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Monday, Sept. 30, 2002 / 6:56 p.m. ~I Wanna Be June Cleaver~ I was just washing dishes and I said to Gladys sitting atop her Charles Chips box (I can NEVER get rid of that thing), "This is tiring, no wonder I don't do it that often", and I had to laugh at myself. I always wash my dishes by hand, put them in the dishwasher to dry. It's just how I do it. I have wood handled utensils. Fragile stuff. Now Gladys has left her box and is circling me. Ah, my cries of "Stop circling me!" have paid off. I think I'm okay, for a bit. Except for my hands, they're really hot now. Grrrrrr..... I have been SO fucking irritable the past few days. Anything could set me off. I'm on the edge. On the verge. I studied the calendar, realized this could very well be the beginning of the dreaded pre menstrual syndrome, but then I realized as well that I only have like 3, if that, good days a month. The rest is either pre menstrual, or menstrual, or post menstrual fuck-me-now horny. Maybe I do need drugs. Prozac or something. I just want to be even. Maybe a lobotomy. I want to be like June Cleaver. Remember her? She always looked perfect, always in her shirtwaist dresses, a strand of big pearls, perfect shoes, hair, and dinner on the table just as Ward was ready for it. She kept a perfect house. Always knew the right thing to do for and say to Wally and the Beaver. Damn. She was perfect. No emotions, no drama. No PMS. The 'new boy' at work has searched for my diary. He told me at the end of today. Said he meant to tell me all day. His son was up last night (oh yes, he has two boys), late, and he got up too, couldn't go back to sleep, got online and searched for my diary. Yikes! He found a web page I created a few years ago, something I used to spend a lot of time on, and was quite proud of, and he explored it fully. Checked out the links, saw the pages I created for N and G, my job, all of it. He did all but sign my guestbook. But that ID he has for me, that other Interweb alias, is very separate from this one, so he may or may not find this diary. If he does, so be it. I may lock it, I may not. I simply think it would be wholly inappropriate if he started reading all of this. I assume his girlfriend would know about it too, and she might tell my coworkers, and if that happened....... We won't even take it that far. We'll just say this, don't be surprised if this thing locks up tight one day. I told him to quit. To stop. Just forget about it, I said. But he is oh so intrigued, and I have a big fucking mouth. Which reminds me, I was watching the Food Network last night in bed, a program on World Record foods. Like a 10 pound chocolate bar that some company in San Francisco makes. Not Ghirardelli, but something really similar, and isn't it odd that there is another chocolate company in San Francisco, one with a really similar name? Wild. 10 pounds. The thing is huge. And a Margarita so big it could quench the thirst of some 155,000 people, I think. I'm terrible with statistics, have a terrible head for them, but I think I'm close. What else? Oh, they visited one of those Texas restaurants with the 72 oz steak. You know, eat it and it's free. I think "King of the Hill" had an episode wherein Hank, or was it Bobby?, tried to eat one. When my father and I drove from Dallas to Gilroy, California we saw many of the billboards advertising these giant hunks of animal flesh. I took a picture of one. And, they showed a restaurant that serves up a giant hamburger. I think it was a pound and a half, but it was on an 18 inch bun. Crazy stuff. Fun show, really. This is disjointed, as usual, but I was at work, just at the end of the day today, and the theme from Kubrick's "Lolita" ran through my head. I felt compelled to hum it aloud, and I remembered I watched it Saturday night, but I'd forgotten. How could I forget that? It was on a few weeks ago and I missed the end, but this time I saw the whole thing, and it was on BBC America with TONS of commercials. Horrible. Every commercial break they'd show that famous shot of Sue Lyons sitting with her legs out to the side on that blanket in the garden, the big floppy hat on her head, the sunglasses, the bathing suit, and that music would play. So once I realized I'd forgotten, and consequently remembered, well, now it's sort of stuck there, here, in my head, that music. No segue available, but I have vacation and sick time still. I NEVER call in sick. NEVER. Don't believe in it. I'm never sick, I don't lie, so it doesn't happen. I have five more vacation days and 17.5 hours sick time. I requested a Friday and a Monday in two weeks (conveniently during the Tattoo Convention, whoo hoo!), and I'll still have five days and 1.5 hours. Isn't that grand? Stupendous? It's October already, well, tomorrow, but still, it's so late in the year and I have all this time to take off, paid time! Yeah, I'm pretty excited. I need it. I need a break, even if all I do is sleep and watch TV and play around on this computer. Which is all very fun, by the way. I should know, it's all I did all weekend. Well, aside from going to the Italian movie. And I would've stayed in town if I hadn't been panicking about my car and its overheating. I miss living in town. I go there and it feels like home. I know all the shortcuts, every side street, and there are so many people, all hip and groovy, doing all the hip and groovy in town things. Or is it intown? One word? But then again, it was a Saturday, and it sure looks pitiful if you're a woman out on the town, intown or in town, by yourself on a Saturday night. I would've risked it, taken myself to dinner, if not for my cranky hot car. It's better now. It was thirsty. And hot. Better now..... for how long I have no clue. Right, so I have time off! Sorry, I just thought about it. I think about it and I get really excited, like I've opened up some door to a World of Possibilities. It's just the thought that I'll be FREE that's so nice. Norma was just sleeping on the rug a foot or two away and she did one of those jerky falling off a ladder or whatever things people do in their sleep. Cats do it too. Funny. Um, not to her, but it looked funny. Old girl. She's sleepy. I'm trying to think if there's anything monumental I'm forgetting to mention here...... "Lolita", giant chocolate, giant Margarita, giant hamburger, giant steak, washed dishes, Gladys on box, Norma jerking awake, 'new boy' seeking this diary, um, that may be it. See? Why in hell would he want to read this? Maybe if he searches through the archives he'll find something fascinating. Otherwise, jeez, he really should get a hobby or something. Hey, people need to sign my guestbook so I'll get some email. My new email program has a kitty notifier and it's so cute! It also has a butler and a dog, I guess, but I like the kitty. She jumps across the screen to bring me my email. Cute. But the email has slowed way down lately....... except for the email I got telling me how great Russian women are. That was weird. I'm beginning to bore myself here, and my hands are dry (makes me think of Ty what's his name on "Trading Spaces" Saturday night - he kept putting wood glue on his hands and face, claiming it was lotion, "My hands are REALLY dry, I need some lotion!" - it was horrible!), and I need to cook dinner (a frittata, I'm thinking), and, and, and, and, I don't know, stuff, you know. Cost of the War in Iraq
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