UMF: I just wanted to talk to you about the family brouhaha.
H: (Am not a therapist. Am NOT a therapist) Oh, good lord.
UMF: Yes, well, I don’t think there’s anyone that can say that they haven’t in any way contributed to problems in the family, so I think we just all have to be committed to working together to solve them.
H: (You are certifiably crazy, do you know that?) We? I haven’t even lived there in years.
UMF: I just want to get everyone in a problem-solving mode rather than a finger-pointing mode.
H: (Finger painting? Yes, that sounds much nicer than having this conversation. Oh? What’s that? You said finger POINTING?) Hmmm… well, I have to go now.
UMF: Love you.
H: Mmmhhhhmmm. Bye.

We? Am outraged at sudden inclusion of bitterly unhappy children in sordid, ridiculous mess parents are making of selves. We have problems to work on? WE?? Personally, did not marry man whom I do not love, do not have failing marriage and children who resent me. Am NOT therapist and already ran away from home. Which means, am quite certain, that this family brouhaha has nothing, or less than nothing to do with yours truly. Am selfish, yes. But perhaps is character trait and if so, is not one I intend to mess with.

Not now. Good God, not now.

Fuck
*gasp*
Fuck
The UMF knows all about the NACF’s activities of late. He told her everything.

The shit hath hitteth the fan…eth.

Am not entirely certain that company which employs yours truly intended email use to take on such important fuctions as the following e-conversation. Am also not sure that company which employs yours truly would continue to do so if was aware that the following e-conversation was ONLY thing accomplished by this employee yesterday. Ah,well.

H: Um, I ate too much. Hope you don’t mind if your pal gets really, really fat. Lord, I feel disgusting. Steak, cheese and onion. Extra grease, please.
J: I wouldn’t care if I had to use a fork lift to get you in the car. I’d love you anyway. But wouldn’t that be funny if you really needed a fork lift?
H: Uh, yeah. HI-larious. But…you sure you’re up for learning to work a fork lift? And, um…might have to take out one of your car seats. That cool?
J: I’m up for learning! Anything for you.
H: I’m on the internet looking up forklift operating instructions.
J: HAHAHAHA! you know you drive ‘em backwards!
H: Isn’t that a backhoe? Besides, I don’t need to know that. You’re going to be driving. I’m riding. Remember?
J: Oh yeah. Well, they’re kinda pricey!
H: You sayin’ I’m not worth it?? Does this mean I’ll have to stop binge eating?!
J: Yeah, let’s just pretend it never happened. It would cost way too much to get that big.
H: So, I shouldn’t have had those M&Ms?

As are now Best-Good Friends, and is most certainly a Best-Good Friend-type activity, was invited out to meet Js parents this weekend. Have a v. good sense of just how bizarre above situation is, but at the time, was quite nice. Am no longer in love with J, but with his mother. JMother is absolute most lovely person have ever met.

JM: He can be such a little pain, can’t he? But you gotta love that pain.
H: Yes, you do.
JFather: You make him be good to you. I’m sure he can be tough to date.
H: Well, he was. But we don’t date anymore, so it’s some other girl’s problem, I guess.
JM: (Looking disappointed) Oh, well…
JF: His loss! I don’t know what’s wrong with that boy.
J: (returning from loading Mother gifts into car) You ready?
H: Yeah. It was so wonderful to finally meet you.
JM: (giving enormous hug) Don’t you let him drive too fast!
J: What’s she going to do?
JM: Pry your foot off the accelerator. And you put the top up on your car. She’s going to freeze. Do you need a jacket, honey?
H: No, no. Thank you. I’ll be fine. He’ll put the top up.
JM: Let me get you a jacket…
J: Mom, I have a heater! And I’ll put the top up. Damn!
JM: Don’t talk like that. Now, drive safe.
J: Yes, mommy.

Was something out of charming sitcom. Was v. in love with JFamily.

Am turning into train-wreck of person with all this drama. Am fairly certain will be a made-for-tv movie in no time (Probably starring grown child star from cheesy sitcom). Am also fairly certain will end with yours truly rocking back and forth on porch, surrounded by Reluctant Kittens, talking of the boy who didn’t love her. Will die alone. Perhaps will get Justine Bateman to play grown self, as is in need of work. Indeed.

