and to recap

Is Mercury is in retrograde? Something bizarre is afoot... This woman actually seemed to confer with MY side of things last night. Usually I feel like she seems a bit prejudiced toward me... (Of course I have never voiced this opinion to anyone; I don't want to sound paranoid or selfish. But I swear there have been certain things leading me to such thoughts.)

I don't necessarily mean to use such strong words as 'teamed-up with Tom against me', but I've often suspected that is the case. She makes me feel so wary. Perhaps it's in my own imagination, and it's not her fault at all. (But goddammit! They are in cahoots!! Wait, I mean, they are not... Wait, I am perfectly normal. I AM!)

Anyway, so I brought it all up about my Boston visit. I felt Tom stiffen beside me... And I felt like shit. I felt like a selfish, mean person. But I phrased it in such a good way... I found the right words for once. I don't know how it happened.

I can't remember the exact words, but I explained how I grateful I am for Tom, and for his feelings and worry about me, and how I couldn't imagine how painful things have been for him, how I know he's only looking out for me and loves me. But I said how it's been OVER a year now... And how I've been doing things like going out with girlfriends sometimes after work, going to lunch some weekends... and all has ended up fine. Even though he didn't much like that at first.

And doing these things has helped me be better. If I do these things it makes me a better person, both for me and for Tom. I mean, I'm sure he doesn't want me attached-at-his-hip ALL the time either, and I have to find us a balance for that sort of thing.

The therapist actually said it 'was time' I continue doing such things, to come back to normal. And she thought I should make this trip. (Course Tom and I discussed how I should probably wait till we move before making a plane-ticket purchase. But maybe in September I can go.)

I'm nervous we won't talk about it again, but I'll try not to let it rest. I am SO EXCITED to go and just have fun and not worry about anything for a while. I almost feel younger today.

Tom put his arm around me and was all tender and sweet at the end; I felt like I bamboozled him, but he was so kind. And he even said maybe we could cut back our appts. to every two weeks instead of every week... Can you believe that? Maybe someday we won't have to go anymore! YAY.

WHY is he so nice to me. I don't understand it. Sometimes I just cannot understand.

(I am embarassed writing about this, it sounds so dumb, so idiotic. But it helps to get it out, and hopefully will make for better things in the future!)

So we have our date tonight, and I hope to make it so fun and make him have the best weekend ever.

I am wearing fishnet stockings today. Now that has to end well.

:) Have a good weekend, my friends!

need to get away

I want to visit my best girlfriend R., who lives in Boston. (Where I used to live.) I want to bring it up to Tom, but I am afraid. I don't want that 'worried' or 'suspicious' look...

I just want to go like a normal person to see her friend, safe in the knowledge of a loving hubby at home, who is safe in the knowledge of his wife away for a rare few days, and they will miss each other but will see each other soon, because they are content in their love but still retain their own, separate individual selves.

I hate what I've done, and what he's gone through... but I just need to get away, to do something by myself. I need to get something back for myself... I feel the need to be alone for a few hours on a plane and do something for myself again. I really did use to be so self-sufficient, and independent and confident. I feel like I just need a kick-start to bring the all those same things back, do you think? (Well, probably not exactly the same; that crippling shyness will still rear-up at some moments. But I just know I have been handling it better lately. I HAVE been doing so well. I just know it.)

I don't know how to say it... or perhaps just use an e-mail introducing the idea...? I suppose this is what the 'therapy' is for - to bring things up safely. But it's still so hard to bring myself to speak in front of a stranger like that, no matter how professional or nice she is.

BUT: I'm thinking I should do it tomorrow - Thursday - in front of her. (Instead of at home, where the silence would fill the room and my soul would be banished to the rooftop.)

I don't know. I just feel so helpless, and sometimes so empty. I just need to do something. And I'm starting to get mad. Mad at Tom. Which is not good. In fact it's HORRID. (Because it is so INDESCRIBABLY UNFAIR to him - he has been the nicest man to me I have ever met, he has done so much for me. And it's NOT his fault. He is not those men. He is my Dreamboat from Heaven.)

