July 11th, 1995

## Tara

\*\*\*Posted July 12th, 1995

**7/11**Please excuse Ms. Tara Hartwick's absence from your final, Professor Samuels. She is unable to attend due to a sudden mental illness ....

Sorry, I'm nodding off again. I didn't actually miss my exam...I was in class bright and early. (At least in body. My mind was everywhere, spinning circles and figure eights around itself. Torture.) This morning, on two and a half hours of attempted sleep, I took my "Women In Film" final exam. I'm sure I did fine...it's just that I've screwed up my body clock so bad, now that all the studying's almost through, I still can't catch a wink. I've got that delirious caffeine sleep deprivation thing going, shakes and all.

Maybe it was the emotional (as opposed to academic) strain that really got me this morning. I sat in the back row, and began to review my notes before the class began...like an hour before. And as I started looking everything over, I fell asleep. Well, five minutes into my little nap, I was awoken by that alarming disoriented feeling and two other things: One, the drool that connected from my cheek to my notebook paper, and two, Alex Samuels' warm hand stroking my hair. Or was he nudging me to wake up? I'll never know, since nobody else was as crazy as me to come to class quite so early for the final cram session. We didn't exchange words, we just looked at each other, and then he made his way to the podium. I thought for a second I was still dreaming.

It was when I realized that it wasn't a dream that the anxiety started to set in. Nothing physical ever happened with my very married teacher, but it seemed like we had so much emotional history. In a way, I felt as attached to him as I would have if we had truly become more than friends. And now, after class, was I supposed to walk out of that classroom and never see him again? Was that the right thing to do?

Just before class began, I reviewed my notes on Professor Samuel's lecture on, of all films, The Graduate. This was one of the first films we analyzed in the Women in Film course and I remember it well--not just the movie, but every nuance of my Professor's actions. Even then, the whole "forbidden lust" theme seemed directed specifically toward me. Why does that happen? Is it like all the horoscopes you read in the local papers; general enough to in some way apply to everyone, if you are open to the possibilities? Or imagine this: Imagine Alex Samuels having mini affairs with every one of the women in his classroom. Imagine the great bald one as grand seducer and master manipulator of all young, eager female minds.... See what sleep deprivation does to me?

Anyhow, the actual exam would have been cake, had I not been so sleepy. Even still, I know I did fine. That's the important part, right? As for my feelings, I'm going to let this whole thing go. Thank you everyone for all your advice about the Professor. I know he and I have no future, I know he is married. I know I've got to let this go.

Goodbye, Alex Samuels. Thanks for the lesson.

**July 11th, 1995**
## Michelle

\*\*\*Posted July 12th, 1995

**7/11**Go ahead, Teddy. Call away. I'm armed and ready!
With not too much fanfare I present the first (but not last) Michelle Foster Top Ten List:

Top Ten excuses to avoid a houseguest.10. Spotnik is allergic to strangers.

9. Lon has a mild case of herpes. You will be sharing a bathroom with him.

8. I would love to have you come, but the ghost of The Spot says no.

7. We are having a coven that week, but if you don't mind the smell of goat's blood, come on over.

6. I have "found the Lord" and can't wait to see you. In fact, I have some "Watchtower" pamphlets for you to read.

5. Lon works for U.S. Customs and would very much like to know the details of your importing & exporting business.

4. They are expecting another earthquake and one more person could set it off.

3. Because of my ex-boyfriend, I have joined the Witness Protection Program, and I am not allowed to talk to family members.

2. The police have found some of O.J.'s blood in my bathroom, and now the whole Spot is roped off.

1. "Ted, this is Jeff. Jeff, meet Ted."

Thanks to the following people for these excuses:Joshua, Kara Borden, Richard Adam, Chris Baker, Paul Ross, Ken Moylan, Joe Moss, Craig Steinmann, and Tony Kim. Also thank you to the many people who wrote in with similar ideas as the ones used.

