kiwifruit's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- toilet paper is more important than shoes I was going to go in to gory detail about Ann Taylor, but now I am bored of the story. Suffice to say, Christy looked gorgeous, we all had a good cry and Saturday night was way too much fun. I met a YOUNG football player who I could not resist - could be the fact that he was 6'5" or the washboard abs......but nothing happened. I gave him my biz card and now he is emailing me. Gak. Decided this was a very bad idea when I saw his email address - touchdown (some #) @aol. No. Cute only goes so far........ See? I am learning some things with age. He did do a good Irish jig though and he was funny (oh and did I mention cute?) but I am not going to go that route. I felt guilty for even giving him my #. Hmmmm.....? What could this mean? Am I flirting with the idea of exclusivity here? It was nice to get back to the city Sunday night and see the copywriter walking towards me on the street. He looked cuter than I remembered. Could it be that absence really does make the heart grow fonder? Oh right, here is where I get horrified and pull some ass out move that is unforgivable. I will try to avoid doing this. Last night I worked late, went home and went to bed. I am horrified by the state of filth that I am living in. My sheets - well, we won't even go there. Suffice to say that they are unsanitary (at best). I have not been home for more than two hours (other than to sleep) in around a month. Something must be done before it is too late and I become used to such disgusting squalor. I promise myself that this weekend I will do something to fix this situation. Is it Friday yet? Oh god, not even close. I am going to have to start recycling underwear here soon. The dry cleaner is going to love me when I show up with a truck load of clothes. And I believe that somewhere underneath the piles of makeup, receipts, dirty underwear, old coffeecups, etcetera is a dresser. It is bad. I am NOT exaggerating. It is 4:30 now. I have just stopped running around long enough to breath a sigh of relief. The weekend after next is a FOUR day weekend ........ ah hell, the underwear can wait until then. I must buy toilet paper and deodorant before then though. I am rubbed a bit - uh - "raw" from the paper towels. Tomorrow is the day that I have the big "talk" with my boss-man. From there on out my life will be so much easier, or at least I envision it to be so. Thursday night I have a hot date at my favorite little Italian Mafia restaurant with Copywriter (celebrating our one month anniversary). Gak. I kid you not. Will have to scrape a cute outfit out from amidst the piles of rubble on my floor. Saturday it is dinner with the girls. Celebrating Ms. Nick's triumphant giving of notice at the Publishing house of Pain. A special pain that we can all appreciate our friendship having stemmed from many smoke breaks huddled outside of __ Madison Avenue at said Publishing House ready to hurl ourselves in to oncoming traffic. Now she will soon be a big fancy schmantz artiste who barely has time for us. We will of course try to pilfer a painting from her first so we can console ourselves by selling it at a huge profit. 14:13:41 - 2000-05-16 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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