Monthly Archives: September 2003
Happy Anniversary, Lad
Saturday marked the ten year anniversary of my long, tortured history with the Lad. We went camping. It seemed appropriate because: Both our history and this trip have caused us physical pain. Both have left us breathless. Both have taught us that we can make do with less than we thought we could. And both … Continue reading
No Rudesby
‘I wore a bridal gown to my ex-boyfriend’s birthday party’ must be the first sentence of someone’s dystopic memoirs. However, the invitation did say formal wear, and I am no rudesby. An ex-boyfriend’s birthday party has many things in common with a high school reunion, but the main thing is that you want to arrive … Continue reading
Oh, my virgin eyes.
My Russian coworker just flashed me. She was talking about how she wished she was wearing the summery cotton frock that I am wearing, and then she said “I should walk around like this” and rolled her Russian shirt up to walk around in her Russian bra.
Beat it
“We’re going to be so miserable in about two minutes,” I said, as our air conditioned car glided through Napa’s excrutiating heat wave, two minutes away from our destination. “Let’s see how bad it is,” said the Lad, turning off the air conditioning and opening all the windows. Sean and I were shocked and awed … Continue reading
Howard who?
Like many of my clove smoking college brethren, I’m having a hard time understanding politics these days. I decided to do a little research to try and get a handle on things. The Moms is strongly in favor of Howard Dean, and pretty much has threatened to disown me if I don’t vote for him, … Continue reading
Dear Johnny,
I hear you wrote good songs And I’m sorry that you’ve stopped Now I’ll never get to write to you In my celebrity writing workshop Now I won’t see you play concerts Or jam live on MTV Because the wake of nine-eleven Has swept you out to sea Sure, I don’t own your albums But … Continue reading
My too much fun is not having enough
This weekend I found a Waiters On Wheels catalogue which lists dozens and dozens of wonderful restaurants that are willing to deliver right to my very door. To a semi-agoraphobic, this catalogue is crack cocaine. A couple of nights ago I had a dream that all my friends told me I had a drinking problem, … Continue reading
I will be Rachel
The Lad and I are fast approaching our one year anniversary. Last September I told myself that if I was still happy in this relationship at the end of a year then we should move in together. Oddly, this cohabitation has not come to pass exactly how I pictured it. Instead of the Lad, I … Continue reading
From back when I had time to read anything but school books
Dear David Foster Wallace: I’m trucking through Infinite Jest for the second time, even though it’s hard to read on the subway. My nearly-symmetrically-named friend Sean Keane has a theory that the jest the title refers to is that the book goes on and on with an all you can eat buffet of footnotes but … Continue reading