Am v. mixed-up. Not in pleasant, blended, frozen margarita way, though. Am beginning to think am suffering from contagious J-Skitzophrenia. Was guest at practice of Finally-Complete Band practice last night and met much heard-about band members. Was immediately made one of Finally-Complete-Band family.

GuitarPlayerA: J, she’s hot.
J: Yeah, H is my best-good-friend.
GuitarPlayerB: With bennies?
J: (looking at me) No… no benefits. That’s wrong.
H: Hello? Yeah, hi guys… I’m sitting right here.
GuitarPlayerA: So, if she’s your best-good-friend, she knows about the girl from work and Friday night?

Felt strange, warm fuzzy feeling of Forest-Gump-Pride at being called best-good friend. Then had skitzophrenic moment of heart stopping terror when A. mentioned Mystery Hook-up Girl from Friday night. Do not care, told self. Do not care. But felt Julia-Roberts-Driving-Bread-Truck type panic, all the same. Is v. good thing music was v. v. loud and not v. condusive to moment of despair. Sat with J in car for half hour talking after practice, feeling good Peas & Carrots feeling.

J: Sorry I didn’t tell you about MHG. I didn’t sleep with her or anything…it’s just, she has a boyfriend so…
H: So, you’re the other man? Don’t be the other man, J. It’s tacky.
J: I know. It was a mistake. I just don’t want you to think I’m an asshole.
H: Oh jeez, J. I don’t think you’re an asshole… just makes me feel like a bad friend if you leave things out. Like you can’t talk to me.
J: I’m sorry. But you know, everything I do, I think: “Will H be pissed at me for doing this?” Your opinion matters a lot and I don’t want you to think badly of me.
H: I don’t. I wish I could, but … I don’t, J. Honest.

Went in house, put on warm socks and went to bed. Was happy to note that first thought on waking was not of J. Indeed. First thought was of Reluctant Kitten clawing at new, gauze curtains.
Sigh.
Need breakfast.

J: You are so damn cool. Seriously.
H: You should know.
J: Huh?

(Thank GOD for noisy restaurant)

H: I said, Thanks. You’re pretty great yourself.
J: It’s what I love about you.
H: Kill me now. You’re sweet.
J: The next girlfriend I have will…….

(…as J continues list of qualities that next girlfriend must have in common with yours truly)

H: You using that steak knife? If not, you want to stab it through my heart? Oh, it’s already dirty? Forget it, then.

(Nod, smile, nod.)

J: She’ll definitely have to be cool with sitting around, laughing at (insert name of OUR favorite movie here).
Waitress: Can I get you anything else?
H: A clean steak knife please? Another margarita. Thanks.
J: You’re quiet.
H: I’m drunk. Thank God

Day like today presents four options:

1. Sylvia Plath-like head-in-oven technique
2. Steak knives in mock remebrance of previous night
3. Plain
4. Peanut

Opted for plain and peanut. Figure single-handedly supporting both Weight Watchers and M&M Mars companies reason enough for living.

Standing at convenience store counter, watching young, Sparkly-Eyed Italian fill plastic bags with cheap kitten food (George Harrison has ceased pleas for Science Diet), anit-bacterial house cleaner, half dozen Lean Cuisine and pint of Ben & Jerrys, and came to sudden and horrible realization that, without realizing it, had become… that girl. Blasted pitiful stereotype of feminine singledom! Sparkly Eyed Italian recognized it, too. Could see it between sparkles … that, “girl at counter must be single, talks to cat, keeps neat, tidy cupboards and never cooks; Is in love with two men on cardboard ice cream container and will die alone” look of pity. Felt like standing on counter and making announcement of all non-pathetic qualities possessed by yours truly, returning ice cream to deep freeze and running from store.

Only thing keeping self from thrusting head in oven was declaration of love from Reluctant Kitten who had decided Kitten-Mother was in need of grooming. Was v. v. sweet. See? Am not in love with two men on carboard ice cream container… am in love with Reluctant Kitten. Less pathetic? Harldy.

Fact that forgot to rinse conditioner from hair this morning only adding to desire to crawl into v. comfy bed for remainder of week and watch pathetic, single gal movies. However, am having drinks with J after work, and thus cannot retreat to downy sanctuary. What to do with greasy hair…

Am remembering last attempt at platonic-drink-getting with J (failed horribly at platonic part, am ashamed to say), and Concerned Roommate stepped in:

CR: Don’t go.
H: Don’t go? Why not? To make some sort of statement??
CR: It’s my job to say those things, and your job to ignore me. It’s called friendship. I know you’ll go…
H: It’s true. If you didn’t say that, you’d be a bad friend. And if I didn’t go, I’d be… well, I’d be anyone but… me. Ha!
CR: Yep…it’s a timeless ritual… I bet it started in Greece.

