November 14, 1992

Didn’t do much. Baked muffins. Cleaned the stove. Went into Swan with Corinne and Twyla in the evening. Went to the bar in the Westwood and a couple of parties.

Pretty ordinary and boring Saturday for a sixteen year old. I baked often, it was something to do, especially on boring winter days. And I enjoyed cleaning those older style coily-type of burners on Mom’s electric stove. I did it just to make her happy and so she’d have one less thing to do. But I actually really reveled in scrubbing off those spilled over, hardened messes that took all the elbow grease I could muster.

I liked how it looked so brand new after.

The night out on the town with my older sister Corinne and her friend Twyla in Corinne’s little S-15 truck only stands out to me because this was the night we decided that I should try to sneak into the bar.

I was up for it. I was always pretty much up for anything.

So the three of us sauntered on in like we knew what we were doing. This was in the days before security was at the door, demanding you show your ID.

The first person I bumped into was the pastor from our church. I can’t remember his name, nice guy though. He decided he should get us drinks.

Just then an employee approached me and asked to see my ID. Dammit.

It was up for me. So the three of us left.

The next time I went back there was the night of my eighteenth birthday.