3:48 p.m. | 26 November 2002 | potluckless

Word up, home toys.

I am as tired as the Macarena. There was supposed to be a Thanksgiving potluck today at work (gag, blurgh, ark) but i was all set to participate anyway. I got up at six, walked the dog, and drove to the indie-rock Jewel (the one on Milwaukee) for celery, dog food, and diet coke (i felt briefly like a model or something). Then i quickly busted back home and double-timed it making pie and dressing (not stuffing, since i don't eat anything that's been shoved inside an animal's cavity) while i got dressed. Then i carefully packed everything into an insanely cute 1960s hatbox, sucked down a cup of Medaglio d'Oro instant espresso (which tasted like Satan's own asshole, by the way) and piled onto the El. I felt all accomplished and shit: my outfit matched reasonably, i had all my crap, including keys, cigarettes, wallet, and phone (it's rare that i'm 4/4), and i was on time.

Except that last week they cancelled the potluck and decided to get pizza instead without bothering to tell me, so my lame ass traipsed over to the other office bearing my disparate random foodstuffs, and was met with stares that turned from blank to pitying before my very eyes. Then they ordered pizza fraught with flesh-bits and i couldn't even eat it. What a crock! I ended up hiding out in my office all day, eating a giant mountain of DELICIOUS HOMEMADE STUFFING. Take that, cockmunchers.

I am still, also, worn out from this weekend. Madre de m�os and i went thrifting and i got the most giant insane actually-Russian fur hat of all time, ever, for $4.99, and then the Tape Wizard and i went to her weirdo gym, where as usual what began as a perfectly respectable circuit through various implements of torture concluded with gross gestures using medicine balls, foam noodles, and jump-ropes. I tried to read Heidegger on the recumbent bike and i think i sprained my right brain-lobe.

The Bang! was the best thing ever. I danced mega-hard and jumped about a lot and swung my head around and did several invented dances, including the Wind-Up Toy, the Matrix, and some kind of weird lateral booty-swing i am dubbing the Revolving Door. My old friends were there, and a couple of new ones, and i was crushing on some joker named Steven despite inconsistent fashion (Scarf: +1 point, Mike's Hard Lemonade shirt: -2 points), but he didn't have the time of day for my ass. Or my face. Anyhoo.

I was later informed that "the Claude le Monde [my friend Louis] knows wouldn't puss out!" This, in response to my deciding AGAINST drinking an entire additional bottle of wine at 4:00am (after numerous sashays into a bottle of Jameson earlier that evening). Am i getting old? Am i continuing to be old? I feel like i'm dead.

I'm still eating the box of Nerds i bought for the Tape Wizard (she left 'em in the Chevy). All day long people have been stopping by my office to drop off sundry shit; then, like small children or raccoons, they get sidetracked by the giant, Nerd-emblazoned carton. "Nerds! I remember these! I loved these! Wow, i'm so glad they're making them again!" Yeah, assbag, if you'd really loved 'em so much, you might have noticed that THEY NEVER WENT AWAY. These are probably the bastards that abuse the term retro (applying it haphazardly to cheesy lava lamps and such) and are really into, like, imitating Austin Powers at parties and shit. Gaack.

I am obsessed with my soon-to-be-but-at-the-moment-hypothetical apartment. I have started tagging various swanky furnishings catalogues, like Design Within Reach (whose reach? Donald Trump's?) and then looking for similar objets at trusty old IKEA, despite their enragingly slow, non-extensive, uninspiring website. Storage solutions? Well, duh, put a box under your bed. That's hardly a revolution, friends.

it's been snowing all day, and it's really beautiful and tranquil. i love snow, and missed it really terribly when i was away. i'm not going to bust out with some annoying paraphrase of Lloyd Dobler's "the rain is a baptism" speech or anything, but the world is easier loved when it's frosted.

clm.