July 07, 2003 - 10:23 a.m.
Reading everyone's diaries it hit me: I miss the Internet.
In the interest of not being a total dork, I was denying this fact for a long time. "The intarweb, pah!," I would scoff. "Who needs it? It only makes you stupid." Of course, I should have noticed that my campaign to not be a total dork was crippled irreparably when I spilled my Hi-C Orange Lavaburst all over the counter at McDonald's in a giddy attempt to claim my Sonic The Hedgehog Happy Meal.
Anyway, I miss the Internet mostly because if I didn't have to go to the creepy library or the room-that-isn't-mine (and AOL) to use it, I'd be able to write in this all the time. I'm excited about it. And my life is actually way more interesting than it was the LAST time I was excited about my own diary. Because I was also way excited about my $100K score in Crazy Taxi.
Now I'm excited about meeting exciting new people, two marvelous women, an Important Person from the Past, spending an alarming ten dollars for halfassed blockbuster sequels, and the two counties I call my pseudohome. It's an exciting time to be me.
Or, at least, it WOULD be, but I think I'm getting a cold. So it would be in my best interest not to get too excited.
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Yesterday I went to see a person named Gretchen, whom none of you know. She and I, along with somebody named Laurie and a person known only as ROBOT, ruled the hallowed halls (or something) of the best Futurama mailing list around. (I hereby officially declare my campaign to not be a big dork FAILED.) Anyway, she is awesome and happens to live near Brea, so I went to pay her a visit.
Sorry, it's hard for me to concentrate because there is a mentally handicapped man speaking loudly. I know that it is not "politically correct" to laugh at the less fortunate, but he has a voice that is nearly identical to that of Mickey Mouse.
Anyway, Gretchen, uh... she has a very domestic life, with two toddlers and a nineteen-year-old daughter who acts like a Party Sailor. I know there's no such thing as a Party Sailor but she "likes to party" and "curses like a sailor" and my mind combined the two and came up with the term Party Sailor. Feel free to use it in casual conversation, no credit neccesary, ha ha!
Her daughter-- whose 15-year-old cleavage I once scanned, at her mother's request, back in simpler times-- invited me to go score some weed, but I politefully declined. Because "Time Bandits" was on. Also, I do not smoke weed.
So I hung around in their living room, somehow magically impressed their two-year-old (whose sign of affection involved slamming his fists into my knees and crotch) and talked about cult movies. They're big fans of Brain Candy so clearly they are destined for greatness in the afterlife.
Do you know how hard it is to write well when there's a ticking timer in the corner of the screen? Go ahead, try it
INSTRUCTIONS FOR SAIFU SIMULATOR:
You will need: One (1) timer, one (1) Internet diary, one (1) pair of scissors and five (5) origami sheets.
Set the timer for 63 minutes and place it on your computer monitor. Attempt to write in your Internet diary. Ask an adult for help with the scissors and cut the origami sheets into tiny pieces, because origami is nearly as frustrating as trying to keep a diary at the Brea public library.
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Things That Are Awesome:
ITEM!: Clara not only enjoyed my homemade Yuzo Koshiro CD-- that's pure, unarranged Sega Genesis music of the highest caliber-- she made me burn her a copy, and now she listens to it, on purpose. Note that Clara is female.
ITEM!: Amanda likes me again. Hooray! I have high hopes.
ITEM!: The kittens have started to wander around on their own. Momkitty is no help, as her idea of good parenting is to grasp your children by the neck, fold them in half and pound on them with your hind legs. This may be natural-- I believe it is a parenting technique that is similar to the advice given by radio personality Dr. Laura Schlessinger-- but it's freaky. Go, little hardy kittens, go!
ITEM!: I woke up this morning and noticed a flea on my arm. I pulled back the sheets and noticed several fleas in my bed. I don't seem to have been bitten yet, but what the heck? I keep my door closed almost constantly so I shouldn't be the one with the fleas. I'm pretty good at killing them by hand-- a skill I learned as a result of my father being unwilling to put the effort into killing them with actual flea-killing products-- but it's a skill I'd rather not have to exercise.
ITEM!: The paragraph on fleas is longer than the paragraph on Amanda. That's kind of weird, I'm sorry. To compensate, here's a cute factoid: one of the things Amanda said to me, in a tender moment where she was feeding my ego by listing specific things she loved about me, was this: I "know that the difference between Pac Man and Ms. Pac Man extends farther than the bow in her hair." Although this flattering accusation is true (the fruit moves, for instance) I think it says more about her than me that she even thought of that in that particular moment.
ITEM!: In ten days I will, completely legally, be able to walk into the little hole-in-the-wall bar behind my place of employment, and use my own money to play their Centipede machine! I'm pretty excited, because I'm sure I can get the high score.
Uh-oh. The digits on the timer are getting low. Internet, I miss you! Don't go! Noooooooooo
