outer-jessie's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Marche(accent on the e) Why do I feel like I can't love you enough? It's a good feeling, I promise you. Want to know what else? Someone found my diary by googling for "my flab". I forget that you can't see my stats and that things get erased after a while, so you miss the good stuff like the google hits from "monkeys from space" and "I killed a centipede". I took Rob to Marche(accent on the e) last night. On the way there, I asked him, are you sure you're going to be able to handle this? Getting your own food, walking around with a little passport and picking out what you want? He assured me he was. But you want the truth? He hated it! He so hated it. I said, I asked you if you could handle it, and you said yes! He said he was wrong and then didn't speak again until he had sulkily eaten his bowl of pasta, that he only got because it was what I got. My dining experience was thoroughly ruined. I guess I didn't prepare him enough. I know he gets flustered and shuts down in situations like this. I should have walked him to the table and explained what to do so he could soak it in first. I don't know if that would have helped. Once he thinks he's in over his head, it's really hard to make him change his mind. Until after the fact. And what good is that? So that was sad. Oh well. We had a good night anyway, even though we couldn't get the Playstation set up. Stupid Playstation. Look! I said "stupid" without its being followed by Netscape or UPS! Yay progress! Back to the story, you should have seen the hungry once-refusing-to-eat Rob scavenge the apartment for sweets and cereal. I don't know if the irony dawned on him. I was so full I could have popped, and encouraged much still-staying and about-lying for the sake of my tummy. Then, you should have heard Rob laugh and laugh about Scrubs. Damn that's a funny show. What? No, I'm not still laughing about it. I just thought of a funny joke. Yeah it was a joke from Scrubs, what of it, beyotch? Ha ha ha ha ha. I can see I'm alone here, and that's fine. Let's move on. The weight and heat of the air now is reminding me of last summer, which I am now classily calling My Lesbian Summer. All my friends were lesbians I met from Planet Out, and we all watched Witchblade together, a show whose main character we wish was a lesbian *drooool*. I find myself looking back on it all fondly. I even find myself looking at my home and this city fondly, against my wishes. Yes I still think it's sad that there are so few trees and stars and no horizon, unless you want to call 360 degrees of cinder block walls a horizon. But still, it's been my home for over a year now, and I've adjusted to it, and I know I'll miss it when I go, no matter how lovely is the place I go to. I suspect this is why I've been in no huge rush to move this summer. I am, however, in a huge rush to buy an air conditioner before everyone else empties the shelves. I remember the insufferable heat of last summer perfectly clearly, thank you. Rob has sent me an article about satellites mapping gravity, the darling, but because it is an attachment I fear bad things will happen when I try to decode it with this email program. Bad things, such as the shutting down of my netscapes and the loss of yet another beautiful, or not, diary entry. So I'm calling it quits and then I'm calling it yellow and then I'm smelling a rat and then I'm thinking you're all a bunch of finks, whatever those are. 1:45 p.m. - 2002-04-17 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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