Have been asked to have drinks with J on Wednesday and been invited to hear his Finally-Complete Band on Thursday.

Why?

Perhaps because am now friends with J, and previously-mentioned activities are common for friends? Must be. Takes v. level-headed and in-control type gal to go about these new Friend Activities without recurring episodes of blank staring and intermittent ice-cream binges. At present time, am neither in-control nor level headed, do not think, and thus am beginning to fall into v. bad pattern. Have not lost all sensibilities though, and am certain will recover after intense therapy or afternoon of shopping.

Reluctant Kitten made leap last night, literally, and not only joined yours truly on v. comfy bed (though am not certain kitten hair blends well on white comforter), but fell asleep briefly. Are approaching normal levels of Kitten/Kitten-Mother comfort, am hoping. Also have learned that RKs singing is NOT George Harrison requesting v. expensive wet kitten food, as cheaper brand goes much faster and elicits less singing. Am going back to cheap stuff. Kitten should not be better fed than Kitten-Mother.

Have not worn fleece-lined Mourning Shroud in days, minus brief, after-shower stint. Will be returning Js sweatshirt this weekend. Am making no promises to self on this regard. All in time.

Extraordinary how difficult it was to leave v. comfy, good-karma filled bed after spending many of weekend hours engaged in pursuit of doing absolutely nothing. Is price one pays for such time well-spent, suppose. Is also extraordinary how galpal and self can pass hours in said nothingness and have absolutely fabulous time doing so. Do regret, however, massive amounts of food consumed.

Evening with gal pal and Complete Strangers clearly successful as well and do wish that I lived much closer to the City as would make such wonderful playmates. Is not often a girl meets the Voice of Barbie, or boy so unfortunate as to have not been given a last name, must say. Many interesting conversations, but one of note:

Gal Pal: So, do you write things for Talking Ken, too?
Voice of Barbie: Not really. It’s 99% Barbie.
H: See, that’s because Ken is really not necessary. I mean, most girls have something like one Ken and thirty-five Barbies. Ken’s good for taking Barbie to the ball, driving her around in the Barbie Dream Car and the occasional wedding scenario, but really, Barbie doesn’t need Ken.
GP: Barbie doesn’t need Ken, huh? Interesting…..
VOB: I’m staying out of this…
H: Not fair. I didn’t mean… Ack. I’m just not Barbie. She’s plastic! God. must… drink…more.

Note about boy on bus this morning: Was, in most ways, unremarkable excepting two things: v. nice suit and wonderful dimples. Said dimples seemed to beg, in mid-western corn-fed, down-home bred way, to be taken home and fed fried chicken and potatoes. If run into suited stranger again, will be tempted to do just that. Jell-o for dessert.

Dear Murphy,

Fucked Fish

J came by last night. Wanted to know if sick fish needed anything. Could he feed Reluctant Kitten for me while was away? Do I feel alright? Is hard enough to remain unaffected by J — every look, touch, every word that could have at least thirteen thousand meanings — so, uncharactersitic moment of nonself-involvement was v. v. tricky. Am fairly certain that was able to deflect each offer with substantial amount of grace. Or was it frigidity? Being sick is v. v. undignified to begin with, but was also ill-prepared to defend self against this caring version of J.

Must build up good, strong J callous. Figure will be like breaking in new pair of shoes (since am gluttonous consumer, do this v. often). Will initially be painful and each encounter with this new, reformed J is going to cause few blisters, am sure. But eventually, will build up thicker skin… immunity to J.

J callous.

If were new boots, would simply wear second pair of socks, or preventative band aid. Am finding, however, that are no preventative bandaids for exposed hearts. Am counting on callous to form quite quickly. Is the only way will make it through this: good, strong J callous.

Am feeling v. self-satisfied and quite proud of self for unprecedented display of restraint. Last night, being Wednesday, and night usually set aside for watching favorite movie with J, could not help but be excited when phone rang around 8. Have special ring on cell phone so, if is J, know right away.

