were a lot of broken feet in HHS. Cindy was writing about a sprained foot so it gave me the idea to write a story about her foot. Cindy broke her foot in cheerleading before I ever knew her. I guess her mom didnt belive it was broken at first so she didnt get it set and it healed wrong,so it used to hurt all the time. Oddly enough, the same thing happend to my mom. One morning we were sitting in morning circle and Cin was downing stress tabs and a bunch of people were bothering her for stuff. Her foot really hurt and she was rubbing it. I grabbed it from her and started rubbing it for her. People still kept bothering her for stuff and she was like "hold on, Im doing this and this and this (i'm paraphrasing) and sarah's being my best friend it the whole world right now because she's giving me a foot rub!" Its just one weird little moment but I never forgot it, and its probably one of the things that set me on the path of just quietly taking matters into my own hands some times. I thaought about that moment in Morning Circle at Burning Man this year when the recycle camp cook, Sugar Bunni was freaking out because of the line at the "Astral Head Wash" station. I just grabbed my spritzer and started washing her head, and massaged her head with with rose lotion that I had. It's funny how these little interactions fuel our energy. I had the privlage of writing a reccomendation letter for the Clean Slate Program today. It was very meaningful to me to influence someone's life in that way. It's funny, a lot of people think of me as loud and outgoing, but its weird little quiet moments like that that say a lot more about who I am. (3 Comments |Comment on this)
Thursday, March 9th, 2006
8:41 pm	Elise Sometimes so much of what i remember has nothing to do with actual events. It's a mix of so many things. A lot of that is because of my memory, which is super selective and incredibly random in what it forgets. Somehow your story of how we met reminded me of Elise. Such a sweet faerie loving girl. She was two years, maybe three younger than me. Wore light cotton shifts and shirts that had a style all their own and were impossibly perfect for her. Sometimes i heard other kids, the kind that I assumed shopped at the Gap, making fun of her clothes. But she never looked like anything to me beside this incredibly creative sensitive person. I worried about her more than i did other people. Doc was strong, Angry_Butterfly was full of art, Travis was too charming for his own good, and Kima always landed on her feet. Somehow Elise, whose heart was so tied up in someone who she could never have like she wanted, I always worried about her. She also was one of those people that wanted more from me. Maybe it was because her Grandmother knew my dad, and so even though I was weird by local standards, she knew that Elise would be safe with me. I don't remember what happened to her parents, but her Grandmother loved her so much that she barely let her breath. It was a scary sort of love. Like it was all she had left. The shit really hit the fan the time that I took Elise to Rocky Horror. Not because of where we went, but because we got lost on the way home. At 2am her grandmother started calling my parents house. My brother and I were free of parents that weekend, but damn the shit hit the fan. I remember my mother telling me later, "if you need to do things your father and I don't agree with, can you not take someone with you who has an overprotective parent that your dad or i will have to defend your actions to later?" Brilliant advice. Only take people with you who can handle the getting in trouble. Anyway - not to fall into another getting lost on the way home from Ann Arbor story. For a while Elise and I had a great art project together. On days in May after school got out, we would drive to one of the old cemetaries out by Alexis Fitz's house. That nebulous area past Oak Grove where Dan Spencer lived, and you could drive for 20 - 40 miles and still be in cornfields that were stuck in between having no town or name for their own. So we would go to the cemetaries and trade lines of poetry. One after another spinning our own exquisite corpse, seeing what weird places we could take the piece and how to bring it back. It was fun. It was a dream. But more than anything, it was lying on this grass that smelled like all of life, just dirt fresh and muddy, the way it is when it isn't actually too moist to sit on, but when you stand up the earth has cried a little on your knees. Lying on that grass, with trees just past sprong lush will as many leaves as the branches could birth, smoking my camel lights, my fingers smelling like plant and tobacco leaves and fire, and dreaming with somebody. Sharing those sorts of random thoughts. Allowing fantasies as wild as we could imagine. Nothing was too silly to be taken completely seriously. Faeries, witchery, power, the power in ourselves, putting things into the world and universe as if there was nothing that could stop us. It was a long drive from anything close to my house to those cemetaries. I miss the feeling of driving everyone home, just to have the driving home time alone to think and dream. I miss smoking while i drive and feeling the volcanoes of life, the beginning of everything in me, the death of it, th eexplosions of creation invited into my flesh by choice. Lying on some grass and dreaming of how it all could be. Recently Doc emailed me and told me i inspired her. How is that possible? It was all of these people that I spent so many hours with that made me anyone worthwhile. here is a pic of her that i found online. she is wonderful - still fighting the good fight. (4 Comments |Comment on this)
