The week passed in a dizzying blur of classes, papers, stress, and self-loathing. I was so busy catering to the whims of demanding professors, I never got a chance to talk to Lulu or Harriett about our Monday night emo escapade.  Thankfully Friday arrived. 

"Take a personal day for God's sake!" Lulu suggested over the phone before I'd managed to make my way out of bed.  "C'mon, Annie, you know you want it.  Let's lay out. We can all see you need that."

I didn't need to peek under the covers at my paling body to know she was right.  Plus I deserved it, right?  Not only was grad-school hellacious, but my heart was somewhat crushed over last weekend's embarrassing fiasco with Brine (which is what I took to calling him, it just hurt less).

"Ok," I said, thoroughly convinced. "Is Harriett coming?" 

"Yeah, she's coming. I think she's bringing rum." 

"Awesome, should we be worried about her alcohol intake?" 

"Nahhh, it's Harriett," Lulu said breezily, making me feel like my mother.

"Okay then," I said rolling out of bed, fully awake once I'd dismissed my classes for the day. "I'll see y'all soon!"

Feeling excited for the first time all week, I whistled my way down the hall, planning to enjoy a self-indulgent morning.  I made my favorite pumpkin spice coffee and threw open my large living room window, allowing fragrant summer air to fill the room. 

I curled up in my thread-bear afghan blanket and flipped on the television to the Today show. 
"Today is awesome," I sighed, agreeing with Al Roker and his choice of Dallas as his pick city for the day.  Lazily I flipped on my laptop, happy to be doing anything other than writing an assignment for class.  Had I not chosen to check my Facebook account (which I'm doing less and less due to my heated affair with Twitter) I wouldn't have known exactly how good of a morning it was. 

But, as fate would have it, I did check my Facebook (however half-heartedly) and waiting in my friend request box, was Brine.  "Yes! Yes! Yes!" I yelled out loud, shattering the early morning quiet. 

I proceeded then with the stalking.  I read his likes (tea parties, pyrotechnics, and dumpster diving) dislikes (TV, garden gnomes, stupid people) and favorite music (Band of Horses, New Pornographers, Wilco, Talking Heads).  I noticed an unread message waiting in my inbox.  "No," I thought, "could it be?" And yes, yes, yes!  It was from Bryan.  Eagerly I opened my message. 

What up, cougar??
You are wretched foolish country witch
You have used your immortal beauty to sneak inside my skull.
You are not welcome here.  Leave, unless you want
me to tickle-torture your brain with my angry ogre paws.
-Mad Bryan

Feeling very foolish, indeed, I blushed as though he was there with me, piercing me with his stare.   Cougar? Tickle Torture? I loved it.  I needed his Ogre hands.  I sat re-reading his message, tingling inside.  Eventually, I wondered if there was something terribly wrong with me. 

Fortunately, I knew two people only too happy to inform me, should I possess some sort of personality defect which caused me to love only crazies and assholes.  I wrapped up my morning routine, anxious to get to Lulu's pool.

Lulu lived in a two-story McMansion, nestled snuggly in the heart of the prestigious neighborhood of Preston Hollow.  Her dad, millionaire publishing giant Bill Abernathy, owned three houses in the Dallas area alone.  He was pleased to allow his one and only daughter, "Princess Kittycat," her choice of abodes. 

Bill Abernathy was my idol, my absolute favorite man on earth, and I have never been one to hide a crush.  Too bad for me Bill was as homosexual as they come. (oh, and Lulu's father and twice my age) Still, flirting never hurt, right?

I always felt important entering Lulu's house, and as I slipped inside I tried my best not to covet, but it happened anyways.

God how I want her plush curtains, hanging perfectly poofily twenty feet to the floor.  Give me one sofa, I thought greedily, feeling her textured wallpaper and winding my way toward the pool.
​I heard them before I saw them, their voices tangled in a weave of excited debate.

"Four!  You've had sex with four people?" squawked an outraged Lulu, ridiculously gorgeous in sexy black cut-out one piece.  "Annie," she said, spotting my arrival. "Hooray!  You're here.  What's your number?" she questioned, assuming I knew to what number she was referring.  This wasn't the first time this particular conversation had gone down. 

"You know my number," I said, ready to tell them about Bryan and his strange message.

"I can barely remember my own number," she said, "much less yours.  What is it?"  Obviously she was not letting this go. 

