Tuesday, November 30, 2004

Can I be superficial? I guess I can. I’m at work trying to write about some historic buildings and instead my mind is wandering and I’m looking at someone’s blog and admiring his pictures and thinking, goddammit that boy is so frickin’ beautiful. Honestly, the first time I laid eyes on him, on a hot summer day at a traffic stop, I swear my heart skipped a beat. Sam was the first blogger I met in person. I’d been reading Thrustpuppy, Ali, Corky, and a couple of guys who have since disappeared, but it had never occurred to me that bloggers lived in little old Tucson until I ran into Sam. He has this bashful thing going, a wicked gleam in his brown eyes too. I’m glad he and Jeff found each other. Tucson isn’t as exciting though.

Can I be jumpy? It is hard work entertaining my mother. She’s an awful cook so I insist on being the chef. I’ve eaten more vegetables than normal and somehow while she has lost weight, which is something she is very pleased about, I’ve managed to gain a little, which I’m not. Mummy is forgetful and a bit clumsy and she says odd things and sometimes follows me around like a puppy. I’m glad she is here and I broached the idea of her spending all next winter with me, and she seems to like that. It’s good for her, the warmer weather, the activities, the better diet. I better get me a boyfriend by then because otherwise I’ll go insane.

Can I be a big fag? I named my KitchenAid Mixer “Martha” after a suggestion from Ryan. I guess it is appropriate since I think that bitch Martha Stewart is one fierce woman. I get she has the cleanest cell ever. I made cookies last night, rolling out the dough and cutting them with my cutters. I have a big shopping bag full but find that my favorites are the ones that I took from Grandma’s house after she died.

Can I be me? I’m feeling surprisingly little stress over work (or lack thereof), over my party on Sunday, wondering how painful the surgery will be, whether I’ll be healed before I head to England, whether I’ll be broke when I get there. I should be more stressed over dumb things like how do I pay a seven cent credit card bill when it says “send no cash” or how do I spend three weeks writing something at work that I could have done tomorrow. But instead I’ll think about how much fun it is to call Archerr and gossip about other cute bloggers.

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