But the grain of anger has started and I need to try and make him understand again that I am a real individual person again. Before I lose it.

DAMMIT! Sorry for venting; this sounds so dumb. I AM going to make myself talk about it to him tomorrow.

i am a model moron

My friend R. and I just went across the street to Starbucks (to spend our entire daily wage on a single latté).

Ahead of us was a pursed-looking girl, with a shelf-like cleavage, snakey legs, and a fake tan the color of my coffee. She was so thin her exposed belly rounded-out like a melon as she did her best Paris Hilton pose.

She was... weird-looking (i.e. skank-fest). I can say 'skank' because she was NOT nice-looking at all - and I mean 'nice' as in 'kind'... with that full-of herself, empty look that practically shot everyone's eyes out with its self-absorption and conceit (i.e. Paris Hilton).

So of course, all the guys stared and slobbered (except R., whose tastes run to the masculine). And they only stared because she was wearing incredibly short shorts and weighed 80 pounds - not because she was really that pretty.

Now if you can believe this: The little adolescent coffee-guy says: "Are you a model?"

"Sometimes" she sighed back, without smiling, in a tone that said "do not speak to me any more or I will carve your eyeball out with my nail-file you lowlife". Then she strutted out, staring blandly ahead.

And this guy, along with the clerk, har-har-ed and watched her leave like she had just given them blowjobs instead of treating them like dirtbags. (Which, they were.)

R. and I looked at each other, and in one of those perfectly coordinated moments began repeating "Are you a model?" over and over... in these deep, dumb-sounding voices with lisps, flailing around like idiots. (And I'm sorry to say, like mentally-ill people.)

Spoofing this guy who was right in front of us. His poor little face turned even redder.

We are horrible, mean people.

And then R. pointed to me and said: "Why don't you ask her if she's a model? I mean, you've probably seen her vagina in all the latest magazines".

I stopped my flailing about, not knowing how to proceed... But the little coffee-guy had such a horrified look on his face (not so much at the prospect of a real-life vagina model, but because my impersonation had somehow morphed into something resembling Groucho Marx), that I just couldn't help but say to him: "You know, mine's the one with the mole right here...?"

Might as well skip the non-fat and add some cream to that latté, cuz I am going to hell.

purchase papers signed

It finally happened - our offer was accepted on a condo. And as much as we yearned and tried, it's NOT in Nob Hill or North Beach, because we are not millionaires. But it's a start.

It is cool though: It's one block from Mission Street, and the cross-street is 17th. It's smack-dab in the middle of the Mission neighborhood. We're always going there for the restaurants, or even just to walk around... we love it.

I'll miss living downtown though. (And I won't be within walking-distance from the youth center anymore.) But we'll still be 10 minutes away by BART from downtown. And in the Mission! Where I can get a 5-pound burrito and/or tapas any time of day! And I'll be able to practice my Spanish!

You know, I've lived in the 'loin for almost eight years now (and over a year by myself, before meeting Tom). In dingy but groovy little apartments.

I know I have to grow up, but I can't shake a bit of melancholy at leaving this scrummy, crack-raddled 'hood, its streets infused with curry from the Indian restaurants...

 

So I'm in a high-state of anxiety today (whaaat? how unusual!). Though we were pre-approved by a couple of lenders, we have been inundated with others now that purchase papers have been signed.

I shouldn't complain, I know, but they are coming at us like animals, trying to get us to choose them. I can't believe how rude and pushy they are! Some are even starting contact me directly, bypassing Tom. (Word must have got out that I am a 'marshmallow', as Tom terms it.) I never understand all the lingo and financial intricacies, so I just do my best to appease them, and talk to Tom afterward. I am so busy here at the office too; it is awful.

I can't wait for it all to be over and for us to get settled in our TWO BED-TWO BATH!!! Should be by August 15th.

I do feel lucky and excited. I mean, I know I should. (I'm going to have my first dishwasher, for crissakes!) But why do I feel so sad?

