2003-02-11

I�ve been moping about for two whole days.

I think I may star in my own episode of Becoming, only I get to be an Urban Legend rather then a pop star.

Well, not entirely like that. I�ve had to deal with the fall out of Saturday, and it�s not been fun. A little bit from the outside, a little bit from the strange world inside. Portions of the evening have gotten back to the sister, who was mortified and will no doubt bring it up at a prime moment, where it can do the most harm. I have stuff on her though, so it's a balance of power that could lead to the destruction of all. Keeps the familial brunches at Rosmoore lively with subtext.

In a vain attempt to recreate the hyper shit (coming to Disney's California Adventure this fall!) experience I opted for a lunch of Taco Bell but it�s only caused discomfort and gas. I don�t know what I was thinking. I�ve made some stupid choices in my life, but yesterday when I ordered the burrito with extra green sauce might have been one for the top of the list.

I went from feeling connected to myself and the world around me to such amounts of shame that I�m surprised I showed up to work at all. Not that they know about it. The thought of them finding out actually fills me with a cold dread that locks up the process I was so intimately acquainted with on Saturday. I�ve kept my cell phone off. I�ve not done any emailing except at work. I�m just reacting, badly, to the situation. I want to go run and hide away until someone shouts olly olly oxen free and I can come out of wherever I'd run to and get back to the fun times.

I�m gaining some maturity about it all and it�s really pissing me off. I�ll weigh consequences next time. A step back to view the big picture. Looking before I leap. The whole gamut of trite phrases overused as long as I�ve been on this planet. I�ll probably start using them in sentences and lecture Bimberly about her actions. Which will actually give us something other than American Idol to talk about. I don�t watch the show, and hearing about it second hand from someone who doesn�t have a flair for storytelling isn�t doing the show any favors. I shouldn�t take it out on her. She brings in Hawaiian Punch flavored lollipops, whose flavor reminds me of my childhood, and the stupid playground games. The lolly's stain ones lips like a tired whore getting ready for work, which is preferable to a mouth that looks like one has been kissing said lips. We practice looking sultry and slutty with them. Bimberly is much better at the naive waif whereas my Lolita can't be beat. I actually try to pretend that I'm Mia Kirshner in Exotica, or Sarah Michelle Geller in Cruel Intentions. Oh, that marketing analysis? You can stick it...anywhere. Which also reminds me of my childhood. Plane thinks we are crazy. The sales people don�t think we have enough to do. Perhaps they are both right.

I suddenly feel better. There is nothing like fondly remembering pouting seductivly, mouth full of bright red lolly, while hanging on a cubicle wall doing ones best Brittany Spears impersonation to forget about shitting ones pants over the weekend.

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