April 13, 2004
So today is not quite so shittacular as yesterday.
(For anyone who's confused, I am NOT pregnant. The test did not let me down in THAT way. Amalah is trying to procreate but her ovaries are total bitches and we hateses them. It's not even about parenthood at this point, it's about winning. Beating my reproductive system at its own little warped game.)
But anyway. I went home last night and opened a $3.99 bottle of Orvieto from Trader Joe's and popped in an Eminem CD and behaved very un-responsible-mother-to-be-like. Except for the part where I finally put about a mountain of laundry away and ironed my suits. But I did it drunk and singing along to some Very Bad Words.
In other news, "pussy" has become my new all-time favorite word.
Also, last night I dreamt that I was playing Billy Crystal's love interest in some When Harry Met Sally / My Giant hybrid-type movie. Which you just cannot make up. I also worked at a Barnes & Noble in the movie. Or maybe in real life. It wasn't a very linear dream. But I always dream that I work at a Barnes & Noble. Do I secretly want to work at a Barnes & Noble? Or do I feel guilty because I, an English major, never toiled at a Barnes & Noble like every other English major hoping to land a tenure-track professorship at some august university? Am I questioning my decision to chuck an academic life of the mind in favor of a corporate paycheck career? Do I actually secretly like My Giant?
This morning, I had to drive to work verrrry slowly. For the slow leaky tire on my car decided to put itself out of its misery and just go totally flat. So I (translation: Jason) put the little donut spare on and drove in at speeds not to exceed 50 MPH. People, I'd forgotten what 50 MPH felt like. It's SLOW! I was shocked. I was barely moving. Little old ladies with walkers move faster than 50 MPH in D.C. Christ.
So I have to get new tires today, but it's fine. Chris and I are meeting for Lunch II: The Lunchening. And I will hit him up for a ride to the tire store. Ha. I would also like to say that my mom loves me very, very much and is very, very frightened that Chris is a psycho killer/sexual deviant, or simply so wonderfully irresistable that I will divorce Jason and become Mrs. RudeCactus. Which I think the current Mrs. RudeCactus would object to. But that's my mom, and she's adorable.
Anyway, Chris just called and he's here for tire duty and lunch. He's so dreamy. Especially when he's holding that crowbar.