outer-jessie's Diaryland Diary

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If at first you don't succeed, strangle Netscape with its own modem and try, try again

Ha ha ha. I wrote in part of my last and very destroyed entry that I was going to skip class. Except that, class is now half over and I didn't even realize I was already missing it. At least, it's now halfway through the amount of time *I* would have stayed. Ha ha. Take THAT, universe.

Oh god, kill me now, I cannot be any more pathetic.

So here's the story that I told at great length and with great animosity in my last entry, before it was totalled in the no-holds-barred struggle I took on with Netscape, the baby-eating monster.

It went like this:

I was preparing a nice night with Rob for about two days before it happened. He was going to pick me up at work, and so I conspired to be wearing an outfit with some degree of sexy to it. At first I considered getting out the sexy boots and the mini skirt, but it would have required my wearing this ensemble for the entire work day. I would have had to put up with the Dep's "whoa, a little over-dressed for data processing today" and the slimy maintenance guy's "well don't you look nice" and the geeky engineering men's awkward scared stares and the older women's looks of disdain and the younger women's giggles of ridicule and just overall much badness. So I opted for something just a little beyond my normal monochromatic t-shirt and jeans, and went with a short little tank top and a tie-in-the-front webby sweater with flares. Not that it much mattered, because Rob was late and wasn't there to pick me up at all. Could have been naked and no difference would have been made, as far as he was concerned.

But no big deal. By the time he got to my place, I had made plans for us to meet my parents and some out-of-town work friends of theirs for dinner in the North End. Which was a lot of fun, and I was in good spirits, thinking I would be getting laid later that night (I hadn't had any action since Saturday, which is long dry spell for us, especially as I was with Rob for Sunday and Monday). I had even been planning to do a little strip tease thing...this had to be planned out in my mind so I would have the nerve to do it. Just a little teasing to increase the sexual tension, have a little fun.

Only...when I did it, Mr. Oblivious made the wrong and very dangerous move of glancing at the tv. Which held his attention for much longer than a stripping girl likes to see. THAT BASTARD. My self-esteem now having plummeted to fifty miles below sea level, I cancel the show, cancel the plans for fornicative frivolity, and climb into the hellhole which is my own anger and hurt feelings. Which is where I stayed for up until about twenty minutes ago, when the anger I felt towards Netscape began to supercede the anger I was feeling toward Mr. Asshole.

Mr. Asshole, mind you, never knows what the hell he's done wrong. Far be it from me to tell him, when I'm awash with feelings of seething bitterness and anguishing self-pity. I was so upset to have him ruin all my detailed plans AND not fuck me AND hurt my feelings, that I couldn't even stand to be in the same bed with him. I would have sent him home, but instead I went outside in my pajamas for a breather, which didn't help, and then spent a while crying in the bathroom, which only served to make me even more angry (being reduced to crying alone in the bathroom is one of the greatest insults to my pride).

THAT FUCKING PRICK. Never ignore a girl who's undressing in a standing position for you. Not ever.

I woke him up this morning and screwed him, but there was no love in it. I just refused to go another day without my supply. He was already all chafed before I started with him. Ass would rather fuck himself than fuck me. Stupid shit.

Anyway, some things I'd like to mention, again, before I submit this entry, again.

If you need a place to stay this summer in lovely enchanting Boston, look no further! This Melissa is looking for a third roommate to sublet a room. For more details, leave her a note at [email protected].

That thing I wrote in my survey about knowing all the words to Pour Some Sugar on Me was a total lie. The only words I know are "pour some sugar on me", and I can attest to that because I heard the song on Easter, and I did not know all the words. I was trying to be all "ooh, look how funny and diverse my music tastes are, look how I still know the music I liked when I was eight," which is utter bullshit. My music tastes are boring and average, let's face it. I was more interesting when I was eight.

Now, a bit of a thing I'm working on for Titou:

You don't know what you do. You hurt. You kill. You wound my mind and body. I am not clay for you to mold. I am not for you, at all. Look at my hand. You cannot hold it for long.

Do I not count? You can't fathom what I am. You don't know what I want. I walk in front of you, at your right hand, or without you, but not in your background. Look with your mind, and find this woman. Look with your body, and I am not around.

No good, but no fifth icon, and no (four and four and four and four and two and a digit)th icon. Ha :) Difficult work.

I feel better than I did before. The way I told the stories in the other attempt at this entry were brimming over with thorns. Maybe the inadvertent erasure was a blessing in disguise. But so help me, if it ever happens again...

10:33 a.m. - 2002-04-04

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