It has come to my attention that my days of updating my diary once, twice, possibly even thrice a day have fallen by the wayside, wherein "the wayside" represents my extreme laziness. Well, partly laziness and partly that so many things have been going on hardly know where to begin.
It is funny, really, that one can be unemployed and spend one's day sitting on the Klaus watching movies and the Food Network, yet still collect so many interesting stories and happenings that really properly belong in one's diary, all at the same time. I will try to sum up.
The Special Crossover Event I mentioned a few weeks ago occurred last weekend. The charming, handsome, and altogether dashing young Finn came to visit. Windy City meets Big Apple, and I could not have been more pleased with the confluence. It honestly seems laughable now that we had been concerned with our face-to-face chemistry (which really can be vastly different from phone- or email-chemistry, after all). A whole new library of in-jokes was created during those three days alone, where "It's not you, it's me" is my personal favorite. Plus, all of my friends seem just as favorably impressed as I, and I take that as a very good sign. My friends have impeccable taste. Plus, I discovered that eating peach pie in bed is a tremendously satisfying experience.
Above and beyond that little adventure, I also bought a suit at the local Salvation Army. Charcoal grey, Ralph Lauren, summer-weight wool/cashmere blend, fits like a dream, twenty-five bucks. Eat your heart out. I wore my new suit to a thoroughly unexpected interview on Tuesday, flashed my smile around the office, and was offered a new, full-time, benefits-laden, money-oozing, title-bestowing position on Thursday, which clearly and for all time marks my recent purchase as my "lucky suit."
Incidentally -- check out my new digs if you are curious. Yes, I know the site needs some work (3-D buttons?? I mean, honestly,) but that is what I am there to remedy.
I also saw the Powerpuff Girls movie. Its coolness is NOT to be underestimated. "Alas, my little ones...I do not rock." HA!! Monkeys are FUCKING FUNNY. Plus I just discovered (via a handy quiz) that were I a Powerpuff Girl, I would be Bubbles. HARDCORE!!!!
Tonight, the gang and I hung out with a boy who apparently just had a bit part as a crack dealer dressed up as a chicken (I do not know, I did not get a plot synopsis either) in a movie to be released in February, starring...get this...Macauley Culkin and Marilyn Manson. The mind reels.
Yesterday was this one's birthday. I did a lot of cooking of burgers and corn and guacamole (you know, standard rooftop picnic fare) for her and her co-workers and she seemed to have had a lovely time. At one point, as I flew around the kitchen, alternating between sweeping the floor, doing dishes, seasoning the burgers, running to the living room to crack open a few bottles, popping out to the vegetable store for corn, and zipping to the other end of the neighborhood in an abortive attempt to help StyleGirl carry home a grill, I mopped the sweat from my brow and asked Sea why I always end up being the uber-host at our parties. He just looked at me quizzically and replied, "Well, it seems like you just enjoy it more than anyone else," with which, upon brief reflection, I had to wholeheartedly agree. As a matter of fact, I fucking LOVE it. More than almost ANYTHING. That delicious frantic rush of doing too many things in too little time. This is also why being a stage manager agrees so well with me.
On a sad and slighly related note (segue with me through the references to cooking and you will get it), of the five different sources of funding I had been assured would cement my hold on a slot at the French Culinary Institute, classes beginning July 30, guess how many fell through this week. Go on, guess. I will be waiting for you when you are finished.
If you guessed that ALL FIVE fell through, you would be right. So it appears that the past three months of anticipation are all for naught -- I will not be attending culinary school this year. I am trying to balance the tremendous amount of sad from that with the tremendous amount of happy from the whole new job thing. But if you happen to know of anyone with $26,750 that they are willing to offer me in exchange for some stellar fucking tuna steak, let me know. In the meantime, I plan on becoming the best damned amateur cook this side of the Mason-Dixon.
That about takes care of my news. When I am employed (starting on MONDAY) and thus leaving the house on a regular basis, expect more regular news from the Land of Me. For now, I am off to visit Sleepytown. Wish me luck, and remind me to tell you about my revolutionary dreams.