outer-jessie's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- in which, Jessie has a weekend Hallo. I had all these dumb and pointless things to tell you, like how I sliced my thumb on my razor, and how I don't know how to find my own house from downtown Boston, but let's pretend I'm not a lame ass butthead sans exciting life-affirming adventures, eh what? I did do some things this weekend. One of my friends from highschool came up and had dinner with me at the Prudential building. It was one of those things where you call and get no answer, you wait an hour and a half, decide to give up and take a nap, then realize you actually WANT to spend time with this person, give her another chance, call her and reach her and make plans to be at a snazzy restaurant at 8, get there and wait for 45 minutes half expecting and half not expecting her to ever show up, then she arrives and you try not to look accusatory, then you realize that she, like you would have, got her directions from yahoo maps and got lost, then you eat a large delicious dinner you weren't hungry for and a yummy crepe you've wanted for months and you talk and laugh and get depressed about the way everyone but you is wading in the shit pool, then you magically get your parking validated and walk away with two huge bright yellow punching balloons. Maybe there isn't a pre-existing category for such events. My mistake. When I was on the T on my way home (I was going to insist she take me home as retribution for being 45 minutes late, but as previously mentioned, I did not know how to get us there) some drunken oaf asked me if he could see my balloon. He hit himself on the head with it, trying to make it stick, looked at it with disgust, and asked if I had anything better. "No, that's all I got," I replied. Sadly, I do not normally come equipped with toys to amuse drunk guys. At least, not toys I'm willing to share. On Saturday...nothing happened. Rob and I watched tv, had sex, went food shopping / sample sampling, had sex, and parted. Wait, did we have a fight? I can't remember, it doesn't matter. Sunday was similar, except we slept till 2, thus thoroughly and happily occupying most of the day. Then I made the pumpkin soup and we watched Truly, Madly, Deeply, on (oh thank goodness!) my sneak peek of We, Women's Entertainment. Terrible, awful, no good, very bad idea. Do not watch a sensitive beautiful movie involving death and losing loved ones with your clueless and hopelessly confused boyfriend. Just don't. Because then you want to cry, but not cry in front of him, and not cry at all, and please don't let him see me crying, please stop with the tears and the shaking and the piteousness...and he wants to know if the guy was a ghost and was he really there and was it all in his head and what does the ending mean and do you get it and did I like this movie? And then you get a patronizing "awwww" when he sees your tears and you run away to the bathroom in anger and frustration and try to wash away the fact that you're crying. Well, the soup was good. After Rob was gone I went to meet Elizabeth at the T station, fetch some falafel, and regroup at my place for a few hours of classic couch potatism. We watched and made fun of the end of Andromeda, watched and laughed at the full Fox Sunday night line-up, and had to settle for an hour of The Mummy before Home Movies came on. We sent many many M&Ms to their digestive doom during this escapade. It was a bad night for Ms. I reasoned that since I'd been asleep until 2 pm, I could manage to stay awake for Rob's return at midnight. So I showered and set myself up with some pumpkin soup and sat in wait, with Brak, Space Ghost and the crew of Sealab for company. And that was the proverbial that for the weekend, unless you'd like to include the thwarted attempt at fornication shortly thereafter. This time it was my fault, or my halt, because the coy and teasing fantasy going on in my head was not matching the direct and straight-forward foreplay going on in my bed. When I realized it wasn't going to happen, I called the whole thing off. No hard feelings, I hope? My friend's brother is playing at a concert in my neighborhood on Wednesday night, but I cannot go alone. Cannot, will not, whatever. I put myself at risk of stranger danger often enough without going off to a show at 11:30 at night alone. So unless one of you fine people cares to join me, and then actually DOES join me, I'm backing down from my promise. I take it all back! I didn't mean it! I am NOT willing to be mauled by half-witted criminals so I can see my friend's brother perform! In other exciting news, Astrocamp has been in contact. We're having some trouble coming up with a time that the director and I are both free to talk on the phone, but we'll figure it out. I have high confidence in this endeavor. Unless they really truly don't like hiring people mid-year. Then I'm in trouble. Surmountable trouble, of course! Happy Patriots Day, all. If you didn't realize today was Patriots Day, join the club. *I* don't get it off. Does anyone? Lovely day for a marathon, though. Hm, which reminds me, isn't my mother in Boston today, handing out little cups of water? Did I just imagine that? I should call my father and find out if she's in town. Actually, my father and sister might be in town too, checking out Emerson. Was that today? God, I'm so hot, the damned heater is on behind me. No one else gives a shit because no one else sits so close to the wretched thing, but it's fucking hot and I'm going to have, at LEAST, a psychotic episode if they don't turn the heat off before July. It's supposed to be 80 degrees here tomorrow, for god's sake. For anyone's sake! For MY sake! Hm, my conversion for 80 degrees to Celsius comes out to about 2 degrees, which seems ridiculously high. But it's not! Just the damn temperature is! Ok, ok, I'm settling down. For my last trick, yet another mouse-capade. I'm sitting at the computer, having a lovely conversation with my far-away aunt, when two tiny eyes, ears, and a nose poke out from behind my new sandals. I yell, "GO AWAY!", or something to that effect. Sentiment acknowledged; tiny mouse runs for the hills. Fast forward an hour or two. I'm sitting on my bed, minding my own business, because there's really nothing else to mind. The tiny mouse, some descendant of the once-singular Queerio, CLIMBS THE WALL and jumps into a plastic bag of candy I have hanigng from the front doorknob. I have no idea how it was accomplished, I just know what I saw. I scream and yell about it, partly because I now realize this is not the first time that's happened, albeit never before my very eyes, and I EAT the candy that's in that bag! The mouse freezes in place with his little face pressed against the plastic, and doesn't move for the better part of ten minutes. I think it's had a tiny rodent heart attack and died. I call Rob to tell my tale of woe, Rob is unsympathetic and tells me to go dump the bag outside after putting me on hold several times. Before I hang up, he says, "He better not be in there when *I* get back, because *I'm* taking it outside." "Oookay," I say, acknowledging his ridiculous threat and, I hope, revealing how ridiculous it was. Yes, so much is conveyed in one syllable from the all-mighty Jessie. Anyway, but no. The mouse has not perished, it's just playing dead. Which leads me to fears that we may have buried our first guinea pig alive, some 13 years ago, but that's another story. The mouse persists in nibbling at my sweets while I half-heartedly throw shoes at it and try to make it flee, then sometime after he's had his fill, and I've stopped paying my whole attention, he escapes the same magical way he came. I take the bag of candy outside and mourn the loss of my peanut M&Ms. Again, not a good day for Ms. To clarify, these were different Ms from the ones I shared with Elizabeth. The ones she and I ate were in a cabinet, untainted. I think! It just occurs to me that prior to their life in the cabinet, they lived a possibly very sordid life in the bag with the other candy. Oh help. Mice are very clean animals. They carry no mites or disease and even their little mouse poop is rich in, um, vitamin D, and zinc. In fact, their very presence is the universe's blessing upon the home. They bring joy and good luck to those whom they infest. Shut up, you guys. 12:04 p.m. - 2002-04-15 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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