Started off the day brilliantly with unexpected call from UMF. Must get caller ID at work. Simply must.

Seems Smart Assed Sibling is in midst of rather serious teen-angst episode and UMF, with all of her Mother of the Year parenting skills seem insufficient to deal with said episode (shocker!). Thus, yours truly was being recruited to fix things. Phoned tired-sounding sibling, but was not feeling inclined to badger or pry. Thus, made no headway. Have stopped answering phone.

Have nearly thrown several temper tantrums at place of employment as well. In venting with GalPal, came to conclusion that will skip unnecessary and annoying conversation altogether and start delivering well-timed (and well-deserved) Piggy Chops. Hiiii-yah!

A: What’s going down?
H: You mean who.
A: Ok, who’s going down?
H: You, if you’re holding another conference report for me to edit.
A: I’m leaving now.
H: Hiiii-yah!

And worst of all predicaments: Am certain to miss out on, So-the-Millionaire-Picked-You-But-You-Still-Lose-’Cause-He-Cheated reality television special as have such poor reception that network television is simply not watchable. Is there no justice?? If cannot escape stress of monkey job, should at least be able to seek solace in watching Helene cry her anorexic little body into a snotty heap on the ABC studio floor. Right?

Evil. Pure evil.

Dear Former Cellular-Phone Provider,

H

Am on line with aforementioned company trying to explain, in v. simple terms, why should not have to pay for service that cancelled over three months ago. Not that cannot pay outstanding balance of $132.47, but is a matter of principle at this point. If faceless voice at other end of line would go that extra special mile and check to see that no activity has been posted to said account since November, then argument would be pointless. Fuckwits.

It’s very big of you to take out all your frustrations on that poor customer service girl.
Well, she’s retarded.
You’re having what amounts to a nervous breakdown, and it’s the cell phone company’s fault?
Exactly. My god, you’re astute.
Yes, I am. And that’s how I know this has nothing to do with $132.47, and everything to do with what J said in the hot tub.
Come on. I always knew that’s how he felt.
But now he actually said it. To a handful of strangers.
It was inevitable, really. Sad, though. That as close as we are, and as good as it can be, it’s not…
Permanent.
Nothing is.
*Ahem* as your Inner Goddess, I’d just like to point out that when we chose roles, MINE was the cynic. Where did this pessimism come from? Besides, it’s not true.
Yeah? Name one thing, besides these extra 10 pounds, that’s going to be with me forever.
Me.
Oh God. Kill me now.

B: Knock, knock
H: Who’s there?
B: Dwayne.
H: Ugh. Dwayne da baftub, you’re dwowning?
B: Dwayne da hot tub so I can see da rack.
H: Ha!

H: How wrapped up in each other’s lives can two people be? We’re an anomaly. We should be studied. Like lab rats.
J: Yeah, but only if they give us the cool psychological drugs to play with.
H: And if they make us run mazes, there can’t be some crazed guy with an axe chasing us. That just wouldn’t be right. (Reference to The Shining)
J: How messed up was that movie?
H: Good stuff. But not nearly as compelling as Bum Fights. That Rufus is the next big reality TV star.
J: “Who Wants to Marry Rufus?”
H: We’re going to hell.
J: You and I? Yeah, I know

One food fight (consisting mainly of melting, semi-sweet chocolate chips), two v. lazy days (consisting mainly of THC-enhanced board games and MTV marathons), three v. drunken nights (consisting mainly of alternating white wine and Smirnoff Ice) and four-hour drive home in blizzardy conditions add up to v. interesting weekend away.

Of the seventy-something hours spent in the v. cold New Hampshire mountains, the most memorable sixty minutes or so were spent trying to put into semi-succinct terms, the oddity that is the H&J relationship to virtual strangers. Was personally a v. difficult thing, sitting among the six un-clothed hot-tubbers, knowing that yours truly was being emotionally disrobed as well. At times, wanted to leap from foamy water and shout, “Yeah, yeah, so we’re really messed up. Look at me, I’m naked!” and put an end to the whole extravaganza.

