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Monday, Apr. 21, 2003 - 5:42 p.m. wearing: another snappy new not-altogether-linen ensemble, this one from Old Navy sometimes it takes me a while to catch on to these things K. and I went out for a fine Thai Easter dinner last night. During said dinner, one of my most dreaded in-public occurrences took place: I cracked myself up laughing, over something that wasn't even funny, to the point of belching, snarfing incoherence. The most famous occurrence of this happened back in February 1992 (it was Valentine's Day, actually), less than a week after Eric and I had started dating (back in the scary old days when Eric and I dated), when it was his 27th birthday and I took him to the sushi bar that used to be just next door to Hollins for dinner. I absolutely can't remember what he said that set me off, but he said it just as I put an entire California roll in my mouth, and I started laughing so hard that I couldn't chew or swallow or spit or anything, and all the Asian waiters in the place started creeping over to our table to make sure I didn't need the Heimlich maneuver, and Eric got more and more embarrassed, and finally I had to just spit the damned thing out in a napkin (which one of the waiters carried away between his thumb and index finger far out from him like it was a stinky diaper) and to this day any time I mention the word "sushi" Eric brings this up. This occurrence, mercifully, took place while my mouth was devoid of food, but it still had to do with Eric. K. and I were talking about cruel things little boys do to other, and I told him about how Eric got in trouble once when he was like 11 because he and this kid whom he only ever refers to as his "fat friend Chuckie" were playing in their basement, and fat-friend-Chuckie threw a paperweight at Eric's head that nearly brained him, and so Eric retailated by throwing... At this point I started laughing so hard I thought I was going to stroke out because I've never really understood the physics of this. Eventually I was able to stammer out the end of the sentence, which is that Eric retailiated by throwing soap flakes into f.f.C.'s mouth, at which point f.f.C. pitched a holy hissie fit and got Eric in trouble for "attempting to poison him." To which K.'s rejoinder was, "Oh, when I was 11 I put oleander in a little girl's drink at a birthday party, but she didn't drink the rest of it." Aaaaggh! Remind me always to carry my glass with me when I'm drinking anything around K.! So anyway, after that, K. asked me to take him to the video store to return his movies because his car was almost out of gas and he didn't feel like filling it up. I know this is going to seem like the most ridiculously anachronistic statement of all time, but it hasn't crossed my mind, the whole time I've lived in Las Vegas, to join a video store and rent movies. I have digital cable and everything, and sometimes I actually watch it, and so I guess I just figured that if there wasn't anything on cable that I wanted to see, I should just do something other than watch a movie. Now I feel like a whole new world has opened up to me! While K. spent his time drooling over the crappy horror movies that are his bread and butter, I looked at the wide variety of new and semi-new releases that I just hadn't thought about, like Secretary and Kissing Jessica Stein and Jackass (please don't ask me why I actually want to see Jackass) and Eight Mile (ditto) and I've forgotten the others, but I'm going to go straight from here to the video store, yes sirree, and never mind that I have two enormous loads of laundry to do and a bunch of bills to pay and garbage to sack up and put out on the curb when I get home! Not much else to report. Mom bought herself all these new clothes today to wear to Singapore; I was like, "dude, you're going to be there for a total of 52 hours..." but it already sounds like she's taking more clothes for that than I am for two whole weeks. I'm far more concerned with having ample reading material for the 20-hour trip (including layovers) from here to southeast Asia--yesterday I went and bought Moby-Dick, which I've successfully put off reading until now, as well as some slightly more fun things like Where I'm Calling From by Raymond Carver and Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston and the first volume of Somerset Maugham's collected stories, some of which are actually set in that sector of the planet. Mom's like, "well, I'll see if Dad'll loan me some of his Tom Clancy books..." I told her she'd be better off seeing if Dad would loan her his Harry Potter books but she wasn't buying it. Mom doesn't handle emotion very well. (Not that the Harry Potter books would offend that, but still.) Like, I gave her A Prayer for Owen Meany one year for Christmas and she read it up to the beginning of the last chapter and stopped, never to pick it up again. It's like she knew what was bound to happen, and she couldn't even bear thinking about how devastating it was going to be to her after having gotten to "know" John Wheelwright and O.M. over the course of however many hundreds of pages, and so she just quit rather than subject herself to that. I told my Good Therapist about this once and she seemed not the least bit surprised, knowing what she already did about my mom. Anyway, it's off to the wonderful world of movies for me! And to think I just last week ridiculed my mom for not having an ATM card. For shame! � 5.2.03--all packed up and nowhere to go yet - Friday, May. 02, 2003 *** Diaryland *** Moi *** Maintenant *** Temps Perdu |