November 18, 1982

           Ha! My stars—they baked a cake. And Rossie stayed up late just to have a slice. It was shaped exactly like a guitar, strings and all. Dave must have spent hours on it. And a card with some symbolism I didn’t grasp, but signed, “from the gang back home”. How about that. They said they couldn’t find enough candles, boo-hoo (that's a joke, son, I was not that old). And my present [reading] was a book called “Oddities” which kept me up awfully late. The book itslf is a bit of an oddity with35 word sentences, complicated descriptions and adjectives galore. Chapters on Nostradamus, perpetual motion, and missing planets.
           Sorry I can't find a picture of this birthday party (Nov. 18 is not my birthdate, or is it?) but I do remember I had a full beard in those days. And in my late teens, my beard turned from dark blond to almost black.


           Now I go to tell you what happened. Per my earlier agreement I phoned Liz this evening. Cantankerous Liz, and did I get the shock of my life. She was friendly and, get this--laughing. Twice to be exact, once at 9 minutes to 8 PM on this date, 1982 Georgian Calendar. Why did she wait so long? “Give me back my eleven days”. I am going to meet her for coffee tomorrow, and I’m going, just at least to make sure this is the same girl. And she said she likes me—right like that, and she’d go out with me. Something is pretty funny alright, even considering the extreme ‘bout-faces I’ve seen in women, this is a full blown mystery.

           Then I go out for Chinese food to China Village, again. You know that sexy little girl I saw last week wearing that school shirt with the classmate’s name, well! She’s . . . 18, her name is Bonnie, and we’re planning to go to the Pink Floyd show at the planetarium next Sunday. She’s the typical girl whose parents never took her anywhere or let her go on her own—now she’s 18, never been anywhere, never done anything. And I hope, I hope--those bodies on those young Chinese women.
           And if she turns out, fine, she’s enough to make anybody look twice. And the well-adjusted boys at the office three or 4 times. Apparently she was going out with a character that was even older than me—hard to believe. All was fine till her parents found out he’d been shacked up. It was game over—that that was, I understand, their only objection. They’d soon weary trying to find any such nonsense garbage in my past, I don't date bad girls.

           [Author’s note 2011: it took a while to recall the context of this entry. But what a reminder of raging hormones, there I am dating one gal and thinking of three or four others. Typical male of the ages, I was. In 1982, the sexual revolution was still a fact of life. Then again, I never grew out of that for such a long time, so blame it on instinct or something that isn’t my fault. Remember my famous line, “Men who have a choice tend to make one.” To this day, I don’t see as much real maturity as I see men pretending to be mature to get what they want.
           I can’t quite place Bonnie. If it is who I think, she got back with the old man she was shacked up with and nothing ever happened. There, however, is proof that even back then I tended to reject ex-shackups. Youth is a time to play the field, not join the opposing team. I’ve got some pictures of that guitar cake somewhere if I ever find them. Strange that 29 years later, I’m still learning to play the guitar.]

           [Author’s note 2020: Strange that 38 years later, I’m still learning to play the guitar.]