>>latest
>>archive
>>profile
>>e-mail
>>notes
>>diaryland

[[groovy musics: ]]

5:26 a.m. // 14 July 2004

I had two cups of coffee just before 9 p.m. and a decent sleep regimen for the past week or so, and the result is I've been awake since half past 4 a.m.

The apartment is getting settled. Slowly. There are still piles of boxes littering the place. I thought that I would start by getting the kitchen unpacked; there is now an area of half-empty boxes where I've been digging out the odd pasta bowl or vegetable peeler for the past week.

Last night I bar-backed for joshaA at Mable's. okay, I didn't really bar-back, I just washed a shit-ton of dishes. I swear, for a while, the pitchers were flying off to the keg and getting filled almost as soon as I finished washing them. I had hatched a plan to try to make coffee with the questionable-looking coffee machine that sits in the corner of the bar looking junky, but when I got there, coffee and sugar and milk in tow, I found the top flippy part of the carafe missing. I also had to give it a thorough scrubbing; and I was ready to go to 7-Eleven for filters. But I found that the little dripping tappy thing that regulates the water flow (Becca knew exactly what I was talking about) is also missing. Anyway, joshaA gives me juice whenever I ask. I like to get a cocktail of half cranberry juice, half orange juice.

On Sunday I went to see Napoleon Dynamite with Dwayne and Josh and Nazli and Becca and David. Three couples = an argument for a station wagon. As it was they all piled hip-to-hip in my car for the drive to freakin' Grapevine. Four out of six liked the movie -- I heard Nazli and Dwayne laughing throughout. Two did not like the movie. I found a lot of laffs. I like the steak-hurling best. Also, it's interesting to me to see what's probably the first, or at least most prominent, piece of cinema so obviously influenced by Wes Anderson and his ilk. Rushmore it's not, but it holds a lot of excellent scenes that tread the line between honesty and surrealism.

I dreamed last night that Dalton, next cubicle over, was doing impressions on the phone. He wanted to earn some extra cash so he was calling up businesses, telling them that he'd record celebrity-impression phone messages for them, for a price. In real life he is trying to give away his cat (a teenager-y cat and very cute) and go to grad school. AH! another one of my friends lost to upper-level academia. It is a world that is now foreign to me.

The other night while Dwayne and I were shopping for toilet brushes and facial tissue at the local TARGET, we found B. (of managing RGRS fame) and K. (of being a few years ahead of me and her sister in Catholic grade school and high school fame) looking at fire pits. B. had successfully pestered the employees to give him the miniature hammock that's been on display since spring, for his little rat terrier. The little hammock is the equivalent of the tiny display tents, which they also want for their dog. They say the dog can't balance well on the hammock, but they insist that he "likes it." I told Hunter about it because we'd swung our fingers on that very display hammock before, and Coal the Cat is like SOOOOOOOOOO totally jealous.

 

previous // next