Saturday, Sept. 21, 2002 / 2:46 p.m.

~My Dinner With JimmyU, and Other Stuff~

Yes, oh yes, I am so slick. And yes, oh yes, I know the alphabet inside and out, but each time I want to add one of you lovely Diaryland diarists to my alphabetical list of 'favourites' I have to cut and paste and move everyone else around to squeeze you in (I truly need to remove a couple, I know) and I goofed. Oh, wow, "Joleen" made an error!!! Best to point it out publicly, because she sucks and she deserves to brought down, slicker than slick, that "Joleen" thinks she is. There. It is done.

This Interweb crap is insane sometimes. *****Let's add something here, after the fact, just a clarification for those who don't know. There is a person on Diaryland, and no doubt not the only one by far, who has masqueraded as someone she is not. There is a lot of strangeness on the Interweb, we know this, it's a place where people feel free to treat other people however they wish..... because of the supposed anonymity. I found her out, a long time ago, realized she wasn't who she said, she had an alter ego. Now she is acquiring even more, she has several Diaryland identities, and this is disturbing. It's also disturbing that she lists me as a favourite in abandoned diaries. Why should I care? It's purposeful. She's playing games, because she can. I'm real here. This has always been nothing but me. Even through the psychotic encounters, the assholes in the guestbook, the whole auction debacle of last December, it's always just me, just one identity, on Diaryland, just writing an online diary, but the rest of you? I have no idea who you are. And if one of you insists on fucking with me, ultimately that's your own bad juju, your own bad Karma, and it will one day bite you on your ass, you know this. I think you should step outside yourself for a bit and ask why you're playing games with me, I really do, but if you feel you must you know there is nothing I can do to stop you. Just ask yourself why you are doing what you are doing. Why? I've done nothing to you, Burnoutchick, Jacqueline, MistyMountn, DaisyJones. Whatever problems you're having have nothing to do with me, and you might consider letting it go. I don't know why you come here to read this anyway. It makes no sense.

I missed a day of writing here, and that is SO unlike me, but it just sort of happened. For some reason I didn't write at work, I almost did, but I never actually did. I was managing my time, most excellently as always, and it just never happened. And then after work I was in 'wait' mode because JimmyUsual was coming over to pick me up to go to dinner, so I didn't log on even, and then after dinner I was suddenly SO exhausted I simply washed up and got in bed and almost fell asleep sitting up watching Craig Kilborne. And when did Bill Pullman become so 'old'? Even Craig said it, "You're old". Sometimes I like Craig. But I can't figure him out. Is he really a player... does he really go for 'SuperModels', or is he gay? And if I knew him personally, I'd think he was always lying, or joking.

So, what's new with me? Well.... let's see if I can even remember yesterday at work......... I listened to The Smiths, I wanted to stop and write down lyrics here, in my diary, and comment on how fantastic they are, i.e., "Sweetness, sweetness I was only joking when I said I'd like to mash ev'ry tooth in your head". Is it just me? I really like The Smiths. Okay, maybe that's not the best example. "As the flames rose, her Roman nose and her Walkman started to melt", and that's re: Joan of Arc.

I don't know. That's from memory. They're great for little sound bytes. Little snippets. Message board 'signatures'.

I chatted with the 'new boy' a bit too. We have an interesting 'work relationship' going. I was telling JimmyU all about it at dinner, but I've yet to begin to write about it here. I have something in the way and I'm not sure what. I think there's just too much there. But I will say that he is white. And he sits across from me. And the women I work with are very..... um..... prejudiced? They don't have a lot of white friends? Um, the only time they interact with white people is when they see me, and maybe the Site Manager, at work? Not that I have a lot of black friends, but I've dated black men, I've had black friends, I don't know, I'm just saying, they assume that because the 'new boy' and I are white that we will take care of each other, that when we are talking it's best not to join in. And they do not initiate conversation with him now that he's trained. Not one bit.

He sits and keeps to himself. I lend him magazines to read. I talk to him at the end of the day. When I'm bored from reading and ready to go home. And Penelope made it a point to say to me, "Did he introduce you to his girlfriend?" with a huge smile on her face, as if to say, "You do know he has a girlfriend, right? So you should not consider him your next boyfriend, and I know you would, because he's white and all."

Seriously. Any time a new white boy starts working anywhere in that place they all ask me if I've seen him, they all make 'that face' that says, "Huh, what do you think of HIM? Is he to your liking? He's white, you know."

Ack.

So, JimmyU and I went to dinner at my favorite litlte place, the trendy and oh so fucking hip (when did it become that way?) Mediterranean Cafe which shall remain nameless. He'd laid a heavy guilt trip on me via email, all about how I surely no longer care because I only talk to him on the phone, or send the occasional email note, or sign his guestbook, so I called him and invited him to dinner. Sure, dinner is fine. After all, as I neglected to mention, my huge Farmers Market shopping spree food supply has neared its end and dinner out makes sense now more than it did before.

