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It's over.
Oct. 28th, 2010 08:17 pm![[livejournal.com profile]](http://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif){kind=small}
ojouchan and I have broken up and ended our engagement.You may or may not know that we've been having troubles and were taking a break. This is not a break; it's over. Please don't question the finality of the decision.
Our friendship remains essentially intact, but it's very difficult for each of us emotionally.
Comments are open, but I'm not entirely comfortable saying much about this publicly yet. I may reach out privately if I haven't already. I may set up a filter to process this.
Please also keep in mind that my family reads this journal and are finding this out too. Mom, Dad, I may not be ready to talk immediately.
Worst Moment of the Convention.
Jul. 13th, 2004 06:58 amI thought I should mention this. Technically, it happened after the convention, but anyway . . .
I get to the airport and have to rush through security to get into a tiny tiny gate that only has two flights. I find myself seated next to a very cute young woman solving a crossword. So I test the waters, "Is the crossword any good?" "No," she responds, "it's way too easy."
KACHING!
I mention that I was at the NPL convention. She said she'd heard about it from a local newspaper. It was really interesting, she thought, though she didn't attend. I told her about some of the events. We chatted about how Boston has many people who are unafraid to be smart. We touched upon the MIT Mystery Hunt. Then our 5:30 flight was called.
Except that she was on a different 5:30 flight leaving from the gate next door to mine.
One could argue that, after having a wonderful week in Boston, it would have been too much to ask to be on a plane with another cute and smart Bostonian. But I won't argue that. I argue that it was Boston taking its revenge on me for not being able to dump frozen water on my head.
Stupid Boston. Stupid city full of smart people.
I get to the airport and have to rush through security to get into a tiny tiny gate that only has two flights. I find myself seated next to a very cute young woman solving a crossword. So I test the waters, "Is the crossword any good?" "No," she responds, "it's way too easy."
KACHING!
I mention that I was at the NPL convention. She said she'd heard about it from a local newspaper. It was really interesting, she thought, though she didn't attend. I told her about some of the events. We chatted about how Boston has many people who are unafraid to be smart. We touched upon the MIT Mystery Hunt. Then our 5:30 flight was called.
Except that she was on a different 5:30 flight leaving from the gate next door to mine.
One could argue that, after having a wonderful week in Boston, it would have been too much to ask to be on a plane with another cute and smart Bostonian. But I won't argue that. I argue that it was Boston taking its revenge on me for not being able to dump frozen water on my head.
Stupid Boston. Stupid city full of smart people.
I just got a phone call from a dating service. It got sent to my voice mail and no message was left. Still, to my knowledge, I've never dealt with them before. But, you know, if they've got a date for me anyhow, I'm willing to sign up.
TueNYTX: 4:05.
TueNYTX: 4:05.
I've been threatening to clean for weeks now, but haven't done so. A lot of that has been the show eating up lots of my time. Further, it greatly diminished the time I spend at home three days a week, making it easier to deal with the mess. But for the past few weekends, I've had something keeping me at the computer. And her name is Wendy.
(Well, actually, it's not. But come on! This is a public web journal, I'm not going to give your her real name!)
Wendy lives a bit far away, but thankfully not far enough that we can't meet with a modicum of planning. In fact, we did so last week. And it was very wonderful. Before that, though, we would chat for hours, getting the courage do meet for real. And so I'd end up frittering away my days instead of cleaning.
Well, Wendy has a job that prevents her from IMing at three in the morning, which means that I have time to clean. Which I did today. Started, at least. After some lazy time, I cleaned up my entire living room; I'm going to deal with my bedroom tonight. It was important to do so because tonight I'm going to be getting an actual sofa! Now I have two soft pieces of furniture on which to lounge!
I'm not sure whenwjukknibs will be over, so I'd better get to bed early (which is to say, now). Good night.
(Well, actually, it's not. But come on! This is a public web journal, I'm not going to give your her real name!)
