outer-jessie's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- post-memoriam The one valuable thing that comes from my stat counter: search engine hits. (I know, I'm not obsessed with who visits the page how many times and how long they stay! Who woulda thunk?) I've been hit with "big amazing butt free samples". Question: what was this person looking for, and did they find it on my site? I suspect not. The amusing thing is, I was talking about Marn on the page they found. I've been hit with "jessie preteen". Surely this person could not have found anything with a search as vague as that. But when did I ever talk about preteens? Oh yeah...I was talking about myself. Ah. Someone found me by searching for "gory death". I'm the number one result for that one. Naturally, I was referring to what I'd like to see happen to Netscape, after it ate another one of my entries. Very exciting, but then again, not. I can't believe it's nearly noon. The day is slipping away while I'm not paying attention. I'm always particularly sleepy the day after a weekend, especially following a night with Rob (our bed really really sucks), but today's extra special excuse involves a mouse, 5:30 in the morning, and some plastic bags on the floor by my side of the bed. There might have been, I don't know, one crumb in that bag, from a shopping excursion several weeks ago, but there is no proof. All we can know is that something about that bag was precious enough for some rodent to risk his life for the better part of an hour trying to fetch it. A rodent's work is never done. Other than that, I'd say the weekend was pretty satisfying. Saturday Rob and I watched Ocean's 11 (blah) and...I'm sure there was more to that day but it escapes me now. Sunday we picked up my very sad brother at the airport and brought him back to the Cape, where my grandparents and assorted other relatives were there following my sister's ballet. Sorry I missed it; she was Esmerelda in the Hunchback of Notre Dame, and she was hung and all. We all stayed up late after the other folks had gone home and heard tales of my brother's life in France and looked at his artwork and cooked up the special sausages I had brought from Bread and Circus. Rob and I didn't end up leaving until nearly two in the morning, only being persuaded to leave by the wretched filthy state of my back teeth, and the lack of a spare toothbrush. Oh well. The strangest thing about all that was the assumption that Rob and I would sleep together. Flabbergastion extraordinaire! I assumed my parents would be in denial about such things.
Yesterday didn't shape up to much of anything, but we did make up a nice brunch, with strawberry applesauce pancakes and white wine and cherries, and some fried plantains that were only half burnt and caused me to set things on fire only once. I'm too flippant about my cooking endeavors. I play that I've got things all under control, and then I set stuff on fire. Rob is very kind about these things. I went for a jog later in the day. Oh! I've been jogging three times since I said was going to; not bad for a three-day weekend. I only missed one day. I think it must be kind of hilarious, because I run in my normal clothes and at about 2 miles an hour; I can only hope that I look less like an old granny than I feel, although I don't hold out much hope for that. Still, it makes me feel like I'm doing something good, even if I can only do about a quarter mile at a time. Ok, it might be more like a half mile, but I'm trying to be modest. Ahem. Either way, I suck. After causing a wee scene at the drugstore about the price of contraceptive foam (they had it priced at five dollars less than what they charged me! Is it my fault they tagged it wrong? Yes, apparently, because they refused to sell it for the price advertised), the day ended mostly uneventfully. But it was all very nice, and Rob and I had a good time, I think. I was pleased with it, although I could have stood to get more sleep. Who cares though. I'm experiencing some kind of soul death right now at work, which closely approximates what you humans call 'sleep'. I skipped what happened on Friday after work. I said I was going to go see if that house of my great-great-grandmother's was still there, remember? I picked up Ocean's 11 at Blockbuster (sweating like a moo, no, an oink, if I remember correctly) and started down Pearl Street to where 104 1/2 ought to have been. 100, 102, 104...there was a little sign that said "104" just after the condo numbered 104. It was just before a little crack between the buildings -- just a little alley that you couldn't see down unless you yourself were in it. So I walked down it, and a house revealed itself. It looked pretty old, old enough to have been built before the thirties. Indeed. By that point, I was nearly at the house's front door, so I had to make some kind of commmittment, owing to the fact that there were a couple of girls in the yard. I said to them, "is this your house?" Oui. I asked, "do you know how old it is?" Suave, indeed. The girl who claimed the house went in to fetch her mother, who, as it turns out, knew a pretty good amount about the house. It was built around the 1880's and moved to the location where it sits now. They were still getting the mail (Met Life payments) of one of the neices who used to live there, and had kept a lot of the original floors and doors and stairways from the turn of the century. The woman showed me all around the house, which looked very similar, in some ways, to my parents' house on the Cape, and showed me where the gas stove had been, and the work bench in the cellar, and the doors that were cut specially to fit in the funny corners that dipped steeply at the ceiling. I'm such an idiot for not getting the name of that nice family who lives there now. I'm going to make them a banana bread or something. Gah! How can I have been so rude? They asked my name and everything. I do want to go back though, if they'll let me, and take some pictures. I'm sure my grandmother would like to see where the stove was, and look at all the little details that still remain, like the jars of nails hung from the ceiling in the basement. I called her and told her everything I'd been finding when I got home; she was very excited and I'm sure we'll be hearing more about what she remembers when I see her next. When my cousin Becca returns from Italy, maybe she'll help me do a more comprehensive job of this research business. Bean consumption ensues as we speak. Argh. Beans still hurt my teeth, but it might just be that beans hurt, and I'm blaming it on my teeth. Might as well eat them anyway, what with all the health I'm supposed to be seeking right now. I feel like such a moo. The exercise is helping with that, but I know that two weeks of stagnation will require more than three jogs to be banished. I have my swimming suit with me; I'm going to go back to the pool today. I'm a little bitter about it; doing laps at the Y is a far cry from frolicking on the Mexican coast with a margarita in one hand and a coconut in the other. (sigh) But it'll be another two or three months before Plymouth Bay is warm enough to be comfortable, and how often do I get to the beach up here anyway? Guess I'll just swim myself silly at the Y. God, I am so BORING lately. *shakes self vigorously* 11:34 a.m. - 2002-05-28 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
||||||