Though was v. nice to hear J tell sauna strangers that am wonderful, and loves me ever-so-much, was caught off guard by how disturbing it was to hear reference made to this twisted best-friendship existing in five years and impact that will have on future, and separate dating relationships. Was honest enough (and drunk enough) to admit that was going to be v. difficult when either one starts actively dating again. After being badgered by Out-Spoken Stranger, J confessed to having not thought through possibility that yours truly would find someone before he did. Indeed.

OSS: Seriously, you haven’t talked about what it’s going to be like?
J: (turning towards me) Have you actually thought about this?
H: Is it hot in here? I think I need to go back in the house.

Results of said hot-tub expose ranged from dry, irritated skin (due to ridiculous amount of chemicals present in water), to frantic, mid-night bathroom sex (due to ridiculous amount of people present in small mountain cabin), and finally, to realization by yours truly that it is time to move on (due to ridiculous amount of time spent not doing so).

Now accepting applications.

Lasagna baked, for-the-road sandwiches made and house tidied up. Have indeed been possessed by the less-financially astute spirit of Martha Stewart. Or Jodi Foster, as hair is looking so v. Breck Girl-ish today. *flip!* Cannot stop flipping hair as though were either Breck Girl herself, or fifteen year old mall rat, clutching bag of new Steve Maddens, sipping faux-healthy, but ever-so-trendy smoothie and eyeing clerk at the Sun Glass Hut. *flip!*
Those were the days.

Happy love day to all. Am off on non-skiing ski trip. And am wearing simply fabulous new bra, so better get some nookie. Or there will be hell to pay.

There simply must be some reasonable explanation for why am currently having songs from Disney’s Pete’s Dragon replay over and over in an otherwise empty head, and why had dreams featuring J and Paris Hilton last night. And no, have never done acid. Though, after a few more hours of “A dragon, a dragon…” acid (and other substances) will certainly be a consideration.

Tomorrow being mushy, romance-driven day in which yours truly celebrates having never been recipient of flowers or any other romantic gesture, will be passing the day in preparations for long weekend ski trip. Perhaps by pouring love and attention into one giant lasagna, will not feel as though entire existence is a complete waste. Okay, so am not really bitter. But am aware that is much more fashionable in feminist world to despise the holiday. Still, cannot help but love the love day. So what if have never gotten flowers or ultra-cheesy bear-like toy brandishing slimy looking silk heart with “i love you” in scripty white font?

Feather boa be donned and feminism be damned.
This fish needs a bicycle and she likes Valentine’s Day.

Sadly, was in the middle of grocery shopping when realized was missing second-favorite reality program. So-You-Want-To-Be-Humiliated-by-a-British-Prick was on and there was nothing to be done about it.

H: J! We’re missing American Idol!
J: I think I’ll survive. How about you?
H: *gasp* You’re dead to me. (Ignoring strange looks from cashier) I need to get Tivo.
J: That’s expensive. Besides, you don’t even have cable.
H: So?? Fine. Cable first, then Tivo.
J: You’re a nut.

En route to raid local grocery store of entire selection of snack foods (in preparation for ski weekend), was recipient of yet another moment of clarity and sincerity. Was told by J, that as a female, in regards to all-around stability and goodness, yours truly ranks at v. top of the list. Right after his mother. Which, knowing how much this man truly loves his mother, was quite the compliment. Did not know quite what to say, so quietly thanked him.

J: You know I’d do just about anything for you. You know that, right?
H: Yes, I do.
J: Good.

J: Did you get your mail?
H: Um, no, I guess not, since I have no idea what you’re talking about.
J: In your mailbox! You didn’t see something from [insert name of Large Telecom Company here]?
H: I did, but I thought it was a mailer.
J: (laughing)

Upon re-examining large, white envelope from Large Telecom Company, realized that was A) not postmarked and B) not addressed to anyone. With J on the line, opened large white envelope to find color print of new, favorite random celebrity, Terry Tate, Office Linebacker. Print features Mr. Tate reclining in pool floatation device, wearing leopard print swimwear and sipping a fruity cocktail.
Somewhere between volunteering to lug enormous amounts of my laundry to the center-o-fun that is the laundromat, and offering a massage for this weary and v. whiney gal, J threatened that he had a present for yours truly.

