March 10, 2004

Heather laughed as she handed me a blanket and a tube of toothpaste. “You’re a university hobo,” she said when I told her that I’m spending the night on campus to finish up some work before tomorrow’s 8 am emergency board meeting. Thanks to her I won’t be shivering early in the morning when I’ll crash on a bench in the concourse. And my breath will be fresh too.

I met Heather at the Vagina Monologues, and for two hours we laughed, cringed, and allowed ourselves to be seduced by words — the performances were visceral, moving, and obscenely imaginative. And the women onstage put all their love and energy into their words: Alysia talked through her angry vagina and got everyone roaring, while Shirley waved her fists into the air and made the audience chant CUNT! CUNT! CUNT!

I was amazed and laughed. Anthony, who was sitting behind me, tapped my shoulder and said, “You didn’t say cunt.”

“Wait until tomorrow morning,” I replied. I’m particulary offensive when I have to show up to a meeting after a nearly sleepless night.