I sent my Playboys to be signed by one of the "Girls of the Big 10." I got her P.O. Box, tee-hee! It was my second attempt; the first time I mistakenly added her name to the sending address, and I guess when sending something to a P.O. Box you should leave names out of it. Anyway, this time she e-mailed me (I have her e-mail address too, double tee-hee!!) and said she got it and would send it back shortly.

I still live with my parents. I blame them for turning me onto porn, but I don't want them to know that I read porn and buy Playboy's college issues and hunt for the e-mail addresses and MySpace pages of the girls who get bare-ass naked. But when I decided to go out tonight and watch some college basketball games at Hooters and maybe take a shot at seeing the Wolves game for five bucks (see previous post on how that went), I totally forgot about the package of magazines. This morning, I remembered that today could be the day that the mags come back, and I reminded myself to call my grandmother in the late afternoon and ask her if any big envelope came addressed to me.

I had "work" this afternoon and I didn't want to drive during evening rush on my downtown, so I went to the U.'s student union and proceeded to pass out for about an hour -- just the time when I should've called my grandmother about the package. By the time I awoke, it was 5 o'clock; my parents could've been home by then. Maybe I was being paranoid. After all, today is the only day where I wouldn't be there to get the mail before my parents do. What's the chance it'd come?

Uh, 100%? I came home at 12:30 and I see, on the sill where we keep all the new mail, the self-addressed stamped envelope I sent with the mags. Fuck! Did my parents see? I look around the edge of the package. There is one tear where the flap is. Did they make this tear? What can you see inside it? I jostle the contents of the package to see what's the most they can see through this hole. Answer: Not much. Thank Buddha she threw in a small car show summer festival guide to cover up the front cover (and "Playboy"). I don't think there was enough space to flex out that small guide and flex back all the other contents to see for certain what else was in there, unless my parents really wanted to spend a lot of time flipping the package around and peering through the hole without tearing the damn thing open and completely undermining their son's trust.

I don't think they saw anything. I really hope they just looked at the package without a second thought. But if tomorrow they ask me, "You got a package yesterday. What was it?" I have an answer I prepared for an hour tonight to back up. I'm going to tell them that a hot woman I met online wanted me to send her an old book on astrology, and the package is her sending those books back.

I hope they don't ask me about the package.