So apparently "aloha" is the Hawaiin word for hello and not the spell for opening locks. Thanks, Chris. Thanks for pointing that out - AFTER I'd been trying to get out of the handcuffs for half an hour.
With Chris Allover Wood, that leaves me exactly zero attractive boys to hit on. Although Dean Thomas is looking kind of yummy. The furrows of his brow give him a thoughtful roguishness, while the vaguely gay school-issue scarf softens the edges, and, I imagine, keeps his neck warm.
I'm really not that great at magic. Yesterday Professor McGonagall called me, "worse than that fucking gamekeeper Dumbledore still seems to think will play a significant part in the fate of the wizarding world." Is it my fault this school doesn't offer anything that I excel at, like drinking and couched racism? Isn't there a spelling bee or something?
I know a spell that heals the blues. It's called cake. Maybe if Chris wasn't relentlessly stroking Morning Wood, he and I could sneak into the kitchen and order the house elves to make us some. *Sigh.*
I peed in a cup to see if I could turn it into wine, or at least give it to Harry Potter, but then I tried it and I'd turned it into green tea Crystal Light. Actually it might have still been urine, I don't know how you'd tell the difference.
So in History of Magic class, we have to do this big research report at the end of the semester. I'm probably gonna do mine on Nicholas Flammel, the guy who discovered the philosopher's stone. I know about him from my dad, who was a Death Eater for a hot second back in the 80s, but only because he had them confused with Deadheads.
Gaaaaawwwwd, I'm so bored. Where's Chris? Chris? Uhhhh. I can't wait til we learn a spell for silencing bedsprings. I think I have a gum infection, but I refuse to go to the hospital ward because they'll give me all kinds of holistic shit. I'm not gonna accept bat ears in place of Percocet, no way no how.
Can I just say something about the food here? The vegetarian option is always blackbean burgers.
I'm gonna slip a note under the door letting Chris know that I'm off to find a fucking Meijer so I can get a Betty Crocker mix and shoplift some Biolage.
Later, Diary.
Jill
Friday, October 25, 1991
Friday, October 4, 1991
The First Magical Days
Dear Diary,
It finally happened. I must admit, I was skeptical at first. When an owl delivers a letter to the local YMCA that you're staying at, inviting you to a seven year education at a wizarding academy, it helps to have a family to explain to you that you are in fact a wizard. But I have no family. Instead, I found the answer at the bottom of a bottle of Jack. And it was never more clear to me. Anyone who can down a bottle of Jack and still think clearly must be fucking magical. So off I went.
Thankfully, my friend Jill was also accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Murdery. She helped me get onto Platform 9 3/4 but sadly, only after I had misread the letter and threw myself face-first into a brick pillar between tracks 8 and 9. Some of the other kids saw my brick-scraped face and made fun of it. Others asked me if I was Harry Potter. 'Who the fuck is Harry Potter?' I would reply. 'Who the fuck is Harry Potter? He's a god in the wizarding world! He beat He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named! He has a scar on his face from surviving the killing curse!' None of that made much sense to me save this: I already hated Harry Potter.
Jill and I sat on the Hogwarts Express, trying to imagine what the school would be like. Would our teachers cast spells on us if we misbehaved? Would our homework include slaying beasts and bottling their blood? Is there a bar on campus?
Finally we had arrived. You could feel the excitement of one hundred prepubescent witches and wizards in the air, each one wondering what the future had in store for them at this ancient and respected Goliath of an institution. 'This must be what a Jonas Brothers concert feels like,' I thought. They ushered us to the boats, and that's when I lost it. I hate water. My family died after a Carribean Cruise ship capsized and I was the only one who survived because I had been flirting with a lifeguard at the time and he tread water with me on his back for an hour after the disaster. Jill, however, being a true friend calmed me down with my favorite song and I was able to cross the sea and enter Hogwarts.
The sorting ceremony was all a blur. I'll be frank: Jill is a fine singer but nothing calms me down more than a fist full of Ambien. I can remember the hat perched on my head, muttering 'Oh for fuck's sake, it's the first day...' I think the hat knew that I would need the help of my friend Jill and so I was placed in Gryffindor. So was that prick Harry Potter, his ginger boyfriend, and their beard.