Now would be a good time for me to go on vacation... And charge it.

it was a brave day...

It was a brave day, my friends. A day of importance. A day of reckoning.

It was the day I ventured to a new hairdresser.

I said "NO MORE!" to the $80-haircut!!! I said "I will now walk two blocks out of my way to get home in order to avoid my old hairdresser of six years, who keeps raising his prices no matter how many cookies I bake him!"

In preparation, you see, I have been scoping-out numerous beauty-shops in the 'hood over the last few months. And last night, armed with confidence (ha!) and Tom's words of encouragement ('drama queen!') I ventured out... And I swear I could hear the faint sounds of music in the air as accompaniment. (It was either the theme from 'Jaws' or 'Chariots of Fire', I'm not sure... I was a bit distraught.)

I figured I could at least shoot for something above the $5-haircut shops (which always boast "Bikini Wax Included!" on their signs). So I decided on the $25-haircut advertised across the street; I think I am at least worth that much.

So I entered under a neon sign written in Chinese characters, along with a logo for Verizon Wireless. (If I wanted, you see, I could also buy a cellphone at the same time.)

I was immediately accosted by three small dogs, one of which let loose an enormous amount of pee on the floor and my toe. An alarmingly-thin young man with gelled-hair approached. He led me away, scolding and scowling the whole time. (At me or the dogs, I'm not sure.)

I was a bit alarmed that this man, clad in a George Michael t-shirt, was shaking so badly he almost poked my eye with his scissors... but I had already been shampooed and didn't know what to do. I was paralyzed. (I suspected many, many drugs might have been present; however, I didn't want to appear discriminatory.)

Anyway, I had a picture of Shirley MacLaine from "The Apartment" and of Deborah Kerr from "An Affair to Remember" in my pocket, in case of an emergency whereupon I might have to show something of what my haircut should resemble.

It was a breakthrough. He stared at the photos, shaking profusely (while waving scissors around and shouting at dogs). He said "I KNOW WHAT YOU MEAN LADY!!" He smiled. I kid you not.

So I survived the scratches, the dog-pee... even the George Michael t-shirt... Because this man and I connected on a deep level: A deep love of Deborah Kerr's hair.

It all turned out fine. (After I showered to remove a thick-layer of pomade from myself, that is.) And I even saved $50!!!

is that all there is?

OH MY GOD HOW much do I hate the day. I get up SO early to do all this preparation in the morning, exercising and primping and dressing, and am SO fucking peachy-keen, let me tell you. Everything goes so fast.

Then, around 2 or 3 p.m., I begin to unravel.... And from around 3:00 the minutes drag on till I almost keel over from anxiety and anticipation of getting home to safety... And for those endless, excruciating, EXPOSED minutes I sit here, doing this job I hate, being a person I just hate, and I just wish I was just FUCKING DEAD.

And then 5:00 hits and I burst out into the air, filled with the sound of traffic and fog-horns from the bay, and I get ensconsed in a bus that shoots me off to my apartment. I will feel a bit free and safe for a while... Then Tom and I meet back at home and I begin to feel the pressure of wanting to be something else because it is expected of me to be a certain way, and wanting so many things that I don't have and wanting to be a kind of person that I'm not.

And I try not to eat anything even though all I'm thinking about is food, and I'm so hungry, and all I want is to go to sleep so that I have some respite for a little while. And I say some funny things, and I try to make everything light and happy and sexy.

And then afer he goes to sleep I think: "Am I doing all I can?" and "Is that all there is?" And then I sneak a sleeping-pill so everything goes faster.

And then I hear the sound of the alarm clock.

i AM talented...

oooooooooooh GAWD someone at work found my name on the IMDB...

AND he decided it would be witty/funny to bring it up at a staff meeting this morning.

(Now this is weird. WHY was he looking up my name on IMDB? Should I ask? I'm sure it was harmless... It was by an SF company, so I'm sure it was just a harmless connection... Still, weird.)

