8:18 p.m. - August 16, 2002
Spread me on a bagel and you'll get more satisfaction than by reading this entry
My sunburn has evolved into a deep tan that will likely last about two days before returning to its usual shade of darker than white but lighter than minimal contact with the sun. Today had several comments on the tan, one from the bank teller who reminded me to deposit into my savings account so I don't spend it quickly, one from my father's woman-friend who said a tan complements my features well, and lastly, my sister's Token Gay Friend said I look like a hot migrant laborer.
Hot as in sweaty from toil or hot as in Do Me Daddy? I dunno, either.
I took my sister out to dinner to celebrate her last day at Quickly Going Under Dot Com and we talked about God and parents and brothers and grandparents and uncles. She was on a religion kick tonight, asking me esoteric questions on my relationship with God and Christ, topics that aren't taboo yet not daily fare between us. I don't talk about my faith often, usually because I dislike the taste of hypocrisy, but I enjoyed talking with her about it. