outer-jessie's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Happy 200th! Burn in hell, muthas. Well I could have written this entry yesterday, but there's oh so much you would have missed if I did. It's my two hundredth entry though. Be glad of that. Guess who came back from the dead or the other side of the earth or whatever and called me two days ago? Guess, just guess! If you guessed my photographer who hasn't called me in infinity, you are going to jail! Because it's a crime how right you are! *cue four-part chorus singing Ode to Joy* Talk about a load off my mind. Not that new loads haven't come to take its place, mind you, but we just have to take it one load at a time, and now it's one down, 80 bajillion to go. Sweet. And, the bridal shop did grant me permission to utilize their vast collective genius on Thursday, so that's where I'm going tonight with my sister and cousin. I don't know for sure if we'll find anything I really like...in fact, I'm feeling pretty sure we won't. But again, one load a la vez. More news of goodness: free underwear for me. Fae knows what I'm talking about. I got my sister a gift certificate for her birthday (which was five months ago *cough*) and got a free pair of my favorite underwear for myself. Sure I spend too much money at Victoria's Secret, but you can't say no to a pair of bright salmon-pink undies. And of course, despite having no money to spend, but being at the mall already, I figure, hey, I have two more store-specific credit cards...I could buy more over-priced stuff I don't need! Which I fully intended to do, except Filene's is two full stores worth of utter crap, and Old Navy is no longer worth my buck, and that's all I had. Phooey. Disgraced and dejected, I seriously considered digging out my quarters and dimes (the only cash I have on hand at this point) and buying myself a consolation pretzel. But no, I says, says I, those quarters could go to better use on the train tomorrow when you head to the bridal shop. So being strong, I left the mall through Sears (more utter crap, I tell you). Now, if you were anywhere near daylight yesterday, you know that the weather was provocative -- provocative of rage and riots, that is. And I'll be godDAMNED if there weren't a thousand zillion slow-moving pedestrians fully stopped between me and the beeline to the T stop I'd mapped out with pathetic hopefulness. I'm sweaty, about as good-natured as the surface of Io (shut up, you guys), and shoving people out of my way with the force of my evil eye. "God, why are you so OLD? Get away from me! Jesus, you're ugly, why aren't you moving? You stupid twit, can't you see I'm in a hurry? You, with the sister or the mother or the dog or whatever, take it by the leash and walk it away from my presence! Just move it, people, just get the frig out of my way or you'll live to regret it, mark my everlasting words." And when I get to the train, I realize that I'm no longer in possession of my gift certificate and free underwear. Sweet maniacal devil idolatry, you people are all going to hell. Flames sweep over the bodies of the people I imagine have stolen my precious pink-striped Victoria's Secret bag, with its expensive gift certificate and cornea-melting bright orange undies. I almost pull over a girl with two pink-striped bags and pummel her with my sweaty fists until she confesses, but nay, her bags aren't the right size. I listen to two ninnies drawling on (and they walked as fast as they talked) about some shit going on in their pointless badly-dressed lives as I torture them mentally on the way up the escalator. I almost took out a whiny seven-year-old ("please Mom, can we go now? Please. Just downstairs. Come on, Mom, please can we go now? Please, Mom?" ad nauseum) in my not-at-all-contained ire, before I arrive back at the Old Navy...where my bag is sitting on the counter, where I left it, because I'm the BIGGEST, STUPIDEST, DUMB ASSIEST MORON YOU EVER HOPE TO MEET. At this point, I decided I fully deserved a pretzel. Actually, I think I fully deserved a cinnamon-sugar pretzel, but my dimes and quarters would only spring for a plain one. Boo hiss. I have no idea now what made me think I deserved anything less than being hand-cuffed to a giant ugly foot for the rest of my days after that emotional rampage I went on, but Jessie works in mysterious ways. We can't hope to understand now her plans from yesterday. Maybe when we die. But don't count on it. I have more good news, possibly, but I'll leave it to two months from now when I'm sure. No I'm not pregnant, you accursed animals. 1:31 p.m. - 2002-08-01 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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