Friday, March 3rd, 2006
1:21 pm	How I met Cindy Ok, Cindy sent me this e mail and I have been wracking my brian trying to think of how I met her. I don't remember exactly. I remeber her sitting in the middle of a circle of people on the floor of our high school, it was a very pretty new high school in my opinion, so the lockers were like an orance and the carpet was nice, I think it was red. I'm picturing her looking like a gypsy, or janis joplin, (thats who my mother said she looked like in a tape we made some time long after I became friends with cindy) In I think a green turntleneck with a black crochet sweater over it. I see her in dark dance tights and some kind of doc martin type ancle (monkey) boots, I dont remember if they were black or burgandy, or if they were "real" doc martins, I was too poor for docs, as I bought most of my own clothes with babysitting money. I do remember her telling me to "pop a Squat" and thinking "what the fuck is she talking about?" and not liking the sound of the phrase. I still wont eat at "Squat and gobble" I just dont like the sound of the word. I forget what I was doing there. I have some vauge recolection of having a crush on garret davenport and a crush on kate dubman, it wass'nt the last time I had a crush on a couple (is it, bliss and aries?) where the crush is intensified by the boy being with a hot girl or vice versa. And thinking that they had funny names. I rememeber cins makeup being dark liqid eyeliner, and for some reason I keep rembering it makeing her look crosseyed, but I'm pretty sure thats because when I drew her in a comic I wasnt that good yet and she came out crosseyed in that. I DO remember that this memory was probably at some point very soon AFTER my suicide attempt, but I may be getting it confused, for incredibly obvious reasons that I dont have time right now to explain. I also remember her miscevious smile more than anything, EVEN more than the "pop a squat" phrase or her favorite sweater. LIke she was leading some kind of conspiracy, creating an army of freaks that she was recuiting me into. If You know her you know the one I mean. I love that smile. (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Tuesday, February 28th, 2006
1:28 pm	Howell's Castro THis story doesnt have to do with dave, and you arent in it, but it gives a great perspective on growing up queer in HHS. My Mother always wanted me to date Jamie. She loved him, scolarly, quiet, smart, respectful, even attractive, a teacher's dream. I told my mother that he wouldn't be interested in me because he was a senior and I was a freshman, but the truth was that he always came off to me as a little stuck up to me. What I did not know at the time was that Jamie has known he was gay since he was 12, and has been out to his family since he was 14. After he graduated, Jamies plans to become a russian translator for the military fell through with the end of the cold war, so he was working his way through college as The manager of the Howell Theatre. For years I had dreamed of working at the Howell Theatre. So when I finaly saw that "help wanted" sign on the marquee, I called every day for an interveiw. First Jamie hired a boy, but my dogged persuit of my dream job payed off when the boy couldn't do the job and jamie hired me. I worked there my seinior year of high school, and Jamie continued to seem a bit stuck up and distant to me, I did not know he was gay until his sister told me. I had always wondered why the only holiday we decorated the theare for was St Patrick's Day. When I found out that Jamie was gay it began to make sence. Jamie rented the apartment above the theatre and got some Tom's of Finland, daisy duke wearing, blonde moustashed queen for a roomate, who I am POSITIVE was not his lover, and they painted a rainbow on the door. Howell now had a 2 gay man castro. While his very stereotypiclay gay roomate and his very stereotypiclay gay friends were moving in, Jamie made some jokes that came off as homophobic to me at the time. But I now understand as an adult living in San Francisco that He was making fun of them because he was a butch top, and they were total queens. When I came back to work at the theatre after my first year at RISD, Jamie asked me how college was, and with his reputaion as a serious student I immidately began to bore him with my academic persuits. to which he replied in one of the gayest gay voices I have ever heard, complete with limp wristed slap, "No Honey, I want to know about the Guys!!!" So it turned out that Jamie had gotten really femmie while I was gone. As far as I know he had always been comfortable with his sexuality, and had been "out" at least to anyone who asked for years, but now he was Out, apparently in a queen phase. Thats when we bonded. Turns out he wasnt stuck up, he was shy. But now, if there was one person in Howell who wasn't going to have any problem with his being gay, it was the person who just got back from Art School. Jamie soon hatched this elaborate plan involving me and my talents, (this would be the first, but by far, not the last time a gay man would harness my aritstic ability for his own gain) He wanted to "commission" me to do some "art" for his new "bachelor pad" ( an apartment above what was once the courthouse cafe and last I knew was a Dairy Queen, hee hee hee) He told me he had the "perfect model" in mind, and that I should go along with him to this "dance club" with my portfolio to help convince the guy to "pose". I did, complete with beret and sketchbook. I'm only 18 in this story, and even as a 31 year old, I'm still one of the most gullible