2001-06-14 - 3:41 p.m.
More Fake Diaries
And now I'm sick. Because it's just not summer without a raging cold. Wait, what?
The party is still off, unless someone else wants to save my sorry ass. Thanks to Andrew's fabulous work, I've made HappyHour a public diary - you can post to it using this link. Perhaps someone can save that from the oblivion of sheer lamitude as well.
(I would have written about how odd and disturbing the whole Kaycee hoax thing was, but right now, I think the order of things is more on the level of tea and aspirin. Go read it yourself, if you have a few hours to kill with some seriously fascinating sociology.)
there is nothing more disheartening than waking up on a sunday morning feeling great...than realizing it is in fact monday and you are late for work.
Sleep and I have become friends again and had the pre-requisite make up sex to resolve our problems.
Mr. Comfortable and I had our good times but he made a fatal error one day when I drove up for a visit and found him waiting for me on the couch in a grungy pair of boxers and a t-shirt and he later sighed contentedly and commented that he really liked how our relationship had entered that "comfortable" stage where we no longer had to try and impress each other. (Houston, we have a moron.)
Trust me, if you used a percussive massager for that kind of a purpose the results would be painful at best. It's just too much fire power for that use. At worst, certain body parts cherished by girlies everywhere might get caught, detatch and fly across the room at great velocity.
even if i fail miserably, even if i get a 1 [completely and utterly possible] my friends and family will still love me, i'll still have pomona and freaking cool hair [note to self: need cut and touch up of color], and i'll still have diaryland [second note to self: i am a tad codependent. and mythical andrew of diaryland--you my son, are an enabler].
All of my children look like everyone else but me – like my egg was Switzerland or something.