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shiny objects

Sunday, May 09, 2004


Mother's Day. I commissioned a painting from my friend Tinsley as a gift for the old lady. That went over pretty well. The whole family trudged downtown for a lavish brunch at the Aquarium restraunt. Highlights: I overheard part of a neighboring diner's conversation which went something like "Oh yeah, she's got terrible headaches, and she's leaking spinal fluid . . ." which really gets my imagination going; I depleted the buffet of shrimp cocktail, smoked salmon, and capers; I stole a mimosa; after waiting in line for the ladies room, I entered the stall whose most recent occupant had been a rather masculine woman, and found the seat up, which made me giggle; I watched an octopus flop about its dingy tank and yearned for a cephlopod of my very own.

I'm not quite ready to be friends with John yet. Wounds are too fresh. We're getting there. Boy my weekends are lonely without him . . .

Prom in Tminus 5 days. You've been warned.

I need to cut back on the clovies. My throat hurts.


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