AUTHOR: Beth TITLE: DATE: 5/20/2004 12:39:00 PM ----- BODY:


I feel like writing some more today, so fuck you. Not you, Gentle Reader, but the part of my brain being all, "You should write just one cleverly titled entry per day and leave it at that, because then things will be perfect". Dammit, just. shut. up. So anyway. Some things I forgot about yesterday: you may notice how Laura Kampas has resurfaced. She was actually the person who suggested I blog in the first place (she was tired of receiving mass emails from me). So welcome back to my field of vision, Laura. What I remember about Laura is being fifteen years old and with her in Mr. Ramahlo's geometry class. We passed notes. A lot. Notes about boys, notes about self-esteem issues, notes about Trent Reznor. Once I drew a picture of myself that I deliberately made hideous. I exaggerated every negative feature I thought I had. I then showed the monstrosity to Laura. "Does this look like me?" I said. The correct answer, of course, was "No." "Yeah, actually, it kinda does," she replied. I don't know why but that's my most prominent memory of Laura right now. I don't know why I'm writing about it here right now, either, since I've never brought it up to her and she obviously will read that I'm writing about it here instead and not be too happy. But I'm not mad about that memory. Actually, I think it's pretty cool that she said that, because I think it was the most honest way she could express that she was sick of my constant fishing for compliments. I did a lot of that when I was fifteen. Hell, I do a lot of that now. Laura, we should do lunch sometime soon. Have my people call your people, or way around. After my dentist's appointment last night I went home and sat in front of the ballgame and ate a whole box of generic-brand instant macaroni and cheese, and goddamn that was good. This morning I walked into one of the offices to send something out UPS, and Brad the Bodybuilder asked me what I was mad about. I was confused. "Well you're walkin' pretty heavy," he twanged (he's from Tennessee). I always walk "heavy" of course, but that's not what he meant. "Oh," I realized. "It's my shoes." I pointed down at my new clogs. "Oh," he nodded. "It's just, when the women down this end get mad, they walk hard." Weird. So it's apparently become a trend now for people to hang up the phone without saying goodbye. Why is that? It used to be only Tim's dad did that. Now more and more people I make calls to at work just go "thanks", or something, and hang up. Anyways, that's kind of what I'm going to do right now, because I think I've finally run out of things I want to blabber about today. Thanks. *click*.