But, I can't help but feel kinda cool... It's the closest I'll ever come to even a pseudo-level of fame.

Except: Now I have been inundated with witty e-mails from co-workers. (Many of which would be haruuuummmed to death in a sexual-harassment seminar... but all my co-workers are gay; does that still count?)

The level of my pseudo-fame has been aided by the movie-title, which contains the word "latex"... and the fact that the movie has nothing to do with anything that would ever be considered by any human being as civilized, quality filmmaking. On this planet, anyways.

But how difficult it is to wear an outfit made entirely of latex!!! (If you want to call it an outfit.) This entails first having a stranger cover your naked body with baby-powder... while you simultaneously consume an entire bottle of Jack Daniels.

See, I do have talent.

learning about jill

I don't know why I've decided to write about this now... it was just on my mind.

I was thinking how different I am (or am trying to be) from the state of mind I was in last year during those two suicide attempts.

I know I am different - almost to the point of unrecognition - but I sometimes think about that one time on the Golden Gate Bridge. Supposedly I had been saved by tourists who alerted the gate-patrol; I'm still unclear about what happened. (I sort of remember the taxi... and then an ambulance... And part of the weeks which followed at the ward.)

But I do remember what put the thought of using the bridge in my mind: A neighborhood homeless woman.

I recognized this woman from the shelter where I volunteer, and from the neighborhood. She was always around - stumbling about on crack and alcohol, in various states of disarray. I just always recognized her because she looked so distinct - so thin, so gray, so wrinkled.

So when I read back in February of this brutal murder, I recognized her photo. It was HER!!!

I remembered that day back in '06 on the bench outside of Signor Pizza on Geary Street. I was waiting for my small cheese-&-olive, and she sat beside me. She smelled. And she had a horrendously sad look on her face - worse than usual. She looked about 150 years-old, and may have weighed about 80 pounds.

She said, without looking at me: "Only men have jumped off the Golden Gate Bridge, never women". I didn't know what to say. I just sat there with her. She then gave me a sort of accusatory-glance, and then got up and walked away. She was hardly conscious. I had never heard her speak before that.

That was much over a year ago. I'm not saying anything's her fault, or if she's even correct... but I just wanted to write down that I remember what she said. And how I have kept thinking of her, for some reason... I imagine how hard her life was and of her horrible horrible death earlier this year. She was kills while I was just getting better.

And what would have stuck in my mind if her comment wasn't there...anything? Would it have been pills? Or would it have been nothing?

 

I have never told Tom about that. It is too strange. (I can hardly talk about anything anymore to myself, let alone another person.)

I just remember sitting in the sun that day, on the dirty wooden bench, waiting for my pizza... sort of wishing I was somewhere else. And she sat by me for just a moment. And now she's dead.

And I'm not.

smooches to YOU!

Good Day!! The right bus came at exactly the right time this morning - a rare occurrence - saving me a ten-block walk ('city' block, that is... swimmin' pools, movie stars...) to the office. Always a good sign, especially when I'm prone to wearing Fashion-Over-Function shoes, which never improve no matter how many Walgreens-brand cushioned insoles I paste into them.

Lots of drama here yesterday: The guy who sits across from me was fired in a very dramatic, tense way. The manager walked him out, both of them silently looking at the ground as the 'fallen man' packed up his bags. This was due to lots that happened before I started working here... but I think it was partly due to the fact that this guy was a little outspoken - and quite a bit more intelligent than the management... They didn't like that.

(Of course I immediately e-mailed said co-worker saying I will miss him & I am sorry I won't get to work with him anymore, etc. etc... I know Tom would say I 'just have to side with the underdog no matter what because of my no-brain-only-emotion component', but I think in this case my allegiance was deserved. Wait.... is that the plot of "Jerry Maguire"... I am getting confused...)

 

So last night, Tom was all pissy (deservedly) over a bad day. He had to bring some work home.