H: (in fit of giggles) Is this my present?!
J: Yes. Do you like it?
H: Like it?! I love it. My v. own Terry. He’s going right next to my computer so I can see him while I work.

Spent v. funny evening doing laundry, eating bad-for-self greasy, fast food and watching taunting So-You-Want-to-Marry-A-Guy-Who’s-Not-Really-A-Millionaire. J even did his best to avoid touching any unmentionables and helped to fold…a towel. Yes, just one. But the effort was noted. As was the fact that never did get that massage. Ah well. Are going grocery shopping tonight in preparation for long weekend get-away. Will claim it then.

Have just spent the last 15 minutes in discussion with receptionist on the following theme: While really v. incredibly silly, xXx is indeed worthwhile film and Mr. Vin Diesel v. extremely attractive in a don’t-speak-unless-it’s-scripted kinda way. Just sit there and look v. dangerous, please. Many thanks.

Am having fabulous hair day. Must repeat, fabulous. Even after smooshing it under wooly winter hat, is looking quite amazing. Is a shame to waste such hair being at monkey job all day. Will have to go shopping at lunch so as to expose as much of the general public as possible to these ever-so-luxurious locks.

Countdown begins to long ski weekend away in v. cold mountains. Am not, as have said in past, a skier. So shall be spending entire weekend in front of cozy fireplace not skiing. And am perfectly happy to do so. Will be taking plenty of reading materials and hot chocolate, as well as items of contraband for weekend well-spent.

Ahem. I’m waiting.
Um… thank you.
Yes, indeed. You’re welcome. You don’t even need your Big Book of Whatever the Hell You Were Talking About to see that I was right. That foot of snow outside your front door should be sufficient.
I said thank you. Isn’t that enough?
No.
Well, fine. Thank you that I’m not stuck in stand-still traffic on the freeway in a gross bus. Thank you that I’m not in some gruesome accident. And thank you, that I now get to sit home eating chips and onion dip while my friends are all at that fantastic party and I’ve got no one to play innuendo games with!
You’re welcome.

So v. cold.

Woke up several times last night to find that nose, or arm or other unclothed body part had strayed from warm, down comforter zone and into frigid apartment air. Wanted so v. much to call J and demand a warm bed for the evening. But, as was nearly three in the oh-so-very-cold A.M, refrained from placing such demands. Eyes are v. puffy from lack of sleep. Is not a pretty sight.

Have decided not to go to the BigCity after all, and said decision has silenced Inner Goddess and her nagging (at least on this issue) to satisfaction. Am v. disappointed, but relieved. Wish that there was some Big Book of Answers to Stuff that Nobody Really Knows, in which could look up what would have happened if had indeed gone to BigCity. But, if such book exists, was not available at local bookstores or Amazon.com. Am out of resources.

Am spending this evening doing J’s taxes. As will not be getting heating oil in apartment until morning, plan to wrangle warm bed at his place. Payment for services rendered.

Am in something of a quandary.

Have had plans for some time to venture down to the BigCity for weekend of fun with GalPal and assorted city friends. But as yet, have not bought bus tickets. That, in itself is not so much an issue. Unusual issue at hand happens to be strange, Inner-Goddess-type nagging centered at back of the brain which seems to say, “Don’t do it, woman.”

Now, am not one to listen when given such commands — especially when laden with irritating misogynistic undertones. Have even gone so far as to purchase new, v. adorable dress for BigCity excursion (even more reason to ignore voice). But am also not one to ignore intuition when am unsure of impending consequences. Bother. Am hoping Zen, and Karma, Inner Goddess and other assorted forces of the universe will reconcile this mess so yours truly will know whether or not to purchase stinky bus ticket.

Made dinner last night for J and Concerned Roommate. Am becoming quite the Donna Reid. Though, do suppose that Mrs. Reid would never have left broccoli in the microwave and forgotten about its existence until it was quite cold and somewhat rubbery. Ah, well. Baby steps toward being domestic goddess. At least did not burn anything.