people on earth. After we picked up another mutual friend, Jamie said "I've got my party hats. I've got my fruit flys, I'm going to get some tonight!" and I asked TOTLLY INNOCENTLY "whats a fruit fly?" to which he repled, complete with dramatic hand gestures, "I'm the fruit, and you're the FLYS!" It was not until that moment that I realised I was to become a prop in a pick up scheme. The mutual friend told me to tell people that we were a couple so lesbians wouldnt hit on me. So I asked, "why on earth would I do that?" And she repeated "You're Hot, the lesbians will hit on you." "so?" Rightly thinking that I was thinking I was still being naive So spelled it out for me, "They are women who will want to have sex with you." So I shot her the "what, you thought I was all the way straight?" look, and Her eyes got wide, she knew damn well what I looked like and how rarely I she had seen me with a boyfriend. Imagine my dissapointment when there were no lesbians at the bar. Unfortunately, the scheme didn't work, and I think it creeped the guy out. So Jamie went home a empty handed, I did'nt get my commission, and I was really hoping to get hit on by a lesbian, but one person was very satisfied that night. My Mother. My mother told me she was really happy that I was finaly dating Jamie. (Comment on this)
Monday, February 27th, 2006
10:29 pm	dave armstrong this is a funny story to tell. i am not sure if i should tell the whole saga of dave, or just a one time moment, or a few one time moments, that would be so small in their details, so small in their place in the saga that they would be left out. not important. and yet somehow - in my regrets - in my thoughts - they are what stand out most of all. saga cliff notes. when i was 12, dave had a best friend brad. who liked my best friend rachel. one night, over the phone, during parallel sleepovers, we two het couples decided to 'go togethe'. how fucking precious. the next monday at school we all broke up. and so began my friendship with dave. two years later - we were closer friends, but still not close. we were both sort of loners. me going for walks in the woods, writing poetry, and being by high school standards kinda weird. but - still friendly and open. in that way that so often teachers kids are. i grew up in that high school, so it was pretty impossible to make me feel alienated there. he had become a similar sort of loner, artsy, new wave sort of guy and in our small group of 5 or so pals (before angry_butterfly and her gang came along) we were kind of it. there were some writer types that were seniors at the time, but they were too over it all to deal with freshmen. dave and i got close again. for the second time. notes were passed. phones were lingered on. and finally, we decided to give it another go. it lasted two weeks. long enough to get my first romantic xmas gift - the queen is dead by the smiths. i broke it off. something wasn't gelling. a two hour walk alone together on a frozen lake and there wasn't enough comfort to barely hold freezing hands. how could i talk so much to someone and feel like jumping out of my skin around them? it didn't make sense. three months went by. we started talking again. he hadn't reacted well to it ending. years later i heard about some sort of family holiday dinner and him taking all of my letters out to the bbq grill and setting them on fire. but we did start talking again. he asked me again if we could try. my head was as strong as my heart and i thought yes. but in my naive romance brain wanted to sat so over the phone. maybe that would make it right. would be the sweeping gesture that brought us to a passionate kiss and melted away this discomfort with the actual physicality of each other. i tried to find him at school to tell him yes. i was avoided for two weeks, and then, he just stopped speaking to me... again. two years later we became friends again. once he had a nice girl who went to boarding school that he saw a few times a month. we wrote poetry together in creative writing class. always a little wary. the wariness never really went away - on either side. i was convinced that he was my virgo poetry brain mate, and yet we couldn't make it work. there are stories... graduation parties where we dove through a mud pool in our underwear together, slipping and sliding with travis and chadd. innocent and wild and smoking and happy. sitting on his parents porch, the summer before we both moved away, looking at the morning fog and dew and swearing to buy houses near each other, so even with other spouses, we could always meet for walks to write together, when i tried to stop kima from stealing his cassettes when we crashed his house when he was at work, when judi and i went to his place when we were tripping because i wanted to tell him he was beautiful to me - and finally explain the miscommunication that he never knew the truth of - and instead chadd hung out all night playing frisbee with us, when i took him soup with emily when he was sick, when he and emily ditched me when he was home from the army when she and i had slept together only weeks before and me not seeing him was what finally ended our friendship, when i called him last november, and we spoke and caught up for 45 minutes, and all i wanted i think, was to know our friendshio again, and he hung up on me when his wife got home, when one time, senior year, when we both had major roles in the school play, we went driving, smoking together, and he said the exact right things and for once i felt safe, happy and taken care of. loved. for a me that was more bare, naked, and honest then anyone has ever known me to be. he... is complicated for me. but - he is why i used to smoke benson and hedges deluxe ultra light 100's heh and marlboro reds for myself (Comment on this)