After making my way out of the Great Hall and ralphing over a moving staircase (whose genius idea was that?), we made our way into Gryffindor tower. And that's when I saw him. Oliver Wood. Sculpted from the clay of the gods, Oliver Wood is one fine piece of wizard ass. My world stopped spinning and I could focus on nothing but his incredible bone structure. His eyes were as deep as a bottomless bread basket and when he smiled, it was as if the angels had descended and raised me higher than I had ever been before.
'Is that a wand in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?' he asked.
I smiled, obliviously. 'What?'
'That,' he said, pointing at my erection.
I felt the blood rush to my face, pulled my cloak over the wood I got from Wood, and went running upstairs. Jill tried to convince me that nobody would remember what happened but the next morning at breakfast, the Weasley twins pretended to jerk off their wands into my face and everyone laughed, including that fuckhead Harry Potter.
They say first impressions are important but for some reason, I feel like at the end of this saga, I will emerge victorious. And that's what keeps me going. That and the fact that I got no where else to go, so here's pretty okay for now.
XO
Chris.
It finally happened. I must admit, I was skeptical at first. When an owl delivers a letter to the local YMCA that you're staying at, inviting you to a seven year education at a wizarding academy, it helps to have a family to explain to you that you are in fact a wizard. But I have no family. Instead, I found the answer at the bottom of a bottle of Jack. And it was never more clear to me. Anyone who can down a bottle of Jack and still think clearly must be fucking magical. So off I went.
Thankfully, my friend Jill was also accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Murdery. She helped me get onto Platform 9 3/4 but sadly, only after I had misread the letter and threw myself face-first into a brick pillar between tracks 8 and 9. Some of the other kids saw my brick-scraped face and made fun of it. Others asked me if I was Harry Potter. 'Who the fuck is Harry Potter?' I would reply. 'Who the fuck is Harry Potter? He's a god in the wizarding world! He beat He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named! He has a scar on his face from surviving the killing curse!' None of that made much sense to me save this: I already hated Harry Potter.
Jill and I sat on the Hogwarts Express, trying to imagine what the school would be like. Would our teachers cast spells on us if we misbehaved? Would our homework include slaying beasts and bottling their blood? Is there a bar on campus?
Finally we had arrived. You could feel the excitement of one hundred prepubescent witches and wizards in the air, each one wondering what the future had in store for them at this ancient and respected Goliath of an institution. 'This must be what a Jonas Brothers concert feels like,' I thought. They ushered us to the boats, and that's when I lost it. I hate water. My family died after a Carribean Cruise ship capsized and I was the only one who survived because I had been flirting with a lifeguard at the time and he tread water with me on his back for an hour after the disaster. Jill, however, being a true friend calmed me down with my favorite song and I was able to cross the sea and enter Hogwarts.
The sorting ceremony was all a blur. I'll be frank: Jill is a fine singer but nothing calms me down more than a fist full of Ambien. I can remember the hat perched on my head, muttering 'Oh for fuck's sake, it's the first day...' I think the hat knew that I would need the help of my friend Jill and so I was placed in Gryffindor. So was that prick Harry Potter, his ginger boyfriend, and their beard.
After making my way out of the Great Hall and ralphing over a moving staircase (whose genius idea was that?), we made our way into Gryffindor tower. And that's when I saw him. Oliver Wood. Sculpted from the clay of the gods, Oliver Wood is one fine piece of wizard ass. My world stopped spinning and I could focus on nothing but his incredible bone structure. His eyes were as deep as a bottomless bread basket and when he smiled, it was as if the angels had descended and raised me higher than I had ever been before.
'Is that a wand in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?' he asked.
I smiled, obliviously. 'What?'
'That,' he said, pointing at my erection.
I felt the blood rush to my face, pulled my cloak over the wood I got from Wood, and went running upstairs. Jill tried to convince me that nobody would remember what happened but the next morning at breakfast, the Weasley twins pretended to jerk off their wands into my face and everyone laughed, including that fuckhead Harry Potter.
They say first impressions are important but for some reason, I feel like at the end of this saga, I will emerge victorious. And that's what keeps me going. That and the fact that I got no where else to go, so here's pretty okay for now.
XO
Chris.
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