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( Monday, Jul. 28, 2003 10:23 am )

>What's that? I'm wicked cool? Yes, I know.

Good morning, friends. Today I am trapped indoors for a while, having left my housekey in my backpack, which is currently residing in Call's apartment. I had to ring my own doorbell last night after work, rousing Landlady Ellie, who is now back from California, ending me and Juney's luxurious lifestyle and pretend house-ownership.

Call is also back home, from the beach where he stayed until Wednesday. He called me when he got back to say that he still had the rental car for several more hours, so we should take a roadtrip out into the suburbs. As it turned out we had sex instead, and then took a roadtrip to the airport to return the car (a glance at the rental agreement having whittled down the "several hours" to 45 minutes), and ate pizza and beer around 10:30 pm. And you know what, it was just as fun.

What else? Oh yeah, I spent yesterday afternoon meeting his parents over brunch. I thought it was going well, and I was enjoying noticing Call's same facial expressions on his Dad's face, frightening though it was, until I realized I was about to be late into work and I should probably call in. So I borrow Call's cell and go outside to phone. But the keypad is locked and I can't unlock it. (Idiot savant). So I head back inside and get Call to unlock it. I head back outside. I realize I do not know my own work number. I panic, trying first to phone Juney at home, though I know she isn't there, and then on her cell, even though she doesn't carry the number for Big Chain Books with her (as indeed, why would she?). Suddenly I remember that my work number is saved into Call's phone under the clever heading "Almostreally--work." But I can't figure out how to get to this screen. So I head back inside to get Call to look it up for me. He fiddles with it. "Just press this button now." Back outside I go, finally successfully phoning my workplace, where they keep me on hold for at least five minutes. And finally I head back to the table for good, where Call and his parents are halfway done with their meals, leaving them nothing to do but watch me struggle with a large, tough but delicious sandwich and try to surrepticiously dislodge the lettuce that I'm sure is stuck to my tooth. Oh lord have mercy.

His mom said "Hey Big Boy!" when she first saw him. How cute is that?

In other news, I was depressed on Saturday night at work, leading me to buy a Smiths compliation, which is sadly also in my backpack, 30 blocks away, behind several deadbolts. Oh, but the depression dissipated under the force of a roofdeck party with Call and Juney et al. and a bucket of cheap sangria.

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