Our table happened to be in the direct line of all the servers coming and going from and to the kitchen. People passing on both sides with arms laden with steaming plates of goodness. The smells. The people. It's like you have to be beautiful to walk in the door. So what were WE doing there?

And I saw some reserved seats for the first time ever. Along the banquette. That's what it's called, right? The prime cozy seating along one wall. 'Reserved'. And we saw them walk in, this group of men with ponytails, fancy shirts and ties, gelled hair, mostly dark, some gray, tres Euro looking, and the one guy with the striped shirt with the white collar. I'm a sucker, I love those shirts, but he was so... so. I can't find a word for them. I said, "They're record executives. From Europe. No, wait, friends of the Owner." I couldn't figure them out. But the white collared guy purposely collided with one of the lovelier servers, all tall and dark haired, tank topped, of course. And she remarked on what a fine collision it was, how nearly fatal or something.

The food was fantastic, as always. I ate Salmon Farfalle with a Sambuca cream sauce. Mushrooms, tomatoes, zucchini. Unnnnnnnh. Melt in your mouth salmon, even JimmyU said so when I gave him a piece. They cook salmon like it should be cooked. Just barely. Seared on the outside, melty and buttery on the inside. Perfect. (JimmyU had grilled marinated flank steak atop Asian Noodles - but he got the steak 'well done', which is weird, I think - quite tasty, I tasted it)

And two glasses Pinot Grigio for me. And.... talk of work, and Diaryland, and JimmyU wanting a hiatus from his diary, and other diarists, and what we think of them, and who I want to remove from my list, and who I like, and what I think of writing, and what he thinks of writing, and my sucky job, and his crazy job, and I realized we talk about work because I call him from work all the time. He reminds me of work. I met him at work. He used to work on our Site. It's natural. But talking about work so much when I'm not at work is not always good, and after a while I want it to STOP.

Talk of Bush's war on Iraq too, and I get so fired up when I start in on that topic, and then I wish I was going to go to the Demo in D.C. on October 26th, and I think of how Dianne has sent the emails out to the list, how they've got the buses lined up again, how it's the same price, it's $65, and I know the routine so well now, I've done it how many times now?, hopped the bus, ridden up, all excited, so passionate, with so many other people who think the same passionate way about what's going on, people who want to actually DO something about it. And JimmyU agrees, to a point. He'd never really get involved. But he thinks, and that's a start.

That restaurant hops on Friday nights, I was amazed. People everywhere, and after the tape with "Lilac Wine" (listen, it's Jeff Buckley!!!!!), the music changed, it went from trance to drum and bass, and it was a DJ, and we passed his station on the way out. People everywhere, I repeat. Lots of interracial couples, lots of beautiful Asian women, intense tank topped beauty everywhere. And rain outside. "Was it supposed to rain?", I asked, knowing what a funny question that is, and how I laugh when people say it because does it make a difference? If I answered "No" would it stop? (it rained more later, once I was safely home and cozy, large, copious, tremendous amounts of rain)

And (love starting the sentences with 'And') I had to shout over those people, that kitchen noise, that drum and bass, and I never realized it until it started to hurt. Then I remembered I have throat cancer, or something else similar, because laughing makes me clear my throat, talking all day on the phone at work makes me clear my throat, and I can't get it clear like I want it and I know there's something wrong with my little constricted throat, and I wonder is it cancer like I think or just polyps or nodes or nodules or some such shit.

Now, it's now. And I woke at least once wondering if it is indeed a day off. Can I sleep? The alarm didn't go off. Is that because I forgot to set it or is this really Saturday?

It's really Saturday. And I've slept late, though not as late as usual for a Saturday, and my throat is still cloggy from last night's talking, and I still strive to free it of clogs and cancer and nodules and polyps. "Big Brother 3" is winding down. We have tonight's show and Wednesday's and then it's over. I must read recaps of recent events, I must turn on the Live Feed and watch them in these last few days. And I must re-think some Diaryland issues, some virtual relationships I've held here. JimmyU remarks at my 'virtual life', but I tell him it's the only way I can tolerate people, here, online, and even then it's a contsant struggle. I, the Misanthrope.

I won't worry what he thinks of me, JimmyU, I know I am bossy, I try to tell him how to drive, or where to park, or how to do this or that, and I am negative, even when I'm positive, and I think I'd never appeal to him, and that is what I'm aiming for, it's true, I don't want to appeal to him. We've had a difficult time maintaining a friendship, for a few different reasons, or maybe just one, but I may not really be who I am around him, because I want to remain unappealing. Isn't that odd? Like if I catch myself being charming I have to cease that activity immediately.

I think he thinks he knows me inside and out and I'd have to say there is some acting going on when I'm around him. So perhaps not. But, nonetheless, and alas and alack, I enjoyed our dinner. I love that crazy restaurant filled with the amazing food and the beautiful people, really. If you come here, to my town, you must dine there.

Cost of the War in Iraq
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