​"Seven," I told her, irritatedly knowing this was the fastest way to have my talking turn. 

"Seven?!  Geez, seven and four?  Y'all are pathetic, wasting the hot body times of your lives.  Seven and four, I hope you're fucking satisfied!"  She rumbled, angrily stirring an icy whitish concoction, I assumed was Harriett's doing. 

​"I want a drink," I said.  "Oh, and Lulu if you're so interested in raising my number of lovers, you should be pleased to hear this."  I paused wanting their full attention.  "Bryan, you know, Bryan, of Brine.  He sent me the weirdest Facebook message." 

​"What did he say?" asked Harriett, handing me a frozen drink. 

"He said I'm wretched, and foolish, and a witch. That he might spank me with his ogre paws."  I carefully weighed their reactions. 

​"Gross." "Hot." Harriett and Lulu said simultaneously.

"Do you think he likes me?"  I asked. 

"Yes!" they agreed, causing them to pinch-poke one another and me to make a happy wiggle.  Feeling quite satisfied with my friend's answers, I undressed, revealing the white Betsy Johnson suit Lulu had graciously purchased. 

"Well shocker.  Look at you, of course he likes you," Lulu said dismissively. "You should totally have sex with him, Annie.  I bet he knows things, naughty things.  But I wouldn't get attached." 

"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked.

​"It means he's not your type.  Plus he has the reputation of a party boy," she explained.  "Eighteen-year-old waify girls constantly throw themselves at him during shows, Annie.  I think he could be trouble." 

My brain latched onto the words eighteen-year-old waifs, sending warning signals coursing through my body.  "Red alert, red alert! Danger Will Robinson," my brain screamed, doing its best to warn my heart.  My traitor of a heart, however, responded to these red flags by growing even more attached, fonder of Bryan.  You can compete, my worried brain assured my foolish heart. 

"What should I write back?"  I asked, looking expectantly to my friends for the perfect response.

​"Don't worry, Annie," Lulu assured me. "We'll think of a comeback message for Bryan.  But first, I'd like to make a toast."  Harriett and I obliged, raising our rum drinks high into the warm air.  "To us!  And the summer of lovers," Lulu sang, eyeballing Harriett and me, serious in her speech. 

"Cheers," said Harriett, lifting her glass to her mouth and taking a large swig.

"I wasn't finished," Lulu told her, causing Harriett to shrug her shoulders and take another drink defiantly. 

​"To us and the summer of lovers," Lulu started again, selling it this time.  "May all three of us use this time as an opportunity to get laid.  May we double, triple our numbers.  May we fuck like monkeys and eat like birds and have the most fucktastick summer of our lives!" she finished dramatically, rising to her feet and chugging her rum.

Harriett and I followed suit, each wondering what the hell Lulu had in mind. 

​"What exactly do you mean, summer of lovers?"  I asked, voicing my concerns and reaching for the sunscreen. 

​"I mean we're all going to have as much sex as possible.  God knows it'll do the two of you some good.   Harriett you've had sex with a whopping four people. And three of them were boyfriends!" Lulu screamed outraged.  "And you Annie, this is exactly what you need to truly get over Jaime.  And since when do you use sunscreen?"

​"I'm over Jaime," I lied boldly.  "And I started using sunscreen when I found my wrinkle." I pointed harshly to a spot near the outer portion of my left eye. 

Harriett laughed and shook her head. "Annie, you don't have a wrinkle.  And Lulu, I'm in for the summer of lovers." 

​"You're in?"  I questioned Harriett. "What exactly are you in for?" 

"I don't know, whatever, you know...the tons of sex.  I'm in," she said, while blending more rum drinks. "It sounds great!"

My cell buzzed and I glared at the interruption.  Not recognizing the number, I took a chance and answered anyway.  "Hello?"

"Hello, how are you, dear?  My name is Rose Sanford.  I lead a young adult bible study at First Methodist Church.  Your mother encouraged me to give you a call.  Said you're not much of a joiner and could use the company.  We meet Wednesdays at eight o'clock."

My mother.

"Don't be shy, dear.  I get this all the time."

I hung up the phone.

"Okay, okay, I'm in too," I told my friends. "But what's so different about the summer of lovers from any other summer, Lulu?  You act as if Harriett and I've been living in a convent, donning chastity belts, and holding a vagina vigil.  This is not the case.  We want sex.  We just can't find men worth having it with."

