Through The Looking Glass

Tomorrow morning I will pack my sweet baby computer into its boxes and move it to the new place. I may be offline for several days.

Here’s something I wrote earlier. It makes me look so pathetic that you may not even miss me.

I should really know better.

I turned the television on this afternoon to provide background noise while I packed. Despite the DVDs that I left unpacked for this very purpose, I decided to flip through the local stations first. All that was on was news and Oprah. One of Oprah’s guests was Maya Angelou, so I stupidly left the show on. Today’s topic was the new display at the Museum of Tolerance ([eyebrow]) which features rooms of memories of Maya Angelou’s, Billy Crystal’s, Carlos Santana’s, and the manager of the Yankees’ family histories (I obviously cannot remember the latter’s name, and honestly, he could be the manager of the Mets). Interesting stuff, and it reminded me that I’ve been meaning to try to find my family’s geneology. My mum’s side of the family should be easy, as an aunt has already done it, and all I’d need to trace is my grandpa’s family. My dad’s side of the family will be…interesting, considering that they don’t even know if the family name is Barranti or Barrante, or whether we’re Sicilian, Spanish, or Moorish. (The family is from Sicily, but who knows.)

Anyway. Back to Oprah. One of her guests was a writer, whose name I also forget (he is a poet and the screenwriter of Smoke Signals), who is a native American whose grandfather died when his father was six. In tracing his geneology, he discovered that his grandfather was a decorated soldier, but the medals had been lost. After he told his story, and explained that he was trying to have the medals replaced for his father, so that his father could make peace with his father, Oprah called out several United States military officers (I am ashamed to say that I don’t know what branch. I suspect Army. I also don’t know the officers’ ranks), who presented him with replacements for his grandfather’s awards. About a dozen medals and 2 plaques.

I was bawling like a baby. No. Babies don’t cry like this. They have more dignity.

I’ve learned my lesson about daytime TV. Now that Days of Our Lives sucks, I shouldn’t watch anything before 6:00 – possibly 8:00 – in the evening. (Of course I mean after 10:00 am – Regis and Kelly crack me up.)

Could I possibly have incuded more parenthetical statements in this entry? (I don’t think so.) (And nevermind the confusing pronouns. Sorry.)

The rest of my day in review

I was very tired. I had a fight with Will. I had a killer headache, which is probably to blame for the fight. We brought some stuff over to the new apartment. I found a roach. I got really angry about the roach until it occured to me that I lived with roaches for the first 18 years of my life, and know how to kill them. I decided not to bother making this a list. I decided to sleep in tomorrow (which probably means that I will wake up at 7:00). I came online to PM Jenn and Cassie, and haven’t gotten around to it yet. I had long conversations with myself in my head. I found out that Alan did indeed sell my monkey to someone else. My lighter ran out of fluid. We got our new phone number, which will change on Saturday. I think that’s it. Man, I’m tired.

My day in review (mid-day)

• Refused to get out of bed. (Obviously changed my mind eventually.)

• Put gas in our car.
• Picked up keys to new apartment.
• Brought Will a Big Mac because I love him.
• Went to storage space where most of my stuff (read: books) has been since July, picked up computer boxes, gave notice for mid-February. (It seems silly to rush to get everything out of the apartment and the storage space.)
• Went to Koontz’s, the best hardware store on earth, and purchased assorted cleaning supplies, bungee cords, et cetera.
• Thought of eight billion other items I should have gotten while there.
• Came home utterly exhausted despite it barely being mid-afternoon, decided to take an internet break.

Things I did today:

• Got a California driving license and registered (undeclared) to vote.

• Had lunch with Jenn (thanks, baby!).
• Packed some books and movies (also thanks to Jenn for boxes and [wo]man-power).
• Signed the lease for the new apartment.
• Gave the manager of this apartment notice of intent to vacate. (Actually, it’s still in my bag. Must remedy.)
• Rejoiced.

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

We got the apartment. Let the rejoicing commence.

note to self: Look into Yahoo instant messenger settings. It is highly unsettling to get IMs from people you do not know who want to know if you live in Hollywood.

I’m still looking into whether he/she/it is trying to pick me up, or just extremely bored.

…Perhaps neither. It’s being quiet. (According to its Yahoo profile, it’s a he. But “It” sounds better to me.)

I am furious. Pat knows why, and the person at whom I am angry should know why without being told. I’d email her, but my email is currently down.

I do not appreciate being lied to, misled, or deceived in any fashion. In this case, I don’t even think the previous sentence was redundant.

I am not amused. Fuck off.

Transcribed from my notebook:

It’s 7:00 in the morning. Sunday. I woke up just now and discovered that I was crying.

I don’t usually cry myself awake.

Last night we went to Max’s, which is our favorite bar. Alan had a new art show up, and we went to see it, and him, and have a drink or two.

As well as three or four giant squids (a specialty of Alan’s), there was a new series of paintings: a robot and a monkey. Not since the Bluebird of Friendliness and Skelaton Lu has Alan painted something that moved me so. Hell, the Bluebird and Lu didn’t affect me like this. One of the paintings is of a monkey, alone, sitting on a grassy hill looking away. At the top it says “Waiting.” I became entirely smitten and stared across the room at the monkey until Kan, one of Will’s co-workers, announced loudly that he was, “buying that one.”

I was depressed an anti-social for the rest of the night, coming out of my protective shell only to pry Everwood spoilers out of Sean (who works for the show).

I should, I think, do one of two things. One, forget the painting (I can always ask Alan for a photograph of it), or two, come up with $200 and fight for that monkey. Alan and Will have a lot of history – Will should be able to steal my monkey from Kan, right?

But then I think that I’m a terrible person, and anyway Will wouldn’t do it, and then thinking that makes me feel terrible, and it just keeps going like that.

But shouldn’t I have the monkey that can make me cry?

Dear Jesse Dayton,

Why San Diego? Why? Los Angeles loves you. I love you. (Will says that I cannot offer you sex for playing a show here, but we can just keep it quiet, OK?)

***

I just sent the following to Kirk, who has never read the Lord of the Rings and is concerned about whether Christopher Lee will be in the third movie.

I’ve read Fellowship and the first half of Two Towers. (The first half of the book is the Aragorn/Legolas/Gimli/Galdalf/etc half, the second half is Frodo/Sam/Gollum.) I have just gotten to the part of the book that takes place after the movie ends, so I can assure you that there will be more Christopher Lee, if Peter Jackson doesn’t want me to beat him up.

I still like the first movie more, but nothing will ever rival the Helm’s Deep battle scene. Seriously, if anyone ever tops that, I will probably die. (Will, who has read all three books many times, assures me that the third movie will, indeed, top it. I’d better start taking my heart medicine NOW.)

I think I’m addicted to these crappy things. But I promise this will be the last one I post – and I dedicate it to Sassy.

Which Famous Homosexual Are You?

How spiffing! You’re Alexander the Great!

Yeah, baby. You were the King of Macedonia, and conqueror of much of the world; you’re responsible for the spread of Christianity, as well as Hellenistic society and even the Roman Empire. Your power was feared for thousands of miles around.

And how gay were you. When you’d conquered Persia, you fell in love with a male courtier from that court – scandalous in those days, because the Persians were believed to be uncivilised barbarians.

You were always really in love with your boyhood friend, Hephaestion, and when he died you were grief-stricken to a legendary degree: convinced that he would live on after death, you passed away soon afterwards.

Which Famous Homosexual are you?