Wendy lives a bit far away, but thankfully not far enough that we can't meet with a modicum of planning. In fact, we did so last week. And it was very wonderful. Before that, though, we would chat for hours, getting the courage do meet for real. And so I'd end up frittering away my days instead of cleaning.
Well, Wendy has a job that prevents her from IMing at three in the morning, which means that I have time to clean. Which I did today. Started, at least. After some lazy time, I cleaned up my entire living room; I'm going to deal with my bedroom tonight. It was important to do so because tonight I'm going to be getting an actual sofa! Now I have two soft pieces of furniture on which to lounge!
I'm not sure when
wjukknibs will be over, so I'd better get to bed early (which is to say, now). Good night.I'm having a hard time writing about my date. Not because of time or anything like that, but because every time I think about it, I get a silly grin on my face and can't really write anything.
In the meantime, I'm trying to come up with a fancy nickname for She Whom I Am Dating. This is a very particular thing. I know it has to be cryptic enough not to refer to her directly, since she's very concerned about her privacy online. Also, it needs to be one that fits. It took a long time for Rwth to get her nickname, but it fits well. I want this girl to get one just as apt.
So far, the only thing I can come up with is "Gottschalks," which has a wonderful origin behind it but is an absolutely horrible name. Also apropos is "Elba", except that it sounds more like a heavy-set domestic servant. The reason I think of "Elba" is because she's a fan of palindromes. In fact, the book I mentioned earlier was a book of anagrams and palindromes. She liked it. Yeah, I'm a big dork, but I'm a dork with good taste!
Right now, though, she's blocked off from (nearly all) Internet access, so although I keep hoping to see an email from her, I know I won't. Such a thing is impossible for now.
Oh well, more as it develops.
In the meantime, I'm trying to come up with a fancy nickname for She Whom I Am Dating. This is a very particular thing. I know it has to be cryptic enough not to refer to her directly, since she's very concerned about her privacy online. Also, it needs to be one that fits. It took a long time for Rwth to get her nickname, but it fits well. I want this girl to get one just as apt.
So far, the only thing I can come up with is "Gottschalks," which has a wonderful origin behind it but is an absolutely horrible name. Also apropos is "Elba", except that it sounds more like a heavy-set domestic servant. The reason I think of "Elba" is because she's a fan of palindromes. In fact, the book I mentioned earlier was a book of anagrams and palindromes. She liked it. Yeah, I'm a big dork, but I'm a dork with good taste!
Right now, though, she's blocked off from (nearly all) Internet access, so although I keep hoping to see an email from her, I know I won't. Such a thing is impossible for now.
Oh well, more as it develops.
Let me clarify.
Mar. 17th, 2003 08:32 pmThe reason I didn't listen to Bush's speech is that I was ending an absolutely amazing fantastic wonderful beautiful date. I haven't had a day this good in a very long time. That's not a comment about my recent life, but rather one about how incredible today was. I can't wait to see her again.
Life is very, very good.
Life is very, very good.
I'm still winding down from yet another show/work/nap/show day. I'm also cooking some food. I'm also mentally preparing for my date tomorrow morning. I'm excited and anxious and hopeful. I picked up a gift for the girl I'm going to see. Some guys bring flowers, I bring a book. Yeah, I'm a big dork. It's a cool book, too. It will be hard to part with it, but that's what makes it a good gift, I guess.
I bought a whole bunch of other books too, and I was only in the store for about fifteen minutes. This is why I try to avoid Dutton's except when I'm feeling very flush.
Well, it's time for bed. Or for eating before bed. Whatever.
I bought a whole bunch of other books too, and I was only in the store for about fifteen minutes. This is why I try to avoid Dutton's except when I'm feeling very flush.
Well, it's time for bed. Or for eating before bed. Whatever.
Now there's a thing.
Mar. 12th, 2003 09:45 amUm. I think I have a date on Monday.
Update: This just in from IM:
GirlOfAforementionedDate: OH MY GOD WHO DO YOU HAVE A DATE WITH?!?
tablesaw: Um.
tablesaw: You, I thought.