He sat in the main room with his architectural blueprints scattered around and his laptop firmly affixed, like an appendage. This all made me nervous - stupidly, of course. So I tried to stay in the bedroom and read, and not bother him.

But I couldn't help it; I hate when he's stressed. So I kept coming out and asking if he wanted me to cook anything for him. (I still had this thyme and tarragon in the fridge from making a dinner on Sunday, and I was anxious to use it up. These are not common ingredients in our neighborhood liquor-shops, you see... I had to really travel to get it.)

But this was actually not what he needed at the moment.

SO: In a rare burst of outgoing-ness, I came in and simply took off my shirt. He said: "Put those things away!!"

So I walked out and listened on the other side of the wall... and then... THERE IT WAS!! The sound of the laptop being placed covertly on the table... And the noise of his big feet!! Gawd.

He chased me around the apartment about three times.

And then: Yes!! There WAS some smoochin'!

SMOOCHes to you!!!

trading integrity for ...

I met my good friend S. for lunch this week; I just adore her to death. We had such a good time, over pizza and salads.

(We met many years ago; we were at the same company for a brief period, before I was married.) We also spent a week together on vacation in Brazil - WHOA that was fun!

We were talking about how hard it sometimes is to view yourself as you get older... And she was talking about turning 40 and venting; and I was talking about turning 36 and venting. And she said "well, I almost didn't want to go to Brazil with you, I was so jealous... I saw how guys were always looking at you, even when we were going in-&-out of the elevator at work. Every day, they were looking at you, and here I am and I feel so terrible around you."

Now, I just don't even know how to even begin to respond to something like that... though most people hearing me now might be like "you fucking bitch you're complaining about that, well fuck you, what a shitty bitch thing to talk about". And there is NOTHING that is LESS important than looks to me... I mean, let me tell you. And SO much else worse is going on in the world. (Not to mention I myself think I am fucking hideous-looking.)

I wanted to tell S. that if she only knew how much I looked up to her, how much I would die to be even the least bit like her; she is so strong and beautiful and funny and smart to me, and so ambitious and energetic and driven and outgoing, and everyone likes her and wants to be around her.... I just think what the FUCK matters about me - because I will never be like that, ever.

No matter what I do every day, how hard I work at my 'professional' job, how hard I try to build the reservoir of "nice things I do for Tom to make up to him and prove my devotion", or how much volunteer work I do, or how many kids I try to help: I will always know that there was once a time I traded sex for money; I traded integrity for food; I traded character for compliments.

I remember those times too; they are always coming back in memory. Memories of smell: A Mexican restaurant's kitchen where I once worked and got rice&beans for free; a hotel I once worked and got showers&soap for free; the bars I've been drunk at; the apartments I woke up in; the colleges I've gone to... If I had been what other people would consider "unattractive", would I have done the same things? I think so. I think character is who you are - who you become and decide yourself to be as a person of integrity. Maybe it is inherent in me, no matter what I do now...?

I am so stupid, I know - but I work so sincerely hard to be good. And I really MEAN it, you know?

I have done some bad things in the past... But can I ever make up for it? I don't know.

 

Yesterday I asked Tom if I could go meet some girlfriends out after work for a while. A very rare request. He said ok... but he has been acting aloof and distant ever since. Even though I was home by 7 p.m. out of nervousness.

I feel so empty today. I'm sorry for such a bad post.

 

Well, time goes on.

harmless 'lil white lie

Sometimes I want to get away, just for one or two days - and not tell anyone where I am. To go somewhere no one would bother me, where no one would know me. And where there would be no one I would ever see again.

But my biggest fantasy: If I could say I was going somewhere, but not really go there... But in a harmless way: Not actually do anything, you know? Just be alone with no pressure.

Like once I told Tom I had to work late - but really I gave my boss a dentist-excuse, and left work early to sit in a coffee shop. It was in a neighborhood nearby, but not where anyone I would know might pass. I just sat there for a few hours, alone in the sun, drinking tea, with a paper, knowing I was not really doing any harm (except for a 'lil white lie; I guess I should feel bad about that).

