dedicated follower of fashion
12.12.02 @ 5:13 p.m.
Expect the volume of entries from me to lessen over the next three weeks. This damn version of Netscape crashes if you look at it funny. Especially when I'm in the members area of diaryland. Bitch.
I'm sitting here listening to The Kinks and trying to decide what I'm going to do with the rest of my evening.
I got home the day before yesterday and was welcomed home by the immediate knowledge that something has died in my house. Something small and clever enough to hide it's poisoned little corpse very well indeed. My dad and I scouted around this afternoon for the source of the stench of death that inhabits our kitchen. Normally we wouldn't care much - live on a farm where vermin is occasionally poisoned and you eventually learn to stop caring about dead rodents. You get over it pretty quick. The problem is that my mom's brother, Jim, is in town for some conference and I guess he's supposed to hang out here (I'm at my parent's house in Portland, not dorms in Eugene anymore) which is kind of a problem. Two reasons: a) the aforementioned dead rodent and it's accompanying aroma and b) our house looks like shit. It's messy, half finished home improvement projects everywhere, etc. Dog hair all over. Our couch is unusable and for once, IT'S NOT MY FAULT. Mom has left crap all over it this time. I might have to take matters into my own hands.
So who knows what's going to go on tomorrow. It's slightly awkward, entertaining someone. I mean, I bet it's easier for me than for dad because I just saw Jim last August (regular readers might recognize the 'suburban lumberjack', but I don't think anyone's been reading that long) and my dad hasn't seen him for years and years. (Except last night--we all went to Powell's Books and out to dinner last night.) Dad says he hasn't seen him since we went to Santa Cruz island (I think it's one of the channel islands, near the Island of the Blue Dolphins, which is a real place)... speaking of, that trip Eamon (my cousin) and I saw real dolphins swimming with our ferry. It was really cool.
I also got a long, somewhat depressed email from E* and made an effort to write back and be... helpful, I guess. Don't know. *rolls eyes* she wrote all this stuff about feeling miserable and then ended by saying "This doesn't sound like me talking, it sounds like you." Great. I only talk when I'm depressed/angry/upset? Hmph. That might be true, actually, but I didn't need attention called to it. She's not my confidante. Rachel is, and to a lesser extent, this diary is. This place gets more volume of feeling, but important stuff gets told to Rach.
Hmm, I'm getting hungry, and I kind of want to play the Sims a bunch.
Previously
fuck it @ 08.01.05
fanciful imaginary sea voyages to come @ 07.20.05
*dies* @ 07.19.05
more ootp @ 07.17.05
harry potter: driving our children into devil worship @ 07.17.05