GOAD: :)
GOAD: i was only thrown for like a second.
GOAD: then i figured you were talking about me.
tablesaw: YES! THANK YOU FOR SCARING THE SHIT OUT OF ME!
Update: This just in from IM:
GirlOfAforementionedDate: OH MY GOD WHO DO YOU HAVE A DATE WITH?!?
tablesaw: Um. tablesaw: You, I thought. GOAD: :)
GOAD: i was only thrown for like a second.
GOAD: then i figured you were talking about me.
tablesaw: YES! THANK YOU FOR SCARING THE SHIT OUT OF ME!
A body at rest tends to stay at rest; a body in motion tends to stay in motion.
That's how I feel about me and sexuality. I can usually identify myself in one of two states, very broadly and somewhat inappropriately named "sexual" and "asexual." When I'm in "asexual" mode, everyone around me seems pretty much equal. I talk to people I need to talk to when I need to talk to them. I usually stay focused on my own thoughts or on the abstract ideas; I like looking at buildings and nature. I also like listening to or watching the news. When I'm in my "sexual" mode, I am very aware of the bodies around me. I take special time to notice the form and face of every woman in my line of sight. Sometimes I study them and wonder who this person is as I drive by never to see her again. I find myself smiling a bit more when dealing with saleswomen. I listen to lots and lots of music.
What I find most interesting is that, for me, there isn't all that much difference between the two "modes." That is, each one offers benefits and drawbacks that balance so well that I don't usually mind which one I'm in. While being "asexual", I conserve a lot of mental and emotional energy and am often able to accomplish a lot more in a faster period of time. If I'm really stressed, even if I'm in a "sexual" period, I'll switch back to "asexual" to get everything done. I learn a lot, and get a lot of logical thinking done. Most of all, I usually remain very balanced, emotionally.
Of course, this doesn't offer me some of the thrills I get when "sexual". And I'm not talking about "sex", I'm talking about the brief feeling of elation from the scent of a beautiful girl I pass on the road, or the soft touch of a pretty cashier handing me my change. Yes, there are the pitfalls of heartbreak, but even before that, though, I find myself paying for these thrills with attention. Moments of elation are wonderful, but they can wreak havoc on a long train of thought. Swiveling my head to catch of the glimpse of the woman whose face obstinately remains concealed behind hair prevents me from realizing that I just passed the restaurant whose hours I wanted to check.
Overall, then, it all comes out equal. Dangerously surfing the sea of complex human relations for the rush of adrenaline or stoically passing over the undercurrents of sexual tension dedicating one's self to a longer journey, I find that I get out what I put in. And since I enjoy both outcomes, I tend to let my Fate and Whimsy shift me between the two.
I bring this up because I'm noticing a shift in the last few weeks from "asexual" to "sexual." First, I noticed that my flirting had kicked up a notch. Quite a few notches, actually. I didn't quite notice this at first. Most of my flirting is verbal, as is quite a lot of my interaction, and the verbal componenet of flirting, for me, is much like solving a cryptic crossword puzzle: listening to the conversation, testing out possible double meanings, shaping the words to fit my will, the will to compliment a women. So at first I thought I was just flexing my verbal muscles for a newly appreciative audience. But that wasn't all.
I started "noticing" women to a much greater extent. This probably would have gone unnoticed except that, at the time, I was still finishing up Museum Piece (Shoot, I still have to write about that). Remember how I mentioned that "asexual" mode can accomplish more linear thought? Well, my train of thought was getting noticeably disrupted by the women in my vicinity. No one particularly stunning, just women, around, making me wonder about them instead of wondering about how to finish my poem puzzle.
If I needed confirmation, I got it the other day when I felt my body noticeably change as I exchanged my chair at Bed Bath and Beyond with a very cute, petite girl whose eyes I held for longer than was necessary for a business transaction.