It was absolutely delicious to sit like that in stillness for a few hours with the knowledge that no one really knew where I was.

I think about that day quite often.

a question of gravity

Twice on Friday I fell down for no reason. I was just walking normally, and then I fell.

Once was on an absolutely smooth sidewalk, free of bumps and obstructions. (A nearby gentleman kindly remarked: "There's a lot of gravity in that spot.") The other time was at my freakin' office... luckily no one was around.

I get so scatterbrained sometimes, so flighty, I believe I actually forget to pay attention. Not 'paying attention' in the "I forgot my bus pass" sort of way... More like: "I forgot to hold myself upright with my ankles like a civilized homo-sapien".

This happens rarely, but enough times that I remember doing it before. I wonder if I am stressed from work, or from home... or if it's nothing but a case of a big-time daydreamer. Which wouldn't be too surprising.

 

Date-Night was ok; we went to Sushi Groove up on the hill, and then for dessert on Polk street. Sometimes I think I am enjoying myself, until I look around at other people who are drinking and talking loudly and laughing constantly... I don't really mind that Tom isn't much of a conversationalist (after all, I love every part about him, and this is just one of those traits that make up his personality).

But often this causes me to get nervous, wondering if he's bored... I get so worried and then I suddenly realize I've been babbling nonsensically for the past 30 minutes and it has only served to irritate him (openly), not spark his interest and excitement about world affairs (or my own).

Sometimes, though I know he is enjoying the dinner and I know I should be too, and not be such a dumb drip, I find myself watching other couples with their cocktails and exuberance (and usually their youth and attractiveness) and I just want to go home and hide and not be around anyone else anymore

that's how i roll

I just typed Sacramento and Sansome Streets into Google's new "street view" map for San Francisco - have you heard of this? It's kind of awesome. (If you don't stop and think about it too much, that is...)

I can see my route to the office. I wonder if it's on a delay, if I'll ever come in and see myself walking to work?

WEIRD-O-RAMA.

I am enjoying the NYC views - perusing around, wishing I was somewhere else! Alas.

 

I am looking forward to Date Night, despite the fact that I consumed ten pounds of burrito and nachos last night and then slept late without getting up to run this morning.

And then I just got pressured into the group-work-lunch, where you are led to believe the company is picking up the check, but then go into some time-warp where everyone is splitting up the check, and you end up paying 3-times the amount of your own $5 special vegetarian dish while everyone else pigged on endless dim-sum.

Now I feel fat and can hardly walk in these shoes... but goddammit I spent 30 minutes on my hair this morning and will be damned if I don't make the best use of it.

'Cause that's how I roll, baby.

 

Have a good weekend my friends!! (As Britney would say, "y'all!")

those lucky times

Sometimes, (those lucky times!), no matter what is going on around me, no matter what kind of blue-mood I'm in, I try to conjure Judy Garland's version of "Life is Just a Bowl of Cherries" in my head.

Even if I'm in public, and even if people all around are fighting or being cruel to each other or just being stupid, I start laughing.

I laugh and laugh... and I think: Just relax! Things could be worse.

delusions of a hopeful character

Tom & I are switching to another realtor, because the last guy wasn't helpful at all. We met our new realtor at an open house she was hosting. Her resume states she was a one-time Miss Pennsylvania, which I feared may not help my self-esteem at all... But upon meeting her last night I now have a slight girl-crush because she is so freakin' nice.

(Of course, Tom says she has to be nice to get money from us, that is her job; but I think she is sincere. Maybe I am a dufus.)

You see, I tend to get little (harmless) crushes on people who are nice, who show some brief kindess, either to me or to others that I witness... Sometimes they can even be characters from a movie I just saw, or a book I just read. And I think about them a lot in the immediate future, and wonder if they'd be my friend, and hope they like me, and hope I could do something equally nice so that they would like me and so that I would be a good person just like them, etc.

