2000-04-03
Dear Diary:

Tarzan almost ruined me for other men.

Well, actually, it wasn't Tarzan, it was Johnny Weismuller, but I was too young to realize that. To me he *was* Tarzan, thank you very much.

There's something about a guy in a loincloth, eh. I grew up in the 1950's so I won't be telling you that he made my pee pee swell or anything like that. It was a different time, and we were less aware of stuff like that than kidz today. But even I somehow realized that I was looking at a major piece of eye candy.

I especially liked it that he beat up stuff for Jane. He beat up snakes, lions, and it wouldn't have been a Tarzan movie if he didn't wrassle a crocodile.

He was also trilingual, speaking fluent chimp and elephant as well as pidgin English. If you ever need to speak to a chimp say, "Ungawa" a lot. Tarzan did, and they *always* understood what he meant.

If he wanted them to get a piece of vine so he could pull himself out of some quicksand, or a knife so he could free himself from some trap, hey "Ungawa" seemed to cover it ... It must be a very rich and complex word.

Marn and her first True Love.  Funny, he doesn't look a bit like Tarzan, huh?  Go figure. Well, like I said, I had a major Tarzan crush. Major. But then I fell in love for the first time. Feast your eyes on the two kids in the right of this picture of my eighth birthday celebration. One of them is your correspondent, and one of them is Stephen, My First True Love.

(Insert your cruel comment here. Yes, if ever there were two people on this planet who had "destined to be a virgin all their lives" written all over them, it is Stephen and I.)

It had to be True Love. Fer chrissakes, he went to my otherwise all-girl eighth birthday party. At that age boys and girls are each convinced the other is a major source of cooties. Major. But he braved those cooties to hang out with me.

We shared our one and only kiss over a book in his playhouse that spring. It started out as a joke because we'd both been eating licorish and our mouths were black and gross. The kiss was goofy, clumsy, his glasses got in the way and to make matters even worse his mother caught us.

We weren't allowed to play together anymore. Then my mom got sick. I was shipped off to my grandparents' for the summer, and when I came back in the fall for school Stephen wasn't there anymore. His father had gotten a better job and they were gone.

Being eight and all, I pined for Stephen for about ten minutes. Then I fell in love with Roy Rogers and made my parents buy me full cowgirl regalia.

I am *such* a slut.

--Marn

Old Drivel - New Drivel


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Want to delve into my sordid past?
She's mellllllllllllllting - Wednesday, Feb. 15, 2012 - Back off, Buble - Monday, Dec. 19, 2011 - Dispersed - Monday, Nov. 28, 2011 - Nothing comes for free - Monday, Nov. 21, 2011 - None of her business - Friday, Nov. 04, 2011 -


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This template is a riff on a design by the truly talented Quinn. Because I'm a html 'tard, I got alot of pity coding to modify it from Ms. Kittay, a woman who can make html roll over, beg, and bring her her slippers. The logo goodness comes from the God of Graphics, the Fuhrer of Fonts, the one, the only El Presidente. I smooch you all. The background image is part of a painting called Higher Calling by Carter Goodrich which graced the cover of the Aug. 3, 1998 issue of The New Yorker Magazine.

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2000, 2001, 2002 Marn. This is me, dagnabbit. You be you.