J took self and Concerned Roommate by surprise when jumped to defend his non-girlfriend in a very boyfriendy way. Roommate remarked on lack of grace and coordination possessed by yours truly and how remarkable it is that am indeed, getting on v. well with yoga. J acted as though were an absurd idea.

J: What do you mean? You don’t have any balance?
CR: Do you even know her?!
J: I have never noticed anything like that.

Must not be paying v. close attention. Not unlike yours truly when walking into living room furniture. God damned coffee table.

Did many v. exciting things yesterday evening. Like, changing bed linens and cringing through yet another episode of horrid So-You-Want-to-Marry-a-Guy-Who’s-Not-Really-a-Millionaire reality program. Had to keep leaving the room on invented errands as cannot make self sit still through Ridiculous-Tramp-Number-One “making it easy” for the non-millionaire to get some. And what did that buy the poor fool? Elimination. Take that, Ridiculous-Tramp-Number-One!

As testament to inability to perform basic home maintenance, am once again out of heating oil. Can legitimately blame said lack of warmth on horrid cold spell. Because, really, did not expect to use 150 gallons in sixteen days. At least cold spell has eased and need only resort to wooly socks and sweaters until can afford to refill the tank.

Had email from J first thing, asking to hang out, perhaps just watch some television. Had to inform him that as is Tuesday night, will be required to watch So-You-Want-Simon-to-Make-You-Cry-While-the-World-Watches trashy reality program. Surprisingly, suggested programming was acceptable (though am certain will have to throw in at least two hours of violent/potty humor related entertainment.)

J: I just like spending time with you.
H: (Pinching self) What? Ruby slipper check. Nope. Am in reality. Awwww…

In last few days, have been struck several times by sudden bursts of J sincerity. Have been flattered, amused and baffled. Have even been shocked into silence as result.

J: I really don’t know what in the world I would ever do without you. You have become the closest friend I have ever had.
H: (Shocked silence)

Perhaps J is feeling somewhat panicked that yours truly will follow through with notion (threat?) that if do indeed lose monkey job, will follow aspirations to BigCity. After discussion along those lines, J went into premature withdrawals. Perhaps has not recovered.

J: It makes me sad just thinking that you might leave. I’ll miss the hell out of you if you go.
H: So step it up, you big fuckwit! I hold every possible title in your life except the most important one. Accountant, friend, lover, person who tells you when your clothes don’t go. Does it take leaving to get you to have some big epiphany? I’d miss you, too.

Am having v. difficult time concentrating on anything other than the fact that Slim Fast granola bar that am eating is neither satisfying and delicious (as advertised) nor in any way keeping self from running across busy street to feast on v. satisfying Italian sub. But, as am model of will-power and tower of strength, will continue on with nasty granola bar and ponder concept of the eternal diet. If only could teach self to detach all emotion and affection from food. Ah, if only.

Weekend passed in rather unexciting and uneventful blur of hours spent lounging in front of television or napping with kitten on comfy bed. Had all sorts of plans to accomplish things like cleaning and shopping, but really, some things simply aren’t meant to be. Like Slim Fast granola bars. Ick.

And much like these torturous ten pounds, Valentine’s ski weekend with J is back on. Am actually looking forward to getting away, even though said mini-vacation requires spending long car ride and three solid days with B’s girlfriend who, well, in nicest terms, wishes yours truly dead. Will not matter, am hoping, when chalet fills up and have eight other folks with whom to chat and use as personal hatred-ray deflectors. Have purchased lovely lacey item for possible Valentine’s nookie, the use of which will be contingent on securing one of three private bedrooms at crowded chalet. Early arrival a must. As do not own ski apparel, will probably spend entire vacation indoors participating in such activities as over-eating. And binge drinking. And full-contact Trivial Pursuit.
A girl can hope.

Am something of a renaissance woman, and don’t mind saying so.

In past few days have baked a tasty lasagna, finished taxes, re-worked Js budget (and subsequently confiscated his ATM and credit cards), given a haircut, updated resume and pulled a double yoga session. Oh, and spent a fortune on whole new set of comfy, lounging-around-but-still-looking-hot clothes at the Gap. Must say, am becoming quite the fan of new boy-cut underwear. Not that they will, in any way, take away my love and devotion for the thong, but nice just the same.