So, what now? Well, I enjoy it and get distracted more often. It's a fair trade-off like always. And maybe, this time, I'll even be able to capitalize on it and bring myself back into the dating world again.
That's how I feel about me and sexuality. I can usually identify myself in one of two states, very broadly and somewhat inappropriately named "sexual" and "asexual." When I'm in "asexual" mode, everyone around me seems pretty much equal. I talk to people I need to talk to when I need to talk to them. I usually stay focused on my own thoughts or on the abstract ideas; I like looking at buildings and nature. I also like listening to or watching the news. When I'm in my "sexual" mode, I am very aware of the bodies around me. I take special time to notice the form and face of every woman in my line of sight. Sometimes I study them and wonder who this person is as I drive by never to see her again. I find myself smiling a bit more when dealing with saleswomen. I listen to lots and lots of music.
What I find most interesting is that, for me, there isn't all that much difference between the two "modes." That is, each one offers benefits and drawbacks that balance so well that I don't usually mind which one I'm in. While being "asexual", I conserve a lot of mental and emotional energy and am often able to accomplish a lot more in a faster period of time. If I'm really stressed, even if I'm in a "sexual" period, I'll switch back to "asexual" to get everything done. I learn a lot, and get a lot of logical thinking done. Most of all, I usually remain very balanced, emotionally.
Of course, this doesn't offer me some of the thrills I get when "sexual". And I'm not talking about "sex", I'm talking about the brief feeling of elation from the scent of a beautiful girl I pass on the road, or the soft touch of a pretty cashier handing me my change. Yes, there are the pitfalls of heartbreak, but even before that, though, I find myself paying for these thrills with attention. Moments of elation are wonderful, but they can wreak havoc on a long train of thought. Swiveling my head to catch of the glimpse of the woman whose face obstinately remains concealed behind hair prevents me from realizing that I just passed the restaurant whose hours I wanted to check.
Overall, then, it all comes out equal. Dangerously surfing the sea of complex human relations for the rush of adrenaline or stoically passing over the undercurrents of sexual tension dedicating one's self to a longer journey, I find that I get out what I put in. And since I enjoy both outcomes, I tend to let my Fate and Whimsy shift me between the two.
I bring this up because I'm noticing a shift in the last few weeks from "asexual" to "sexual." First, I noticed that my flirting had kicked up a notch. Quite a few notches, actually. I didn't quite notice this at first. Most of my flirting is verbal, as is quite a lot of my interaction, and the verbal componenet of flirting, for me, is much like solving a cryptic crossword puzzle: listening to the conversation, testing out possible double meanings, shaping the words to fit my will, the will to compliment a women. So at first I thought I was just flexing my verbal muscles for a newly appreciative audience. But that wasn't all.
I started "noticing" women to a much greater extent. This probably would have gone unnoticed except that, at the time, I was still finishing up Museum Piece (Shoot, I still have to write about that). Remember how I mentioned that "asexual" mode can accomplish more linear thought? Well, my train of thought was getting noticeably disrupted by the women in my vicinity. No one particularly stunning, just women, around, making me wonder about them instead of wondering about how to finish my poem puzzle.
If I needed confirmation, I got it the other day when I felt my body noticeably change as I exchanged my chair at Bed Bath and Beyond with a very cute, petite girl whose eyes I held for longer than was necessary for a business transaction.
So, what now? Well, I enjoy it and get distracted more often. It's a fair trade-off like always. And maybe, this time, I'll even be able to capitalize on it and bring myself back into the dating world again.
Physical Evidence.
Sep. 27th, 2002 12:35 pmI'm taking a break from putting things into boxes. Not only because I'm a bit tired and need a breather, but also because a little while ago, I took a few things out of boxes.
I have a box that I'm keeping for a friend. It's a box of evidence of a relationship. I've had it for years now, and I've never really looked at it, but today, while I was evaluating what, from my life, to keep and what to discard, I was drawn to the small cardboard box of mementos. I flipped through. All in all there wasn't much, but there was a large stack of communiques of various types, neatly stacked.
