( Monday, Jul. 30, 2007 6:02 pm )
>High fiber dessert
I've been thinking lately that it would be good for me to start posting entries here again; I've tried the social-networking sites, but something in me does not want to be open and totally honest with networks of people I actually know. At the same time, most of the diaries I cherished reading the most here are gone now, so it's sort of not the same. And I'm sort of not the same. (Although sort of I am; I've gone back and read diaries I wrote at age 12--15 years ago--and I have pretty much the exact same problems and same sense of humor and everything. It's no different, really). You know what I fear the big problem is, is lack of privacy. I miss having my own room, even if all I did in it was eat beans, read, and take naps after dinner. So here I am typing, while Davy is on his way home from work.
I have a new job, again. I kind of hate it, but kind of think it's getting better as I understand it better and start getting people to like me better. I'm a grant writer at a non-profit that does, basically, this pre-kindergarten program for the poor urban kids of the eastern US (by the way, did you know how screwed you are if you are a poor, urban kid? Super-screwed. Oh wow is it ever messed up out there). I've been there a little over 3 months. At first I was feeling discouraged because I was having a hard time being friends with the many other 20-something girls who work there. I think recently I've realized we're possibly just not compatible, and I'm more friendly with the my-age-or-older crowd there. There's also the lack of dudes getting me down. I know it is a level of the devil's company to flirt at work, but nevertheless it makes the day enjoyable, and no one listens to you like someone who wants to sleep with you. Sew that on a pillow, cause it is the truth.
This past weekend my brother Adam showed up to hang out Saturday night, which was very enjoyable. He's at loose ends after a breakup, and I fear I was not very exciting company for him. He teases me too much, I think, but if he's a teaser it's probably only because I made him one through vicious teasing in our youth. What can I say, I have always been a cranky baby. Anyway, we dragged him around to bars on Saturday, and then to my bookstore friends' game night, during which we played an endless game of trivial pursuit (is there any other kind?). I was pretty much unsuccessful in strong-arming him into moving to Philly, which was my real intention. I can't help but feel it would solve all his entertainment and chick-related problems, cause one thing we're swimming in here is bars and young people. He tends to date hot blond girls, and I'd really like to break him of that habit and hook him up with some sort of Bryn-Mawr graduating, Tina-Fey looking, bike-riding hipster/part-time barista-type girlie.
One of the main sources of tension between me and Davy lately has been my cooking. Here's what I like: beans, whole wheat, vegetables. Here's what he likes: cheese, white flour pasta, white rice, eggs. And never the twain shall meet. I do acknowledge that my cooking is accurately described by its nicknames: Amy-chow, bean mash, and Super-soldier Food. I know it leaves something to be desired, but I seriously find it delicious and satisfying. I think I may have established some weird eating habits. I feel TERRIBLE about eating regular white flour pasta, for example. I mean, I do it, but I feel that it is wrong. My dinners can be so austere, but then I feel free to chow down on snacks all night (mainly because I get high at night a lot). I'll have to sort this out eventually. My first tactic is to watch Rachael Ray and Giada De Laurentis, but not surprisingly they seem crazy to me with all the cheese and bacon going on there. I think we can all acknowledge that Rachael Ray is completely insane, what with the Nacho-Pasta and Baked Potato-Pizza and Caesar-salad Tacos, and all kinds of ungodly creations.
This is a total confessional entry. I've also been obsessively watching shows about expensive weddings and wedding planning. I'm stopping now though. It's kind of sick. Not sure whether I want to be married, (and I certainly don't want a Tiffany-box-blue-themed one--I swear to god this is a popular trend), or if the interest is just in people making aesthetic decisions (and usually horrible ones).
So that's what it is. I miss diaryland, I really do.
<< - >>