Yesterday was Saturday, but still I had to get up early. Since I have been unemployed, I have gotten out of the habit of getting up early, so it was somewhat torturous, but could not be avoided.

First I went uptown to Barnes and Noble in order to get birthday presents for Melissa and Cynthia, who were thoughtless enough to be born on the same day. Honestly, nobody thinks about my needs. For Cynthia I got Holes and Motherhood and Hollywood: How to Get a Job Like Mine, and for Melissa I got The Eyre Affair and its sequel, Lost in a Good Book. And then for Omar I got Bird By Bird, because he's doing Artist's Way and I thought it would be useful, and for myself I got The Orchid Thief and The Two Princesses of Bamarre. Because I am not made of stone.

Then I had rehearsal at 10.30a on a Saturday morning. I finished blocking the play, because somehow I couldn't block a 16 page play where mostly people sit in a car in one rehearsal. Don't ask.

And then it was the reading of Moon For the Misbegotten. We've been talking about it and planning it for months and years, it was canceled once before, and finally we did it.

But the most important thing was that I finally saw Omar again. I got there early and set up the chairs, and about half an hour later he and his cousin came in, and we basically threw ourselves into each other's arms and we absolutely clutched at each other. And I knew that he had missed me as much as I missed him.

The reading went well, very well. Omar played the brother and the Standard Oil man, Fran was Jim and John was the father. The audience was small, I think that there were a lot of rehearsals going on so some people who wanted to come couldn't, but we scheduled it for Saturday afternoon so that Philip could come, because we want him to direct it when we do it for real. Unfortunately, he scheduled work and couldn't come. Ah well.

I told Omar to look at his roles, but not to read the rest of the show so that we could read it to him, which turned out to be a good idea. He said afterwards that we made him cry, which is a compliment. I was thinking, as I was reading it, that Omar is Jim, he really is. Only not so far gone, I hope. When I told Cynthia she looked at me as though I was crazy, "Of course Omar is Jim Tyrone, what is wrong with you?" "I just never noticed it before!"

Tonight we are having Cynthia's birthday party at the house, and Omar is coming over. Thank goodness, because that just wasn't close to being enough contact after all this time.

Then I went to Melissa's!

It's so not fair, it's only $30 round-trip to her house if you take the SEPTA. Lancaster isn't that far away, but the SEPTA doesn't run there so there's only the $100 Amtrak choice or the renal car choice. Which really sucks.

Anyway, the trip was fine, I read a whole bunch of The Eyre Affair (no not the copy that I got for Melissa, my own copy!) which is one of the more flat out wonderful books I have ever read in my life. It took about three hours, I got to the station at 8.05p and waited to get picked up. And waited. And waited some more. I stood for half an hour in the rain like the last kid at daycare, waiting for my ride. Sigh. Sniff. Lip wobble.

The problem, of course, was that Melissa had sent Kate, and things just happen to her, you know? In this case, I went round to the other side of the station to get picked up, because there is no place to pick people up on the inbound track, the outbound track is where the parking lot is, so I was waiting there, and Kate and the other person who came (cannot remember her name) not only were on the other side, but were on a bench waiting for the train that had already come and gone, and she had left her cell in the car.

These sorts of things frankly only happen to her. Although usually it's when she is trying to come and see one of my shows.

Anyway, we got back to the house something before 9p, and there was the fondue party in full blast. I had missed the cheese course, but happily scarfed up the leftover bread and potatoes, because they were doing the thing where you take the raw chicken and put it in the fondue pot full of boiling broth, which seemed to me like too much work for a small piece of chicken.

And then for the dessert course, I mostly ate the marshmallows without dipping them in the chocolate, because marshmallows are like cheesecake, perfect to start with. I think that I might not so much be a fondue person.

It was a swell party, though! Elizabeth and Corina and Wes and Steve and of course Greg and Joe and a pile of other people. Not Melissa's mother bearing crabcakes, so that cast a slight pall in my eyes, but I am a little obsessed with her crabcakes, so that is only to be expected.

There was lots of wine drinking (not by me), and presents, and someone who will remain unnamed ran to the bathroom and puked after someone told a story about an .avi of a girl blowing a horse. Everyone thought that Unnamed Pukey Girl or Possibly Boy was joking when he or she said that she would throw up if they kept telling the story, everyone except me. I knew that he or she was telling the truth, and I laughed my ass off anyway. Everyone else also felt bad for laughing when they realized that Unnamed Pukey Girl or Possibly Boy was in fact puking up a storm. Not me, though. This shows you what a mean and heartless person I am, but come on, puke is funny! Not to mention horse blowjobs.

And you know what else? Unnamed Pukey Girl or Possibly Boy is a friend of mine. Clearly, when I am your friend, the outpourings of sympathy aren't that overwhelming. Outpourings of laughter and puke? Count on it!

Anyway, we went to bed at God knows o'clock, me taking the couch, which is plenty comfortable, but I was punished for bragging that I can sleep through any light or noise by being awakened all night by Satan's wind chimes, which Melissa cruelly keeps on her front porch to torture me with. Or maybe it was The Revenge of Unnamed Pukey Girl or Possibly Boy. Whatever, it worked, and I have a hell of a hangover for someone who didn't actually drink!

Lenten entries missed:

Gentry quit her new job, discussed what it's like being American in France during these peculiar Freedom Fries times, got hit on by a wealthy, aging, ugly Italian baron, had her eyelids done and thus no longer looks like Bert Lahr, and talked at length about her lucky panties.

Today's horoscope:
Your moment-to-moment agenda is meaningless. It wouldn't hurt to be objective about your long-term plans, either. You end up accomplishing something that you never dreamed would be necessary.

One year ago today:
There was a really cute guy next to us openly eavesdropping as I regurgitated the fertility article that I had just read in Time Magazine (astoundingly depressing for a 37-year-old who hasn't been in a relationship since the first Bush was in office--I have about one viable egg left...nope, wait, there it goes!)

* Yesterday / Index / This Month / Tomorrow *

E-Mail / In the Belly of the Hedgehog

Graphics by the foolish Saundra!

This page was written by hand. My hand. Only pussies use HTML editors.
Last Updated Fri 2 May 17:17:09 2003