J: Hey. What are you up to?
H: Eating very irresponsible and bad-for-me dinner. You?
J. Making spaghetti. Do you want to come over? B’s not home….
H: Hmmm….(many, many thoughts going through head like, ‘Do I accept and play into this sick, sad game like I want to?’) Actually, I think I’m just going to stay in tonight. I’m kind of tired.
J: Oh. Um. Ok. That’s fine. I mean, that’s more than fine. I guess I’m tired, too. I just told you I’d call, so I am.
H: You did? When?
J: I don’t know. Maybe I just thought I did. Well, ok…
H: I’ll let you get back to your spaghetti. Talk to you tomorrow.
J: Sure. I’ll be around.

Went to bed early, and so as not to make too many steps toward healing from fuckwit separation anxiety, slept in Js sweatshirt. Again. Am pathetic. Proud and pathetic. Quite the combination.

***and now, kids***

Have been blessed by the gods and am being sent home from work by Suddenly-Generous Boss. Perhaps SGB cannot stand any more of the sniffling or blind groping for tissue box. But am a bit alarmed by generosity, must say. Will be fired, am certain. Have been told to take day off tomorrow as well. Which is better for me, as have been planning to do so for weeks in order to head down to the City for fun-filled weekend with gal-pal and Complete Strangers. Complete Stranger side of equation has this fish feeling apprehensive. Or could be over-the-counter cold medecine making fluttery sensation in chest cavity. Am inclined to think it is the latter.

Am headed home to climb into bed. What am not sure of is whether will put on warm, fuzzy, fuckwit sweatshirt before doing so. Sigh. Fuckwit.

While making bed last night with brand new, v. soft sheets, was reminded of Sex and the City episode in which highly neurotic red headed character buys v. expensive sheets to improve her bed karma. Idea was, if bed is a place you like to be, others will want to be there as well. Finished making the bed and hoped that had not gone too far, as don’t want to improve bed karma too much. Isn’t a neighborhood event after all. Is it possible to ask karma to specifically only include attractive, single, non-emotional fuckwits in late twenties to early thirties? Perhaps is asking too much of karma.

Perhaps is not even something that this fish needs to be worrying about as even Reluctant Kitten will only get into v. comfy bed when I am not present.
Must not rely too much on bed karma and must stop treating Sex and the City as if is self-help program.

Am having daydreams about minor natural disaster occuring at workplace so will have to go home, put on v. soft yoga pants, make tea, and bond with Reluctant Kitten for remainder of day. Find self staring at fire alarm, willing it to sound off, and being v. disappointed that sadly, possess no Carrie-like telepathic skills. Some things are simply and completely unfair. Not that I want to be doused in blood of smelly barn-yard animal or hurl knives at UMF with mind-power, while wearing silly nightgown. Hardly. But could really use a day off.

Am legitimately starting to feel sick, although, as am certain is result of current office stress, refuse to buckle and abandon ship. Am so v. important and necessary to resolution of major office crises (printer errors, malfunctioning staplers and corrupted fucking files alike)… that must not leave these people to their own devices.

Lunch-date Conversation:

A: Those new boots?
H: Ummm… kinda, I guess.
A: Not a scratch on them.
H: Yes, there is. See? Besides, I just take good care of my things, A.
A: No, I know you. You probably have 30 pairs of shoes in your closet and these look good because you rotate and probably only wear them once in a blue moon.
H: I used to be worse. I probably had 30 pair of black shoes back in the day. This is an improvement.
A: Back when you used to buy your entire identity?
H: Easy! You really think I’m completely baseless, don’t you?
A: Just waiting for you to call me a hypocrite. By the way, is that a new jacket?

Quote from all-time favorite movie running through head, “So you think that’s all I am? Just a ditz with a credit card?”

Will not be having lunch with A anytime soon. He makes this fish feel horrible.

Did laundry together tonight. Like before. J picked me up, we washed, waited, sitting on folding tables, swinging legs back and forth talking about everything like always. Folded together.

J: You don’t mind helping me real quick do you?
H: Of course not.
J: It’s just tshirts and stuff…
H: It’s no mystery…
J: What do you mean?
H: Even if it wasn’t just shirts… It’s no mystery.
J: Oh yeah… well, yeah…
Bought new sheets together. Chose the color for him.
J: I really need a new comforter… it’s coming all unstitched… but you know that.
H:… yeah. I do.

