Feelin' Groovy
My dashboard says this is the 79th post I've made, which is scary. (49th would be more fitting, don't you think?) I do this thing when I'm done publishing each post where I read the last post at the bottom of the page, since I've set it to hold 30 posts on the main page so that all my monthly archive buttons don't ever cut anything off--does that make sense? It's one of my little superstitions that I really enjoy. I guess I really have been blogging for half a year now.
Yesterday was possibly the most awesome day ever. Harry and I bought lunch, spent a while lying on the grass in the shade of one miniscule tree, and watched The Full-Metal Alchemist, an anime thing that I resisted. It was actually pretty good. I borrowed this movie called Wargames, too, with Matthew Broderick and Ally Sheedy, which looks great.
I got stuck in a position yesterday where everyone made plans involving me at the same time and I had to be bitchy to everyone. It really sucked. At risk of reiturating, I felt like a bitch, and nobody was there to say "It's okay, you had to cancel on someone" because they were too busy feeling like I was being bitchy. Renata understood. She comforted me--a little. "I know how you feel--either way you have to be bitchy to somebody. It sucks. Still," (after a pause) "If I were one of your friends, I'd probably think you were a bitch too."
Lovely.
Around eight we came back to my house to pick up Lauren, my friend from my essay writing class. In the course of the class, we'd made friends with a lot of people, including a fifty-five year old Jewish guy named Alan who writes like a racier David Sedaris. I showed him Mamoun's Falafal. He looked skeptical every minute of the way--until he took his first bite on the lawn of washington square. "This is good!" he said, surprised. Lauren and I are so similar it's ridiculous. We're on the same wavelength about everything from chocolate to Ginsberg. Lauren and I watched with smiling eyes while Harry struck up a conversation with a street artist, and then began discussing Keroac with two washed-out hippies who hadn't read anything besides On The Road and Howl but were nice anyway. "Have an absolutely beautiful night," they said, and we did. We had ice cream at Ben & Jerry's after dinner ended and Alan went home. Then we came to my house and talked about books and life over Renata's home-made cookies until one or two, when my parents threw everyone out.
And now I'm getting into the shower and thinking about the concert I'm going to see tonight with Elena and about Harry and Steve B. and about Oona, who I won't get to see until next week and whose birthday is on Wednesday, and about Lauren and Alan and our essay-writing class, and about the movie I've got and about what I'm going to do about lunch and about the crazy wonderful beautiful city we live in.
Yesterday was possibly the most awesome day ever. Harry and I bought lunch, spent a while lying on the grass in the shade of one miniscule tree, and watched The Full-Metal Alchemist, an anime thing that I resisted. It was actually pretty good. I borrowed this movie called Wargames, too, with Matthew Broderick and Ally Sheedy, which looks great.
I got stuck in a position yesterday where everyone made plans involving me at the same time and I had to be bitchy to everyone. It really sucked. At risk of reiturating, I felt like a bitch, and nobody was there to say "It's okay, you had to cancel on someone" because they were too busy feeling like I was being bitchy. Renata understood. She comforted me--a little. "I know how you feel--either way you have to be bitchy to somebody. It sucks. Still," (after a pause) "If I were one of your friends, I'd probably think you were a bitch too."
Lovely.
Around eight we came back to my house to pick up Lauren, my friend from my essay writing class. In the course of the class, we'd made friends with a lot of people, including a fifty-five year old Jewish guy named Alan who writes like a racier David Sedaris. I showed him Mamoun's Falafal. He looked skeptical every minute of the way--until he took his first bite on the lawn of washington square. "This is good!" he said, surprised. Lauren and I are so similar it's ridiculous. We're on the same wavelength about everything from chocolate to Ginsberg. Lauren and I watched with smiling eyes while Harry struck up a conversation with a street artist, and then began discussing Keroac with two washed-out hippies who hadn't read anything besides On The Road and Howl but were nice anyway. "Have an absolutely beautiful night," they said, and we did. We had ice cream at Ben & Jerry's after dinner ended and Alan went home. Then we came to my house and talked about books and life over Renata's home-made cookies until one or two, when my parents threw everyone out.
And now I'm getting into the shower and thinking about the concert I'm going to see tonight with Elena and about Harry and Steve B. and about Oona, who I won't get to see until next week and whose birthday is on Wednesday, and about Lauren and Alan and our essay-writing class, and about the movie I've got and about what I'm going to do about lunch and about the crazy wonderful beautiful city we live in.
posted by VVM at 7:29 AM
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