3-Jan-2006

No, I'm not dead.  Even though my soul may not be functioning, my brain is strong as ever, especially after a long trip home and the eating schedule my mother imposed upon me as soon as I deboarded the plane.  For some reason, I have been losing weight at a fascinating pace, and, even though I ate more lasagna over the holidays than Garfield on an Italian-themed bulimic binge, I've only gained two pounds back.  But enough about my deteriorating fat/muscle/brain cells.  I fear that, since so much time has passed since my last entry, I must give a trifling account of each day.  So here goes:

Friday, December 23rd:  The bosses tell me not to bother coming in today.  I ask if I am fired.  They laugh.  But they don't answer me.  Oh, well.  I needed to do laundry anyway.  Then I go see "King Kong."  I highly recommend it to anyone who has a soft spot for sentimental monkeys.  Especially sentimental monkeys who are not afraid of heights.  Since I've been given the day off (or fired, I'm still not sure which), I decide to celebrate my solo movie trip with a concession hot dog.  If it were up to me, I'd buy a hot dog every single time I went to the movies.  But there's nothing that makes a guy think "I never want to sleep with this girl in a respectful way" more than seeing her chow down on a hot dog.  And dripping mustard all over her face. 

Fast forward to night:  The Honeybee comes over, bearing Season One of "Monk."  God, it's like they made a television show about me, if I were a genius detective and a widower.  I wonder if Monk ever logs on to Web MD...

Saturday, December 24th:  The parents pick me up at the Cincinnati airport.  I call Delta once we get home to let them know I will not be on the 20 minute journey from Cincinnati to Louisville.  They tell me I've been a bad girl and slap me with a $200 fine.  I begin dictating a letter to the FAA via my mother, who drags me outside by the ear.  Apparently, I need to take a walk to "cool down."  And then it'll be time for another snack.  Happy Early Birthday, Jesus.

Sunday, December 25th:  Apparently, Delta was wrong.  I have not been a bad girl, cause Santa brings me an iPod!!!  As I'm loading Tupac's Greatest Hits onto my new contraption, my mom catches a whiff of "Dear Mama" and immediately steals the compilation.  After the Hip Hop war has simmered, we all pile in the car to go see the Baptist side of the family, aka my dad's peeps.  I love them, really, I do.  But not only do they not drink or swear, they also can't cook.  Luckily, my father sets his watch for two hours once we walk in the door, and it doesn't matter what we're doing once those two hours have passed (I, for example, was mid-conversation about a Satanic horror film with My Favorite Uncle when Dad tapped me on the shoulder), we are in our coats and passed round for hugs before you can say "Silent Night." 

Monday, December 26th:  Did this day even happen?  Seems I spent it lounging on the couch reading Capote's "In Cold Blood" (an excellent nonfiction account of a killing spree at a Western Kansas farm in the 60s), but I didn't write in the journal I don't keep about it, so I guess we'll never know.

Tuesday, December 27th:  Up at 4 AM to drive to the airport for Safari Barbie's wedding.  And, you guessed it, I have my senior prom dress in tow.  I rent a canary yellow Chevy Cobalt at BWI and head for the Hampton Inn.  I spend the day writing and re-watching that paragon of cinematic virtue, "Red Eye," which, at about 80 minutes, is the antithesis of "King Kong."  Later, at the wedding, I enjoy Chicken Chesapeake (my college buddy Smarty Pants hit the nail on the head when he cried, "It's meat wrapped in meat!  How can you go wrong?"  He said the same thing about the scallops and bacon combo passed before the meal) and a little faux-Swing dancing with Smarty Pants and My Really Smart Ex-Boyfriend.  He's getting a PhD in neuroscience.  I don't even know the correct way to abbreviate PhD. 

Wednesday, December 28th:  Back in Louisville at 9 AM.  I am sooo tired and hungover that I flag down the little golf cart man, pushing old women in wheelchairs out of the way while screaming "Shotgun!!!"  And off to ground transportation we speed.  Mom and I decide to have "Girl's Night," since Dad is working late.  But, uh, that didn't really work out.  I fell asleep at 8 PM while she watched syndicated "King of Queens."

Thursday, December 29th:  My Friend Farrah cooks dinner for me.  I love it when other people cook for me.  It makes me feel so taken care of.  Not that I have anything to complain about on that front - A LOT of people have been checking in on me, making sure I'm doing okay, trying to dissolve my anxiety.  The Designated Driver, my mom, the Honeybee, the Wise Man, the Hottie.  One of the aforementioned people has tried to explain that all my anxiety would disappear if I had a regular sex life.  Bet you'll never guess which one...

Friday, December 30th:  We have all my high school friends out for brunch.  Anything I write here will not do them justice.  Suffice it to say, they are some of the loveliest, crudest, most honest people I will ever meet, and I'd trust each and every one of them (okay, maybe not all of them, but you know who you are) with my life.  And boy can they devour quiche and fried pork products.  Friday night I was treated to some quality food (which adhered to my mother's eating schedule) and conversation by The Entrepreneur (so deemed because hard work is endemic to him), then was home in time for my nightly dose of "Roseanne."

Saturday, December 31st:  I ring in the New Year with Vincent D'Onofrio and a "Law & Order:  Criminal Intent" marathon on TNT.  If this is not indicative of my future old-maidery, I don't know what is.  Not that I really give a shit.  I'd rather see Vincent improv-ing his way through a cocaine high 24 times in a row than be packed into a bar, getting beer and rufees "accidentally" spilled all over me.

Sunday, January 1st:  The parents and I go have lunch with my aunt and her... lover?  I don't know the appropriate term here.  However, I do know that said aunt makes killer beef stroganoff and chocolate pie.  Hello, two extra pounds.

Monday, January 2nd:  High school friends Penny, Farrah, and the Shopaholic bring me coffee, cause they want the scoop on something they think happened.  I was sad that I did not live up to their expectations, but such is my life.  Hopefully, they still love me.  But probably they don't.  Regardless, they got some free lasagna and homemade rolls out of it. 

And home to L.A.!  Delta, the official airline of Satan, delays my flight because of a "tornado" (yeah, right) and "fear of crashing."  Blah, blah.  Just get me there on time, people.  I tried to fine them $200.  They promptly entered my name on the "No-Fly List."  I'm not a terrorist, just a girl with a maxed-out Visa card.

Now I'm sitting at work, wondering when the bosses are going to break out the alcohol.  It's after noon already.  We could at least have some White Zin...