He loves his car. More than life. More than drums. Had been back and forth on names for her for months. Finally, told me he picked one.

J: I decided what to name my car.
H: You did?? FINALLY. What is it?
J: H. After you.
H: …that’s so nice…but I thought you were going to sell her and get something…newer?
J: I decided to keep her.
H: You love that car.
J: I do love that car.

Am strangely ok with this. Though, don’t know why. Has been suggested that only a clean break will set yours truly on right path to future aquisition of new, better bicycle. Somehow, above solution doesn’t feel right and am more inclined to follow instinct and keep bike around for nostalgia and well, is v. comfortable bicycle. And aside from everything, do love J v. v. much. Write this as am eating remainder of pint of Ben and Jerrys. Must not be completely ok. Am scraping bottom of carton.

Slept last night in Js bed. And J… slept on the couch.

Days (Months, if am being honest) of ambiguity and walking some bizarre fine line are over. Over.

Yeah right.

Am trying to convince self that am indeed fine with outcome. Perhaps was silly to think that would feel better after all of Js sincere apologies and praise for my forebearance, but do not feel all that much better. Told him could not stand this back and forth that have grown so accustomed to. J was sorry for confusing me. Said he loves me. And knew right then, actually, think we BOTH knew right then that it was true, but there was no more. No I love you, but… No I love you, so… Just, I love you. J tried more explanations and apologies in his own chemically-enhanced way, but finally, didn’t need them anymore. Is funny that I can feel so much better and still, so much worse. Was so nice to hope that we could un-change whatever changed between us, but is also nice to have permission, from self, to fall in love with someone else. Eventually.

J and I will still be friends in that tricky, sometimes painful way. We will love each other. Only one side will be the You’re-so-good-to-me-I-appreciate-You love and on other side will be the You-Make-Me-Dizzy love. Said dizzy kind of love goes away. At least is what am hoping for.

Remember thinking would cry pathetically and eternally and vow never to love again when finally accepted J was not the one for this Fish. But am feeling neither pathetic, nor possessing energy to weep eternally. Am instead feeling like tracking down Reluctant Kitten for some forced bonding time and eating either A) entire pizza or B)pint of Ben and Jerrys. Perhaps will do both as am feeling have earned it. Will toast to uncertain future. And tragic platonic love.
And sanity. Will toast to my sanity.

Am proud to say Kitten Vocalization Lessons seem to be paying off. Though, have yet to get Reluctant Kitten to answer any important questions (such as: “Where is kitten-mommy’s eyelash curler?” and “Must I employ bribes to make you love me?”), have witnessed the amazing: Reluctant Kitten sings. Indeed. At first thought something was dreadfully wrong when heard meow-like sounds from under bed. RK has never done more than purr. Thought that I had, after last military tactic of grab-unsuspecting-kitten-and-snuggle, broken kitten. Not so. Discovered, after changing music on stereo, that RK was simply taking first step towards becoming Reluctant Kitten Diva. Expect that soon will lose “Reluctant” part of title altogether and yours truly will be proud owner of Kitten Diva, singing cat. At least one of us will be famous. Is partial to Beetles music and her favorite track, “Help!” Was beginning to suspect Reluctant Kitten of sending SOS to outside world. “Help! Kitten-Mother is tragic, pathetic being.” But, E-pal, D, suggests otherwise.

D: Maybe George Harrison is actually trapped in her body and is sending you a message.
H: George Harrison wants more Science Diet wet food?!

Hmmm. Not certain, but beats alternative theory of unsatisfied Kitten on way to stardom. Will pick up more Science Diet on way home from work. Would feel badly having unhappy Mr. Harrsion crying from under bed.

Spent most of evening unpacking, drinking hot tea and talking to Reluctant Kitten. Something quite wrong with that, must say. Was v. glad when roommate and funny gal pal came home with sweets and movies. Frozen yogurt was chocolate-laden and the movie, v. v. sad.

Quite nearly perfect evening, minus discovering self talking to kitten as though were able to respond. Have found is huge a waste of time asking Reluctant Kitten questions. Either RK assumes questions are rhetorical and thus does not answer, is ignoring yours truly, or has not reached necessary stage of development for language skills. Am guessing is last option, as RK is still quite young. Will consult newest kitten-mothering books available on said topic.

