My brother and I (and my father... and possibly my mother... and maybe the ashes of my dead dog, if we can fit them in the car) are going to pay the first month's rent and the security deposit on our new apartment tomorrow. Apparently, we are getting the keys on Saturday and then... that's it. I officially live in two separate homes; three, if you want to count the place I eat crap food and watch movies on Sundays and really, until I get married, I can't stop referring to my parents' house as "home." I might have just sort of stolen that idea from Garden State but there you go. I could pick a worse movie to steal ideas from.
I had an awesome and exciting dream on Sunday night that involved me and the rest of the DnD gang in some house running around and experiencing some type of crazy adventure. I specifically remember Dan and Joe being there but I know the rest were, too. The problem is, I cannot remember any of it and it's really making me mad. In the dream, I knew I would forget it, so I had a second dream wherein I told all my friends about the first dream, since I knew talking about it would make it stick. Then, I woke up and promptly forgot it. I think it may be time for a dream journal.
I miss having someone. Is that pessimism? I'm going with no. Also, does it make me a terrible person to like having a guy take care of me? Like is that such a step backward for feminists? Would my fellow women be ashamed of me? I sometimes think that there is a women somewhere trapped inside of me who would absolutely love living in the 1950s... but then I remember that I can't cook and hate cleaning so I don't think I'd last very long back then. Do you think Dick Van Dyke would've been okay with eating mac and cheese for dinner?
I started this journal with the idea that each post would be one separate narrative but turns out, not that many exciting things happen to me on a daily basis. I thought a guy might have been coming over to hit on me Saturday night, but he was just asking me to do an interview for the band. Then later on, when I apologized for not being able to hear him, he said it was probably because of his accent. Because I still couldn't hear him, I had no idea what kind of accent he had, so it's possible I let my one chance for chatting up a British guy slip through my fingers. That, my friends, would have been one hell of a story. I imagine the story of accomplishing one of my life goals could have gotten pretty long-winded.
4 comments:
Jen, I am almost certain that you're going to find a guy as amazing as you deserve. And he'll cook, too.
But you may have to give up on the British thing.
That being said, congrats again on your three homes!
It's about time you wrote another post. I was getting bored here at work. If I were you I'd go for the British thing and give up on the cooking. You can always use him for his accent and then toss him aside when you've had your fill.
Just to clarify, is there one place where you eat crap food and a separate place where you watch movies on Sunday, or is there one place where you do both? If it's one place, which place is it? Itsounds like you were referring to your parents' place, but I'd think the food there would be good.
Just keep yourself out there. Good things will happen. Optimism in '09!!
And I agree with Gull. It's about freakin time you updated your blog. Let's keep up with this, huh?
I don't mean crap food as in bad-tasting. I mean crap as in bad for you. My father always makes some kind of incredibly awesome snack on Sunday afternoons while we watch TV. Because he is the man.
The password is "supseago." I instantly love this word.
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