​"You make a good point, Annie," Lulu said.   "Here's what's different...location, location, location." 

​"I thought location was important when buying a house, not finding a husband," Harriett said, amusing herself to the point of a snorting laugh while distributing another round of drinks. 

​"Location's the key to everything," Lulu said knowingly.  "Our plan for the summer of lovers is to hang-out in man-infested areas only.  Country clubs, sporting events, nudie bars, you know, all the places good looking, rich men frequent," she finished more demand than request. "And, we kick it off tomorrow at daddy's country club's golf tournament."

​"You're going to a golf tournament?"  I asked with disbelief. 

"Sure," Lulu responded gaily.  "Why wouldn't I?  Open air, booze, millions of golfers and only one little me.  Of course I'm going." 

​"Me too. I'm going too!"  Harriett chimed in from her lawn chair chaise, all cleavage and smiles. 

"Alright, I'll go too," I conceded.  "It could be fun.  Still, I think I'm into Bryan, so I'll act as y'alls wingman."

"Whatever you say, Annie, but I wouldn't limit myself.  You never know what could happen," Lulu warned. 

Despite myself, I smiled at her ominous prediction, and for one delightful second allowed my mind to linger around the question of whether Jaime Knox could possibly be there. 

He lives in Dallas.  He does love golf.  He makes enough money.  My smile grew.

"We're going to totally dominate that golf course," Lulu promised. 

"I'm excited," Harriett agreed. "This will be much better than emo fest."

"Agreed," Lulu said. "I'm over drumming."

"Over drumming?" I asked with mock surprise.  "Why?" 

"Well, Brine's regular drummer is back. Plus, I don't think making music's my true calling.  Bands practice a lot.  I'm more a show pony than a work horse."  Lulu told us, as though we did not know.  "Also, I'm over musicians.  They smell bad."

"Bryan smells good," I said, defensively.  

"I'm sure, darlin'," Lulu laughed, using a condescending tone that caused me to make an angry squint and worry for my wrinkle.  I fiercely hoped that Bryan would prove her wrong, by hating waify teens, smelling delicious, and being my Mr. Right. 

We spent the rest of the afternoon debating what to wear in order to most successfully seduce golfers, and formulating my perfect Facebook response.  By the time we agreed on the best answer to both of these burning questions, the sun was beginning to drop from the sky.  I felt ready to deliver a response to Bryan. 

As soon as I got home I attacked my computer, went straight to his page and delivered the following response:

Bryan,
FUCK OFF.   We are not friends.
Annie Paige

It sounded a lot better at the pool.  I bit my lip and hit the send key.  Faced with a night of waiting and wondering and worrying, I decided to write in my diary to help me fall asleep. 

The diary's the one secret I kept from Lulu and Harriett.  It was mine.  More habit than anything else, I found comfort getting lost in writing.  Flipping through old entries I laughed at memories that filled the tattered pages. 

A list composed during Lulu, Harriett, and my self-help phase caught my eye.   Intrigued I read:

                 What I Want in a Husband
                               10/23/2004
1. Attractive- I must want to fuck him. Forever.
2. Successful- I need drive, passion, an indefinable lust for life.
~But don't pick a man who smothers my special.
3. We must be able to speak to one another~ communication is key!
4. He must have a kind heart.
~ kind hearts don't cheat.
5. He must love me unconditionally, no matter what.
~Oh, and I must love him.

I laughed, thinking how much energy and time I'd spent planning for love.  In fact, as I flipped further into my old entries, I found they consisted solely of thoughts, ideas, feelings, and hopes...of love. And something inside me recognized that if love could be obtained through methodical planning and obsessive thought, I would've acquired my match years ago.

Sighing, I found a blank page in my diary and submitted to habit.  I scribbled down my budding feelings for Bryan, our plans for the golf tournament, my failed attempts to forget Jaime Knox, and my Hail Mary hope that I might see him tomorrow.  As I wrote, I got an undeniable feeling, a premonition rather, that the summer of lovers was going to make for one hell of a journal.

If you're enjoying the book so far please vote...little star, push it! Go on, push it :)

Also, I am taking part in the Brigade Watty Awards, and I'll be in love with you forever for voting for Fag Hag in the contest. I am chapter 83 and here is the link:

http://my.w.tt/UiNb/io0KGX0lkv

Thank you so very much!!