Second problem with new living situation is v. lovely roommate will be taking multi-week cross-country trip and will be sorely missed. Who will tell me not to call J, pour me far too much wine and get v. silly with me in gal pal’s absence? Have already established that RK is not up to task. Must post ad for Un-Roommate. Is the only solution.

Am suddenly remembering phenomenon of Un-Birthdays from elementary school years. If (like yours truly) a child was unfortunate enough to be born in summer time and so did not, in course of school year, get to have cupcake birthday celebration on your ever-so-special day, there was an Un-Birthday assigned. It’s not your birthday, but you celebrate anyway.

Point of above sweet, yet random trip down memory lane? This fish has had just too many Un-Boyfriends. What is an Un-Boyfriend, you ask? He’s not your boyfriend, but you well… celebrate anyway. Though am not saying Un-Substitutes (Birthdays and Boyfriends) are entirely a negative thing, perhaps am simply reaching point where substitutes are not cutting it. Really do love the cupcakes and all, but would really like to have a real, it’s-my-actual-birthday party with cake, candles, streamers and maybe some fireworks.

Indeed, god damn it.

Would really like some fireworks.

Hurrah! Now have wallet back in possession and am quite annoyed to note that was found ON very airplane I suggested Unhelpful Airport Employees search that night. And what’s more, there was no money inside. Ok, so did not have any in there before, either. But would have been nice to find some.

Spent evening with J. Yes, yes, am quite aware that promised would not have dinner with him as he had requested. BUT did not have dinner as “dinner” turned into simply hanging out. Which then turned into yours truly falling asleep on comfy leather couches. J said was absolutely necessary to come hang out, as Fish was greatly missed by Roommate and his Thin Blonde Girlfriend.

H: Oh, THEY missed me, did they?
J: Yeah, kept asking when H was coming home because they wanted to play.
H: Hmmm.

Was one of those strange evenings where J found every small reason to touch me and kept looking at Fish v. strangely. Did not play silly J game. For once. Am v. proud of self for exercising such self-restraint. Especially with Roommate and TBG NOT excercising restraint and being quite cute. Damn them.

TTB: When you come over next, you’ll have to bring pictures!
H: Will do. Good night, guys.
R: Welcome home… I’m glad you’re back.
H: (with sidelong glance at J) Thanks. Good to know someone is.
J: (oblivious) …

Sigh. Would be fine except had lovely Everything-is-Perfect dream about J afterwards and woke up v. disappointed. Must stop having dreams. Most recent one about marriage to MacDonald’s Hamburglar was most distressing.

One (1) Passport, two (2) packs chewing gum (of minty variety), three (3) new CDs, and four (4) Tylenol PM in spiffy, brand-new day bag and am off on Forget About Debilitated Fuck-Wit Holiday.

Co-workers seem eager to get rid of me. Has mood been THAT foul?

Next irrational thoughts to be posted from foreign land.
Excitement!

Have received “please forgive me” email from J in response to “you’ve hurt me just one too many times” message sent to him this morning. Don’t quite know how to respond. Inclination is to leave on holiday and let J stew in self-made sorry sauce.

Have received second “do you hate me” email from J. Am certain will break down and respond by end of day, at which point J may have had enough stewing. Who knows. At any rate, have had strange heart palpitations all day, clearly result of current mini-trauma. Miss v. much being mutually in crazy state of adoration with J and having hard time adjusting to newest phase of being.

Feeling like jello left out in warm room. Can’t quite hold the shape was molded to…am beginning to wobble. Oozing stage is next.

Was supposed to spend last evening in town with J. Even after horrible email that left off in yours truly writing “screw you, phone boy” (J is in telecommunications business) he was expected to show up to, in the v. least, say goodbye.

Got SMASHING drunk (among other things) in anticipation of awkward meeting. But in reality, got smashing drunk (and other things) for nothing. Well, not for nothing…for brief phone call at 11 from J saying practice had run late (is also musician) and felt simply horrible that wouldn’t see me before long holiday. Was too unsober to say anymore than “fine,” hang up, and subsequently turn off cell phone for night. Am expecting apologetic email any moment, to which will send scathing reply. Am v. tired of mattering so little. If J had wanted to see me, 11 would not be too late to do so. Am no fool.