I didn't read the emails. I didn't want to or need to. I was already struck with how meticulously clean they were. They didn't seem to be folded or crumpled or to show any other marks of mishandling. They were pristine except for occasional stray notes, doodles, and periodic underlining of the text. It surprised me that my friends had been able to organize these aspects of his life so delicately, ultimately making it possible, then, to put it all into a single box to be given to someone else for an indefinite period of time.
I simply don't function like that. It's hard enough for me to keep my financial information in the same place where I could be expected to find it within five minutes. But I couldn't decide to be jealous of my friend's ability or glad that I lacked it. On the one hand, having that information organized, one can always refer back to something. On the other hand, always having the information at hand means, in a physical, or perhaps geographical, way, being unable to forget. There's always something there to remind you.
I have mementos from past relationships. A few are on display, like the only picture I have of a girl from Montana, but most are hidden behind, around, below, within the maze of information that is around me at all times. And it's times like this, when I'm moving or cleaning or otherwise sifting all of my possessions, that these physical memories, stored outside of my brain, come back through my fingertips and speak.
Somewhere in that room, or possibly in boxes somewhere that I packed months ago, there is a picture of an old ex-girlfriend, exer than Ex. She's in high school, getting ready for, I think, Homecoming, wearing a green dress and looking lovely despite an obvious weariness in her eyes with the process of having her parents photograph her before the dance. Attached to it is a photograph taken of the two of us in Georgetown on some night out with a group of friends. I'm wearing a winter coat and my insulated arms hold her close; her black leather (faux-leather?) jacket wraps around my arms as well, and the dark clothing with the night flash makes her clear face luminous beneath mine. And when I find it, as I always do, I'll hold it in my hand and remember when I held her in my arms, when I fell in love, when we studied together and I couldn't stop staring at her pale shoulder, off of which her shirt had slipped, when we first kissed, sitting on a bench on the Washington Mall, when I cried, when she embarrassed herself and my friend in front of me while drunk, when she lied to me. And when I find it, as I always do, I'll ask myself whether I should simply let it fall away from me, into a dustbin and out of my life. And when I find it, as I always do, I will place it carefully into whichever pile I've designated for things that I'm not sure what to do with, where it will be covered by stray notes, or postcards, or newspaper clippings until I find it again.
I have a box that I'm keeping for a friend. It's a box of evidence of a relationship. I've had it for years now, and I've never really looked at it, but today, while I was evaluating what, from my life, to keep and what to discard, I was drawn to the small cardboard box of mementos. I flipped through. All in all there wasn't much, but there was a large stack of communiques of various types, neatly stacked.
I didn't read the emails. I didn't want to or need to. I was already struck with how meticulously clean they were. They didn't seem to be folded or crumpled or to show any other marks of mishandling. They were pristine except for occasional stray notes, doodles, and periodic underlining of the text. It surprised me that my friends had been able to organize these aspects of his life so delicately, ultimately making it possible, then, to put it all into a single box to be given to someone else for an indefinite period of time.
I simply don't function like that. It's hard enough for me to keep my financial information in the same place where I could be expected to find it within five minutes. But I couldn't decide to be jealous of my friend's ability or glad that I lacked it. On the one hand, having that information organized, one can always refer back to something. On the other hand, always having the information at hand means, in a physical, or perhaps geographical, way, being unable to forget. There's always something there to remind you.
I have mementos from past relationships. A few are on display, like the only picture I have of a girl from Montana, but most are hidden behind, around, below, within the maze of information that is around me at all times. And it's times like this, when I'm moving or cleaning or otherwise sifting all of my possessions, that these physical memories, stored outside of my brain, come back through my fingertips and speak.
