Late nights all alone with a test tube... oh, oh, oh oh...

I can't help but think there's a double entendre under it all. Don't get all excited, though, because it has nothing to do with this post.

Yesterday was marvelous. I spent the day walking around with Renata from thrift shop to thrift shop, found a dress from the '30s for $15 at Love Saves the Day and danced there, ran into Justin again (his mohawk is reddish-hot-pink-ish now), ate Otafuku shaved ice, and actually bought something at Claire's. Then I babysat for these two beautiful children, Lissa and Daniel, who live across the street, and they wanted to talk about Star Wars and Harry Potter, for which I was well equipped. We watched Episode II: Attack of the Clones until their mom came home and they ate two cookies apiece, which seemed so sweet to me that I almost cried.

When I got home Harry came and I told him I'd meet him downstairs, and my dad chose that moment to rant at me for about half an hour about how I'm not earning my allowance and am a failure of a person and think I'm superior to him somehow and give him attitude all the time (even though I don't think I said one word the entire time) and how he didn't like the way I was looking at him (in the eyes) and how I don't deserve to go out at nights for reasons still unclear to me. He's really starting to crack. I stood there and took it for about half an hour and then said calmly, "I realize that this is important but Harry's waiting in hundred-degree weather outside. Can we do this when I get back?" Renata held him off by defending me while I slipped out the door. I barely managed to escape, I tell ya.

And then Harry was all sweet (though his breath wasn't) and I told him my story and realized that I had won the last battle and was cheerful and myself and happy all night. Even though I made us walk up and down 17th street a few times before I finally dialed 411 and remembered that Chat 'N' Chew is on 16th. Poor overworked Harry was exhausted by the time we got there. They charged me five bucks for a scoop of ice cream. Grr.

Other than that, I'm feeling pretty good after all that. Not haughty or anything, just secure and comfortable with myself.

The way I must come across on this blog is strange. I write when I'm emotionally upset or especially happy, which must make me seem like a mood-swinging, self-centered, hormonal teenager wallowing in chemical-induced angst. Which I am. To a certain extent. I'm not that bad, though. For the most part I'm pretty happy these days. Readership came back from wherever it was travellling, too, which makes me happy.

Renata's been teaching herself classical pieces from sheet music because she's not taking classical lessons any more, just jazz and jazz guitar. She sounds amazing. She has a way of making even our pathetic, muffled piano sound grand and majestic and rich and brilliant. I think she improvises even on the classical piecs after she's learned them straight. We talked until three or four last night. Nobody, not even Harry, can make me laugh the way Renata can. Mmm.

Found Elai's blog this morning. An interesting read. Very emotional. I hope he doesn't mind that I added him to my link list, as I don't think he even remembers who I am any more.

Damn. It's one in the afternoon and I'm still sitting here in my pijama pants and a ridiculous hot pink shirt my mom bought for me with Veronica of the Archie comics on the front, leaning on her pink cadillac. Not many people (still alive, anyway) have seen me in pink. I made us mac & cheese for lunch and haven't moved more than ten feet since then.

Low-fat capuccino chocolate chip ice cream time.