In all seriousness, I did get many excuses that were plausible. I am not sure which one to use. I am keeping a little pad with the best ideas on my night stand. When I talk to him next, I am just going to pick one. You know, see how it feels.

Further adventures of Sherlock Foster and "Captain Steven" Watson:

Tonight after work we went down to the cemetery where Janet is buried. We get to the front gates, and they are locked. I look to Steven for his big plan, and I noticed him giving me the exact same look.

When I asked Carrie what she thought about all this, she said "The best laid plans o' mice and men, often something and something." You get the point. No one feels dumber than Steven. Now we have a choice; visit the plot on the weekend or break in to the cemetery one night.

Well, what would you do? Have I been too influenced by cheesy horror movies? You bet. Why would a ghost appear to us when it's 98 degrees and balmy? If we are going to do this, we are to do this right.

What does one bring for a visit with the undead?

July 11th, 1995
## Carrie

\*\*\*Posted July 12th, 1995

**7/11/95****"The Art of Avoidance -**
**A 4 Step Primer"**

by Carrie Seaver1. Never make direct eye contact with person being avoided.

2. Take a 2 hour lunch off the work premises making sure person being avoided will not be dining where you are.

3. Sneak through the aisles avoiding common territory.

4. Whenever unavoidable nearness occurs pretend to sneeze and run like a wild woman for a tissue. If sneeze is not effective or nearness occurs again, feign onslaught of massive PMS and howl like a banshee.

Crude, but it worked. For most of the day anyway.

Closing time, I was ringing out the register, Britt was in the stock room, Hank cornered me by the computer.

"So, kiddo. What do you think?" he said to me as if we hadn't been playing cat and mouse all day. "Looks like we had a pretty good day," I answered, turning my eyes to the tape spewing out of the register.

"Let's talk, Carrie" he said, swinging open the counter partition and gesturing toward his office in the back.

\* \* \*"I know you've been avoiding me all day," he started. "I offered you the promotion because I'm very impressed by you, no other reason."

"I didn't think..."

"I need you, Carrie."

"Hank!?"

"To take the job. I'm getting tired of spending my whole life in this store. I need someone who I can depend on to keep an eye on it when I can't be around."

Pretty convincing, huh? It would've been if he hadn't put his greasy paw on my leg right as he said it.

I immediately pulled his stray appendage off, whipped around dramatically, and screamed at the top of my lungs, "You filthy beast, I earned this job and will not subjugate myself to your hyperactive hormones!"

Actually, I slowly inched out of his reach and said, "I really would like to take the job, Hank..."

"You've earned it," he said. He smiled wide and before I could say, "slime-ball, sexual harassing, perverted, letch," he hugged me. I tried to push him off, but he held me tight in his grasp like one of those little stuffed Koala Bears with the spring loaded hands that hang onto your pencils and stuff.

"It's the perfect relationship, Carrie."

"Hank, please let go of me."

"It's always been my romantic dream to live, work and love all together as one. We'll make an unbelievable team!"

"Stop it! Hank!" I yelled. But he was no longer listening. He started kissing my neck and whispering something about opening up Book Zone's all over California, the US. and one day the world.

I had always role played in my head that if I was being sexually attacked, I would pretend to go along with it until I could lure the stupid beast into my grasp and then kick him where it counts. But the thought of kissing Hank was even more unappealing than the thought of my foot making contact with Hank's 'where it counts.'

"Britt! Britt!" I called for help. Then as if she'd been listening from outside the entire time, Britt sped into the room like "Corvette Barbie." Upon seeing her, Hank reeled away from me as if he were "Adulterous Ken" caught in the act.

"Let's get out of here!" Britt said to me.

I wanted to scream my head off at Hank. Tell him what a slime ball he was. Tell him how I was going to "go to my drawer and look up my local attorney at law and drag his ass into court."\*(Sublime '95)

So I stepped forward, the energy boiling in the pit of my stomach and I... ran like heck. Out of his arms, his office and his store - Britt was out the door with me.

July 11th, 1995
## External links

* Tara
* Michelle
* Carrie