Somewhere in that room, or possibly in boxes somewhere that I packed months ago, there is a picture of an old ex-girlfriend, exer than Ex. She's in high school, getting ready for, I think, Homecoming, wearing a green dress and looking lovely despite an obvious weariness in her eyes with the process of having her parents photograph her before the dance. Attached to it is a photograph taken of the two of us in Georgetown on some night out with a group of friends. I'm wearing a winter coat and my insulated arms hold her close; her black leather (faux-leather?) jacket wraps around my arms as well, and the dark clothing with the night flash makes her clear face luminous beneath mine. And when I find it, as I always do, I'll hold it in my hand and remember when I held her in my arms, when I fell in love, when we studied together and I couldn't stop staring at her pale shoulder, off of which her shirt had slipped, when we first kissed, sitting on a bench on the Washington Mall, when I cried, when she embarrassed herself and my friend in front of me while drunk, when she lied to me. And when I find it, as I always do, I'll ask myself whether I should simply let it fall away from me, into a dustbin and out of my life. And when I find it, as I always do, I will place it carefully into whichever pile I've designated for things that I'm not sure what to do with, where it will be covered by stray notes, or postcards, or newspaper clippings until I find it again.
So, as I mentioned earlier, Ex has begun reading and commenting in my journal. I'm actually kind of glad. This may be a way to painlessly restart a friendship, from a distance.
She also directed me to her own webjournal. I don't feel comfortable giving the address even in this smaller area, but let me reprint a section I found early on.
( I tried to work out (alone, in my head) a breakup that I had a long time ago... )
As you can imagine, this struck me pretty hard. But really, I don't have anything more to say, I think, than what I posted as a response:
( So, yeah, I found you... )
I don't think there's much more to say, and I need to get to bed. Must wake up for Survivor Thailand, you know.
She also directed me to her own webjournal. I don't feel comfortable giving the address even in this smaller area, but let me reprint a section I found early on.
( I tried to work out (alone, in my head) a breakup that I had a long time ago... )
As you can imagine, this struck me pretty hard. But really, I don't have anything more to say, I think, than what I posted as a response:
( So, yeah, I found you... )
I don't think there's much more to say, and I need to get to bed. Must wake up for Survivor Thailand, you know.
Life...don't talk to me about life.
Aug. 20th, 2002 08:39 amIt occurs to me, today, that I have spent far too little of my lifetime living, and far too much of it thinking. This occurs to me so suddenly, because last night I had a very clear example of what life is like without the brain getting in the way.
A possible relationship with a friend did not move to a more intimate level (for reasons which may or may not be discussed at a later date). But my experience was very unusual in that I didn't feel the same acute anxiety over the occurrence as I have had in other relationship beginnings and non-beginnings. I attribute this to the fact that I was, for the first time, actually aware of what was happening, instead of worried about what might happen.
( This gets long... )
A possible relationship with a friend did not move to a more intimate level (for reasons which may or may not be discussed at a later date). But my experience was very unusual in that I didn't feel the same acute anxiety over the occurrence as I have had in other relationship beginnings and non-beginnings. I attribute this to the fact that I was, for the first time, actually aware of what was happening, instead of worried about what might happen.
( This gets long... )
Search is more important.
Jul. 23rd, 2002 09:43 amSo like, I've actually got an email correspondence thing going on with T. Like, I write things, then she writes back. Woo!
I spent some time submitting feelies.org to various search engines today. It's disturbing how many of the sites now require payment to be listed. If yahoo decides that we're a "business," we won't be allowed onto the directory unless we pay $300. No thanks. I am suddenly much more appreciative of Google.
I've also been playing Dragonriders on my Dreamcast. It's a very mediocre game, and the controls are awful, but I'm enough of a Pern fan that I really enjoy the story anyway. I should probably go back and reread some of the novels too.
Clerihews just keeps on coming:
Whenheartichoke
Was broke,
Her song
Kept her moving along.
playingpossum
Is awesome
Even when sitting
In the bathroom and knitting.
And a bonus forswisscheesed
I would never makeswisscheesed
Displeased
After taking the quiz which
Informed me I'm her bitch.
I spent some time submitting feelies.org to various search engines today. It's disturbing how many of the sites now require payment to be listed. If yahoo decides that we're a "business," we won't be allowed onto the directory unless we pay $300. No thanks. I am suddenly much more appreciative of Google.
