wherein i talk about a bedpost, olives, and poor impulse control

i’ve never been very good at impulse control (as you can see by the post below) (or, you could tell that by the new digital camera, laptop, new new laptop bag that i got today, and the unimpressive number of one-night stands i have notched into ye olde bedpost). and last night was a test of my will. which, now that i think about, might have been how the born again christian comment slipped out to begin with. it’s all Salinger’s fault. i was so busy trying to refrain from busting his chops in the same manner he busted hipster mom that my impluse control was all but annihilated by the end of class.

yeah, yeah that’s the ticket.

fuck, i had something else to say and now i’ve lost it. maybe i was going to talk about how i was the littlest bit impressed with how Salinger seemed to take his workshop beating pretty well. or i might have well talked about how he’s a total ageist and doesn’t think that anyone under the age of 35 can remember and/or have any knowledge about anything that might have happened before 1983.

but i don’t think that was it.

i know it wasn’t gonna be about how hipster mom brought in homemade oatmeal chocolate chip cookies and how every single classmate fell a little bit in love with her for that (and the vodo fell a lotta bit in love with her for that).

perhaps it was going to be about how at the post-loft grumpfest last night, Ken raised his martini glass (he always has a martini, kelly always has a Lite with olives, mike and i have honeyweiss) and we all toasted Salinger. and the fact that he actually said “To Salinger” while lofting his glass was super rad.

but really none of that has to do with impuse control.

so maybe i was going to write about how much i enjoy our post-loft grumpfests, and even more than that how we have all vowed, razzed and otherwise bullied each other into submitting fresh, brand-new never before existed except for the sole purpose of this workshop stories for our next go around.

i think i might have wanted to write about that, and how i had entertained the idea of cheating (and just reworking a story called “Good Barbecue”) until it was brought up again last night and we gave Mike entirely more shit than he probably deserves for trying to wuss out on the vow.

yeah, yeah that’s the ticket.

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