kiwifruit's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Gimme' Shelter Friday! Friday! Oh blissful day. And all of us at the dotcomedy are so beside ourselves with excitement cuz we get to leave �early� which is really 6pm and is not really early at all but hey � I�ll take it. I�ll take it and smile like a thankful dotcomedy peon/slave on my way out the door. Ah yes, but all that is almost over as I prepare to enter the lovely, glamorous world of unemployment shortly (June 15th to be exact). And yes, I am doing this voluntarily (because let�s face it, the dotcomedy aint too funny). Voluntarily, when the job market is about as robust as a dried out shard of bug corpse you find on your windowsill (as in not so very, very � ya dig?). But any-hoo, some things you just gotta do to maintain sanity (or at least some semblance of it). So done deal, though I may still freelance a bit at dotcomedy just to keep myself in the fashion to which I�m accustomed (i.e. piss poor). But none of this matters, it�s going to be the first sunny weekend on shelter island after two blissful yet cloudy weekends. Ah joy! I cannot wait to be in the car snogging the Italian as we drive out of the city. I plan on being a beach bunny all weekend, which means (horrors!) bikini time, But tis� okay I hit the gym hard this week. Now please realize I am not under the illusion that hitting the gym �hard� or otherwise is going to transform me into Gisele, but at least I can feel at peace with myself. This morning I shaved every inch of my body that�s fit to be shaved. I want to give three cheers to the Venus razor. Not to bore anyone who has never had the pleasure of shaving their upper legs (especially when you have freakishly long ones like myself), but this Venus do-hickey has made it much less vexing. Really, trust me, this thing is a Godsend. The Italian (C.) and I had a rough go of it last night. Why? Well, mainly cuz I�ve got a tiny issue with trust. Tiny I say! Okay, okay � ridiculously huge. I can�t help it. I could write a novel about my insecurities and still have more left for a Bridget Jones-esque sequel. There is nothing I loathe more than admitting this. I mean, I am such a big fan of spouting feminist independence diatribes and I can sing along to every Ani DiFranco song know to man. Yet � when you get right down to the truth of it, I have this nasty little habit of becoming just a bit too involved in my relationships (just ask my lovely roomie D. who is barely speaking to me at present moment). The thing is, I believe ignorance truly must be bliss, because while I do this, I�m aware that I�m doing it and that just makes me even more hateful. Don�t get me wrong, C. is not free of blame, he is by no means perfect. But in the grand scheme of things he�s pretty exceptional. And I know this. And I know sometimes my little bouts of anger at him for little things are really part of a bigger anger at myself for not practicing what I preach. Sure, if you ask him, he�d say I was a ball buster (meaning it in the most flattering of ways of course) and that I take v. little (if any) shit. But I see myself falling into (well, you know) and I completely freak. How v. scary, to NEED someone else. Okay, no one really needs anyone else. But how scary to feel as if you�d really like someone to stick around in your life. You know, in an ideal situation sort of way I�d like to wake up to look at C.�s lovely back in my bed most every morning. So, fifty emails and three phone conversations later we have kissed and made up and agreed (kind of) to disagree every once in awhile. I still want to kiss his face. In fact I am practically panting in the anticipation of kissing his glorious face. We won�t mention the phone call I made to best-friend at 2am. Chree being the only person that I can wake up out of a blissful slumber and howl at for thirty minutes without feeling like a complete nut job or having them hang up on me. It is amazing the advice she can give while half asleep and probably picking little drool crusties out of the corners of her mouth. She�s a goddess I tell you. So v. happy that she and Hetty will be joining us at the house this weekend. Need to be with someone who I know so well she can finish my sentences. Course, this also means they both also know every little secret I�ve got. Secrets that C. is not yet aware of. Nothing earth shattering here - just potentially embarrassing little ditties like that one time they stole all my Barbie outfits and accessories then lost the mate to just about every little pair of Barbie stilettos and I went into a rage and went and sat by the river (Jack Brooke) crying for a ridiculously long time bemoaning the loss and telling them I would never, ever, ever as long as I drew breath speak to them again. Needless to say, I�m almost over it now. We now refer to it as the �Barbie Incident�. It�s these little anecdotes I can see eking out as soon as Chree and Hetty have a few Gin & Tonics. And there�s more that is much, much more humiliating but I remain mum. Okay, I have to pretend to do work now � two and a half hours left. I can�t stand it. 3:45 p.m. - 2001-06-08 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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