Weekend is looking rather dismal. Plans for girls-night-out dancing have fallen through and am facing empty Saturday night. Am also battling disappointment that ski weekend with J is simply not going to happen. Hopefully, as have no solid plans for tonight, and J’s boys-night-out-getting-sloppy-drunk has been cancelled, may be able to finagle some together time. But, then again, maybe not. Is a tricky creature, that J.

Also, headache has lifted, officemate has taken down manilla folder safety barriers, and yours truly has learned the correct spelling of Mr. Vader’s last name. Been a v. productive morning

Day four of sinus headache hell.

Was aware that had become somewhat persnickety as result of never-ending, torturous pain, but clearly had not noticed the extent of my lashings-out until witnessed officemate constructing safety barricade out of manilla folders. Perhaps has reason to fear, as had just finished explaining plan to develop some serious Darth Vader skills and start crushing windpipes from fifty feet.

You should really learn to control your frustration. And take an Advil. Or five.
I did. Not working. And I don’t think you understand, she-who-is-not-real.
That’s a valid point. But really, how wise was it to unleash your wrath on J yesterday?
Like he didn’t have that coming. And more.
He was joking. You nearly tore out his trachea.
So? It was a mean joke. And honestly, how often do I go completely irrational on him? I figure, history considered, he’s been lucky. Same with these office schmucks. I’m sure they’re just blaming it on PMS anyway.
If they saw you scarfing down that lasagna, they’d have no doubts…
Can I put you on hold?
What?
Hold. Don’t speak anymore. I’m going to go get some ice cream. And when I come back, I want you to have gotten frustrated and gone away. Capiche?

Have spent morning suffering from most astounding headache. Worst part is (except for blinding pain behind eyes), that did nothing fun and/or destructive to have warranted such torture. No excessive drinking. No reading in dim lighting. No ridiculous arguments with J. Nada. Am beginning to think is simply day three of sinus torture and am beginning to understand why one would seek doctorly assistance for such maladies. Good God, kill me now.

Received memo regarding status of hostile takeover — a bulleted memo which, after careful reading, should only have contained ONE sentence. “We still don’t know.” Indeed. Lousy indecision. Is worse than sinus headache hell. But only by small margin.

Went to J’s place last night, freshly showered and, if may be so bold, smelling quite nearly edible. Wasted effort. As evening progressed and v. funny friends and roommates turned living room into smokey haze, came out smelling like fun, leafy green substance. And only thing catching attention was skateboarding video game, and only thing being tasted, wonderful pile of salsa-flavored chips and Mrs. Field’s cookies. Wasted effort, indeed. Suffered through three conversations with Inner Goddess regarding other wasted efforts of shaving legs, extra tush-tightening lunges, and thorough moisturizing. Have subsequently sent away for television-advertised Universal Remote Control. Said remote has v. attractive MUTE button feature, and am hoping, if is ‘universal’ as promised, that indeed applies to Inner Goddesses as well as standard Samsung, Sony and Panasonic models.

And if not, was promised that can return purchase for full refund if not fully satisfied.
Only wish that certain evenings came with aforementioned guarantee.

Due to complete engrossment in her glamorous life as a soon-to-be divorcee, have been spared excessive contact with the UMF. That is, until was enjoying peaceful lunch break from eerily quiet, and still indecisive, workplace. Seems UMF is obsessed with being thin and making certain the world knows of her current size-six status.

UMF: I’m going to wear that black dress I bought in Europe. I wore it to a funeral yesterday. It was a nice funeral and I looked great.
H: And that’s what’s important.
UMF: (clearly not sensing sarcasm) Yes, it is. The dress is really loose on me now.
H: Get it tailored. Am not playing your game.
UMF: Or, I could do it, but it fits nice. It was too tight when I bought it.
H: You just said it’s really loose. (In other words, am sensing you patting yourself on the back. And, in passive-aggressive style learned at your knee, refuse to entertain such behavior.) Really, loose is almost as bad as tight, in the flattering department.
UMF: Yeah, but not too loose. Just not form-fitting. Can’t see my panty line any more!
H: Oh dear GOD, the visual.
UMF: I also bought a nice black wool sweater to wear with it. So I wore those with a pearl choker. I was elegant.
H: mmmmm. Am certain the dead guy appreciated your attention to detail.