I've also been playing Dragonriders on my Dreamcast. It's a very mediocre game, and the controls are awful, but I'm enough of a Pern fan that I really enjoy the story anyway. I should probably go back and reread some of the novels too.
Clerihews just keeps on coming:
When
heartichokeWas broke,
Her song
Kept her moving along.
playingpossumIs awesome
Even when sitting
In the bathroom and knitting.
And a bonus for
swisscheesedI would never make
swisscheesedDispleased
After taking the quiz which
Informed me I'm her bitch.
Sex Chekhov.
Jul. 18th, 2002 12:18 pmWhile dictionary browsing, I found this:
sex kitten n (1958): a young woman with conspicuous sex appeal
I want a sex kitten.
Now let me unpack that a bit. I don't want in the sense of ownership. Nor do I want an actual kitten to have sex with (thank you very much gutter-minded ones). But I would like to date some one with conspicuous sex appeal.
I found it interesting that, even as I let my lizard brain do the thinking, I didn't want to go out and find someone solely on the basis of their perceived "sexiness," instead I wanted to find someone brilliant and beautiful and then be lucky enough for her to be a sex kitten as well. It's almost the inverse ofswisscheesed's "Well, it's nice that you have a brain," where it's the brain that's the pleasant afterthought.
( Back to life... )
sex kitten n (1958): a young woman with conspicuous sex appeal
I want a sex kitten.
Now let me unpack that a bit. I don't want in the sense of ownership. Nor do I want an actual kitten to have sex with (thank you very much gutter-minded ones). But I would like to date some one with conspicuous sex appeal.
I found it interesting that, even as I let my lizard brain do the thinking, I didn't want to go out and find someone solely on the basis of their perceived "sexiness," instead I wanted to find someone brilliant and beautiful and then be lucky enough for her to be a sex kitten as well. It's almost the inverse of
swisscheesed's "Well, it's nice that you have a brain," where it's the brain that's the pleasant afterthought.( Back to life... )
It's my sister's birthday. How did that happen? I guess with her graduation I wasn't paying attention. So I've got to find a gift fast.
Started a correspondence on Match.com. Don't know how it will turn out, definitely friend material, though. And I've not forgotten about T. I'm going to try to get her to breakfast/dinner soon.
FriLATX: 7:45. I miss the New York Times.
Started a correspondence on Match.com. Don't know how it will turn out, definitely friend material, though. And I've not forgotten about T. I'm going to try to get her to breakfast/dinner soon.
FriLATX: 7:45. I miss the New York Times.
Go Mexico!
Jun. 3rd, 2002 06:15 amMexico played a great game, despite me nodding off toward the end. After the game, I went to take a nap, which took longer than I expected. I had hoped to spend the day watching soccer and baking cookies; I'll have to reschedule for tomorrow. (Although the nap was unfortunate, it wasn't unexpected. I got up early to go to 6:00 Mass.)
Sent an email to T., thus officially reopening the lines of communication. YAY COMMUNICATION!
Sent an email to T., thus officially reopening the lines of communication. YAY COMMUNICATION!
Today at Mass, the visiting priest said the following:
Matthew, out of all of the five Gospels . . . um, four Gospels . . .
T. was there and wasn't angry and happily gave me her email address after we caught up on the weeks we'd missed. She's starting a new Youth Group at the parish. (I got the sense that she was pointing me out to the girl she was sitting next to, but I was probably just being overly self-conscious.)
For now, I'm going to watch the Mexico match. More soon.
Matthew, out of all of the five Gospels . . . um, four Gospels . . .
T. was there and wasn't angry and happily gave me her email address after we caught up on the weeks we'd missed. She's starting a new Youth Group at the parish. (I got the sense that she was pointing me out to the girl she was sitting next to, but I was probably just being overly self-conscious.)
For now, I'm going to watch the Mexico match. More soon.