It is ridiculous because in the aftermath of meeting some people I try to live-up to how I think they are, which is usually only based on a very brief introduction or on a delusional thought of what I imagine they might be like because they said "hi" and gave a smile.

This is not making much sense... but I just want so badly to be a good person and to cause even the slightest happiness to someone else. But sometimes it runs along the lines of my other ways of thinking... which aren't always the best. Like should I always try to base the kind of person I want to be on the character of others? Why do I need them as an example? Shouldn't I try to make my own example? Shouldn't I be a good enough person that I can do good things on my own?

(Tom points out that I often do do good things, on my own; however I usually don't count them for some reason. Even my volunteer-work: I don't even think that is very good of me, because I feel I am enjoying the kids' company more than they, and that I still don't do as much as others in the field do, and I watch them work and I think I am selfish because I am just a Web developer... The spiral goes on.)

Maybe I read too many novels and am becoming too literal a thinker, therefore unable to think on my own... My introverted-ness/shyness is becoming worse as I get older, which is probably a big factor too. I don't know.

marketing material...

You know those awkward moments where you find something hilarious, but the other person does not... Or actually: This other person did find it funny at the time, but now acts like she doesn't because there are other people around, subsequently making you look/feel a bit unsophisticated?

Well, I ran into this girl who is not really a friend, but just an acquaintance (about twice-removed) of other friends I once accompanied on one of my many trips to New Orleans' jazz-fest. Not sure why she was in town, but we happened to pass each other in a movie theatre bathroom over the weekend....

So: It could have been really hilarious to catch up with her, because at one point we had very drunkenly visited a very crowded bathroom together at jazz-fest. You see, as it was SO FREAKIN' hot there, I had been extremely self-conscious about sweating, etc. because there was some guy I was 'sort-of dating' there... so I had fallen prey to marketing and bought this little spray-can of FDS deoderant spray.

Now I have never used this stupid thing before, and never used it since this brief month-long phase. But as she & I were in this crowded bathroom on the outskirts of the racetrack, it was like 90 degrees, it smelled like beer... We both started talking about how much we were sweating and I said "Well THIS is the same as deoderant" and pulled out the FDS, and in front of all these other people we started spraying it on our armpits.

So she started yelling "I hope my pits don't smell like vagina now!" And I was laughing and saying "vagina!!" and spilling my beer, and we kept spraying the damn stuff all over ourselves... I am sure the bathroom crowd was very happy to see this.

I don't know - perhaps that was what she was thinking as she very off-handishly said 'hello', and passed by me in such a rude kind of way this weekend.

I would have enjoyed talking with her a bit, but I guess she just wanted to forget the armpit-vagina episode.

I myself think it might make good marketing material... it is just deoderant after all.

completely nutso

It didn't go too bad last night; Tom was in a tired mood, and didn't seem to want to talk too much. He only briefly mentioned Sunday - saying 'I wish she would stick up for herself more'. And I said 'but I did, I told her to shut up!' and he said, 'but not loud enough!'. I'm confused. Then he apologized for the whole thing, which of course made me feel bad.

Then after the dr. asked us each to 'check in' with the other person, and to 'say what you think the other person has been feeling about you', I had some kind of nervous talking-fit where I kept on about how I felt Tom might be bored of me, and how he probably could do better, and how irritating it must be that I'm so insecure and such an airhead sometimes...

Then Tom interrupted, saying "I think she is CRAZY. Completely insane."

But he said it in an affectionate, joking way, and touched my knee, and I almost cried. It is very kind of him to bring some levity sometimes, when I know he knows I'm nervous, so he does it on purpose.

When he put his arm around my back, I completely lost track of what we were talking about. And then suddenly it was over, and we went for some burritos that were bigger than my head.

 

Some views from Telegraph Hill behind my office.... The Golden Gate Bridge turned 70 years-old last weekend! Yay.







Anyhooo, I know Tom is cooking up something tasty tonight; he has been food-shopping all week. He even brought out our ice-cream maker (at one point I snuck a peek at his computer screen, and there was a pistachio gelato recipe on there).