Almost feels like am watching small child in her Sunday-Best spin in front of mirror, pleading, “Tell me I’m pretty. Tell me I’m a princess!”
Tell me now that I’m divorced, all the men will want me! Sure, I have visible panty line… but I’m hip! I do yoga! Tell me I’m elegant!

Mmm hmm. Elegant and Mother of the Year. How do you do it?

Feel puffy-eyed, head achey and completely exhausted. Must be a sex-hangover.

Am staring through bleary retinal fog wondering where, oh were weekend has gone and just how have ended up at place of employment once again. Oh, yes, and eating York Peppermint Patties for breakfast. In self defense, was a compromise between the Quaker oats and the Hershey’s miniatures. At least are fat free.

Hmmm…as it turns out, is not previously-presumed sex-hangover. Indeed not. Rather, is beastly sinus headache. Have taken medicine and am hoping that improves at least one of two most prevalent symptoms: horrid feeling surrounding eye sockets and uncharacteristically bitchy mood. Perhaps second symptom is not at all sinus related and is partly due to impending hostile takeover decision to be reached by v. stressed-out board members. Or result of realizing that ski weekend extravaganza next month might be no-go, for varied financial and melodramatic reasons. Will not argue with fate if this is her way of saying that am just not meant to strap wooden planks to feet and and hurtle to certain death on snowy mountainside. But still, would like to spend long weekend shacked up in snowy cabin, spending cold days drinking hot chocolate and cold nights…shacking up. Ahem.

Knock, knock.
Who’s there?
Diet.
Ugh. I am NOT playing this with you.
Oh, come on. Humor me. It’ll be fun.
Fine. Diet who?
Mmm hmm. That’s precisely what I was wondering. What diet calls for chocolate chip cookies at 7 AM?
I put the blame entirely on you. And incidentally, which part of this was supposed to be fun?
Me?! I’m your Inner Goddess, not your Inner Glutton.
Who can tell the difference? It’s a very fine line. Besides, it wasn’t gluttonous. Two (or three if you were actually paying attention) cookies have the same amount of calories as my standard bowl of oatmeal AND I did two hours of power yoga yesterday. So, cut me some slack.
Cut your jeans some slack.
That’s it!
I tremble in fear. Listen, can’t we come to some kind of arrangement? It’s not like I enjoy being bitchy. Let’s say you stop over-eating, get us back to, well, at least 10 pounds within our ideal weight range, do something about that hair and I’ll stop harassing you.
Fine.
Deal?
Deal.
Oh, and clean your room.
Don’t push it.

Am aware that should learn to focus within when am feeling stressed, but is much more fun to reach out and touch someone. Spent afternoon engaged in Innuendo Therapy with B, while sending silent hexes to J, though accepting plans with him on Saturday night. Am a glutton for punishment. Am well aware.

B: Tease.
H: Right. I’M a tease.
B: You are!
H: I am not! I’m just playing by the rules.
B: Rules?
H: Yes. Life comes with rules.
B: What rules are you referring to?
H: The rule that states, “You may participate in sexual innuendo, but not the actual act, with members of the opposite sex who A) live with someone you’ve already participated in said activity with and/or B) have girlfriends.” It’s like #7 in the book, I think.
B: Oh… that must be in the Pink Rule Book. The Blue Rule Book just has a bunch of blank pages.
H: (Fit of laughter) How convenient!

Did newly-acquired yoga workout this morning and am feeling quite twisty as well as a bit wobbly. Am determined to whittle down to pre-holiday size, as will be required to wear bikini in hot tub activities during ski weekend extravaganza next month. If do not reach bikini-acceptable weight, will fake sudden allergic reaction to hot water. One thing is fairly certain. Am not exposing current squishy, skim-milk colored flesh at any amount of masculine coaxing.
Unless, of course, can find feather boa which covers problematic thigh area.