Am huge, pathetic, destined-to-be bitter old maid fool, if must be completely honest with self. Am so angry that angry isn’t even good enough word to use. And am sad.

Do not react well to sympathy, have noticed. Am fine under most horrid situations until some kind soul (friend, roommate, stranger on internet log) expresses they are sorry for me. Then, feel have permission from entire free-world to feel weak and forget being forbearing, and ultimately and inevitably spend next half hour or so in hot shower crying.

Had good cry last night. As well as several v. large, v. strong margaritas made by wonderful gal pal. Am feeling better, but finding self doing lot of sighing.

Sigh.

Am dizzy. Head is spinning.

Received email from J asking if would be alright to talk about something. Thought, as heart did several cardio-kickboxing leaps “God, if is bad talk, am headed for oven.” Wrote, “Of course. You can tell me anything.”

ANYTHING BUT THIS.

J has been seeing someone at work. Is nothing, really, he says. And of course made certain to reiterate fact that has no plans of ending single status with any girl (am included in such category) any time soon. Told J he was dizzying. Good, he says. Likes to be a little hard to figure out. Bugger off! Little hard to figure out? Can see right through you, you debilitated fuckwit!

Is v. difficult being in love with debilitated fuckwit. V. v. difficult.
Is perfect time for holiday.

And shopping.

Am beginning to think horrible public transportation has perks.

At stop after mine, four people got aboard damp bus. Nervous Mother Type shaking umbrella, with two hastily-groomed but adorable daughters. And Beautiful Bus Boy. A new face. Or perhaps mine was new, as was late for work and took different bus. At any rate…was lovely face whether new or not. There being an empty seat to left, and one to right, Hastily Groomed but Adorable Girls sat on either side. The younger clearly not comfortable seated next to strange girl with sensible shoes. Took off headphones (normally against policy to remove barrier, as do not like to be spoken to on public transportation–unless will result in Sliding Doors-like encounter with charming Scotsman) and asked if young one would like to trade seats. Happily, we swapped. BBB had taken seat somewhere near back, but did not look as did not want to appear as though actually had appreciated BBBs beauty. Am not gawker.

At very next stop, older couple got on. Offered up seat to grateful grandmother figure and made way to back, where, only empty seat (ok, not ONLY, but best!) was next to Beautiful Bus Boy. Tried not to stare as inhaled his lovely hot boy smell. YUM.

BBB: You gave up your seat twice. That was nice of you.
H: I’m a nice girl. I’ll remember to thank my mother.
BBB: blah blah blah something flirty blah blah
H: Laugh, laugh, please don’t notice shoes, laugh, laugh

Conversation continues in above manner for some time. Was delighted to be so brazenly flirting with strange new face at such early hour of morning. Then,

BBB: Could I call you sometime?
H: No. (is instinctual, perfunctory response, immediately regretted)
BBB: Ok… well…
H: Why don’t you give me your number, instead? (Brilliant!)

Thus, new hot fellow’s phone number stored carefully in cell phone, trotted off in sensible shoes. Day has NOT gone downhill since, so am now scampering off to lunch to postpone and work-related landslides.

Received v. threatening “will kill your pet” letter from cell-phone friends today, saying were going to cut off service. As always pay bills on time and never forget anything (in perfect world), panicked and called as soon as arrived at work. As it turns out, was no problem after all: had received bill payment early (thank me v. much, Ms. H), but would like to verify new mailing address. Is tragic when one must send Mobsters and death threats (or cellular service suspension notice) for something as simple as change of address. Bastards. Am not fond of starting my morning in Rumplestiltskin (guess my name or I get your kid) kind of way.

Reluctant Kitten took her breakfast in kitchen this morning. Triumph! Fuzzy Energy Source followed yours truly into kitchen (first mistake) and waited while food dish was filled (second mistake). From now on, Reluctant Kitten will be dining in kitchen and not in safety of bedroom. Hiding time over. Not one to threaten small animals with starvation, am using cue that RK is now brave enough to be lured out for such things. Next big move is kitty litter box. Am not thrilled having it so near to sleeping area, as it is.

Am spending evening before holiday departure with J. Have promised to bring left-over party booze on condition that J provides previously-discussed lampshade (which per prior email-flirting, will amuse J and wear — not as accessory, but as entire outfit). Should be interesting night. Will threaten to put entire self in oven (not just head this time) if does not turn out well. Enough dilly-dallying.