Sunday, February 26th, 2006
11:58 pm	I'm still having trouble with this live journal thing I'm trying to veiw this journal, but its asking for a post. I'm exited about the concept, but I'm not sure how much use I will be. I feel like I didnt do much living in high school. I dont have the same memories that you have. The Taxidermist shop was one of my favorite memories. It seems like everone did more, went out more, had more fun, took more drugs, knew more people than I did. The night of the taxidermist shop was, to me, my first chance to really get to know you and chad, you may not have known it at the time, but I was having the time of my life. The truth is, even among our little group, I still felt like an outsider. Mabe it was because you were all older than me or mabe its because you all grew up together, I think it was my vegabond childhood, as I have said before, Howell wasnt my hometown, its where I went to high school. To you, Howell was a small town, your HOME town where you had roots. But I had come from a place where the nearest theatre was an hour away, to live in a town with a dimestore, a movie theater and even a Mc Donalds was like Magic to me. To this day I have difficulty staying away from McDonalds, because for most of my childhood it was a special treat. What's more is that I have no idea what its like to have that kind of childhood, the kind with roots. I know about grain elevators and tarpaper shacks and riding my bike past abandoned farms to go to a lake lined with summer cottages. I also know about visiting the places you used to live and realising that everything is the same, but you are different, how much moving around like that changes you. (1 Comment |Comment on this)
4:59 pm	from cindymonkey my response ah but it was Chadd who was there not Dave. we got lost in ann arbor looking for the denny's because that was my thing. getting lost on the way from the briarwood mall to the denny's. all part of ypsilanti and yet so many ways to get lost. kima and her car of people got lost too. and then we lost them. the smelly guy rich who rode a motorcycle that i sometimes made out with was at dennys when we got there. his crew of miscreants battling with the other more goth rhps people and kima and i had our loyalties divided between rhps friend groups. there was a custody battle. later i found out that she was mad because the smelly rich had been hitting on me. i don't think she liked him, i think she was just mad that i flirted too much. it was so late and tired and it was halloween when we all went to rhps that night. that's why we were all dressed up, chadd was supposed to be absolute darkness. i remember thinking that as a white farm boy from a racist town that maybe that wasn't such a good idea to go to any sort of public place in blackface where there might not be time in between someone thinking you're a racist asshole and punching you out to explain the philsophical intent behind your blackface. we got some funny looks, but there was no ass kickery involved.i was janet of course. as always over sexualized outfit without the bravado to back up the flirting that would come with it. i had to rip off my heels and throw them away after we climbed up the overpass in fishnets and a tight skirt. my feet were so cold and bloody by the time we got to the taxidermists place. on the way there we passed by the spot where i hit my first deer with a car when i was 16 and had my liscense for 13 days. my heart jumped for that deer when we walked by the spot - though i think i just kept telling jokes and smoking, not mentioning how close i felt to that death. and then we got to the taxidermists - man they were drunk. eyes like saucers at seeing us both scantily clas with chadd all in black while they kept getting drunker. i was so afraid we were gonna get assaulted and hidden in the shed out back. the deer death was even closer than i thought. the room smelled like blood and when they showed me where the bathroom was there was a deer strung up in the back room being bled out. the blood was all over the floor slowly coagulating and going into the drain. everything was so cement and grey and wood and it could've been a hundred years ago except for the hard floursecent that kept jarring me awake. first i called kimas mom to come get us. my parents thought we were just renting movies at her house as usual. calling and calling and marge saying i am trying to findy you kids where are you. three hours later you called your dad. he had to promise that my mom wouldn't find out since our moms worked together. turns out marge had the wrong blockbuster video store as a landmark. she drove out to brighton over and over and thought we had been abducted. the next day her boyfriend took me and chadd out to jumpstart his car. years later marge married that guy and he killed himself with a nail gun in a motel room after they had a fight and he stormed out of the house. dave armstrong... now there are some other memories - what's your favorite of him? (Comment on this)
4:58 pm	from angry_butterfly Remember the time we went to roky horror with Dave Armstrong and he was in blackface and I was dressed as Columbia(?) and you were Janet of course. and we got a flat tire and after Dave changed it, the battery went dead and we had to climb up the embankment and walk and ended up in a taxedermy shop that was also a 100 year old haunted cabin with these taxidermists who had been up all night drinking because it was deer season? My Dad came and got us. (Comment on this)