Today happens to be glorious Two Year Anniversary at place of employment. Bravo! If fifty-year celebrations are Gold anniversaries, and twenty-five year celebrations are Silver, then am supposing two years to be the Ironic Anniversary. Lovely how such puns can be ever so pathetic, yet somehow still satisfying to the weary mind.

And so horribly frustrating, yet not at all surprising, was J’s this-is-working-too-well 180 degree turn of the day. While discussing some of his not-so-easy-to-take personality quirks and behavioral patterns, J, in true fuck-wit style announces his intentions to straighten out such quirks in his next relationship.

Begging your pardon?

J: Don’t you hate the feeling that you may never find someone who will make you happy? Every girlfriend I have had, has had SOMETHING that made me feel we weren’t compatible. Am I being to judgmental and stubborn? I’m starting to think it’s me.
H: Actually no. I worry more about getting you out of my system, but my bad… we’re talking about you. But, you seem too harder to please than most people.
J: I know I will do things differently with the next person I date.
H: You been tested for Multiple Personality Disorder recently?
J: Hello? You there?

Fuckwit Hall of Fame. And this is no Honorable Mention.

Perhaps incorrectly filled out cosmic survey in which was asked whether would like to participate in study about human stress levels. Or, perhaps simply did not use correct number two pencil. In either case, am fairly certain that would like to retake said survey and be more clear when selecting “None of the above” for areas of life in which would like to be tested.

Without breaking any confidentiality laws, am able to say that place of employment is suffering from sudden malady of hostile takeover and barring any unforeseen charitable act of God, yours truly may likely be out of work in the v. near future. Seems in response to news, have developed (in addition to regular stress responses such as nausea) strange tic in left shoulder. Can see strange pulsing through Gap turtleneck. How v. repulsive.

New stress? Ooooh… thought you said new shoes. Silly me. Would much rather have new pair of shoes than new tic. Wonder if somehow could work that out with the universe for next cosmic survey. Will have plenty of time for surveys, cosmic or otherwise, when lose silly monkey job.

Am going to simply have to borrow sharp, number two pencil as, really, am much more of an ink gal.

Seemingly nonchalant conversation at theater concession counter:

J: I have all these fantasies about what would happen if the band got somewhere. It’s hard not to entertain them, but I try not to.
H: Why?
J: I don’t know. I just don’t want to get my hopes up. You don’t think it’s stupid?
H: God, no! It’s good to keep your hopes up. Gives you something to get out of bed in the morning. If people didn’t have dreams like that, there wouldn’t be much of a reason to try anything. Right?
J: Yeah, that’s true.
H: You have to entertain those fantasies. If you didn’t… I mean, what would be your reason for living?
J: You.

If less is indeed more, then should feel like have had quite sufficient amount of sleep. But as have never agreed with said ideology (except where it pertains to own breast size), am v. conscience of the fact that slept less than 10 hours over last three days.

Friday night, was escorted on legitimate open-my-doors-buy-my-movie-ticket date by J. Shocker. Saw v. strange yet appealing flick and then went back to get silly on green leafy substance with roommate, B to watch yet another movie. For whatever reason (and am going under delightful assumption that J understood yours truly had to get up in wee hours of morning to catch ride to BigCity), was delivered home to sleep in own comfy bed.

BigCity excursion (to celebrate GalPal’s birthday) was whirlwind of fun, as usual. Miraculously, did not drink too much nor participate in any shameful physical contact with undesirable bicycles. Was, as usual dancing fool — and in stilettos such activity is quite a feat. Was also raging flirt (again, shocker). Am certain that danced too close for too long with cute fireman, but am such a sucker for a man in a tight white t-shirt. Had v. hilarious and lovely time with gregarious Wise and Lovely E-pal, as well.

Jaw fell agape when, on drive home from city, received call from J. Wanted to hang out, watch a movie. Happy to oblige. Was, however, angry at cruel, cruel world for having to work this holiday morning, as when became wee hours of morning, was again delivered home to own bed. Is terrible thing to have to leave warm, cozy, entwined situation on couch (after watching frightening flick) with J to face bitter cold with thought that will NOT be participating in Big-Spoon-Little-Spoon activities.

What a waste of newly shaved legs.