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Friday, Mar. 14, 2003 / 11:00 a.m. ~This Is Really Boring, You Should Probably Go Read Someone Else�s Online Diary/Journal~ Brandy called me at work yesterday. It was one of those calls wherein I say, �This is _____� and the caller says, �Hey�, and I say, �Yes?�, and the caller says, �How�re you doing?�, and I say, �What, you�re not going to identify yourself?�, and I get irritated at the ambiguous futility. It didn�t take too many more words before I figured she was she and we chatted only briefly, me promising to call her. I�ve got the cell digits so there�s no excuse now, and my apartment looks fabulous so that�s not an issue. I�m just not sure I�m in the mood for her capricious nature. But yes, I�d really like her friend to look at my PC. Funny thing is I�m so used to using the old one now, the other seems like some dream memory. I ate a really good salad last night (this entry is awfully dull so far), a salad so good I came close to logging on to write about it. Or maybe I did write about it in my journal� No, it was an email to Roadie. Right. Celery, red and green bell pepper, sliced water chestnuts, green onions, smoked tofu (Thai flavor!) and red leaf lettuce, with Cool Hand Luke�s roasted garlic and parmesan dressing. It was a HUGE bowl, but it�s okay to pig out on veggies, right? An apple and strawberries for dessert. Really good, really sweet strawberries. Mango nectar to swallow my vitamins. No meat. I�m feeling incredibly healthy. I�m thinking another salad tonight (I should add olives this time!), and at some point I�ve got to cook the last zucchini, probably with the last shiitakes. Oh, and broccoli. The sad thing about all this cooking and preparing and chopping, and eating, is that in another few days it will all be gone. I will have eaten all I bought and I�ll have to buy more. Not just sad, it�s tragic. Quincey says she can�t see me cooking. She says she pictures me eating in restaurants every night, reading while I eat. How could someone have such a horribly wrong impression of me? Is it just that I am that private that I don�t let any real part of me slip out, I don�t show who I am while I�m here because I hate this job and all the people associated with it? This is possible, but I found myself growing offended by her misperception. I can cook. I�m an excellent cook. I�m excellent at anything, when I apply myself. Which of course makes me think of old grammar school report cards which stated that I�d be excellent if only I�d apply myself. And I needed to stop talking so much. I was going to write about the groovy meerkats documentary on Animal Planet the other night, and the TVLand awards and how bizarre it was to see all those OLD TV stars, now, all OLD, but most looking really good. (what happened to Scotty?) But that�s all old news. �Survivor� was actually good last night. More twists, more turns, and the always fascinating dynamic of male/female relationships explored. Game show? Reality show? Sociology experiment? Either way, it�s entertaining to watch, and thank god we don�t have to smell those people. One more thing, that Heidi chick has GOT to go. I can�t deal with her voice (at least she�s stopped talking about how �cute� she is � um, because she�s not � big fake tits don�t make a woman cute). Oh, only one more thing. I hate my job again. And I did something yesterday I probably shouldn�t have done, and if it�s discovered, well, I�m not sure the repercussions. Let�s just hope it�s not discovered. And let�s hope I make something happen, I�m tired of writing about hating my job, it�s been five years of hating my job. How disgustingly boring. Cost of the War in Iraq
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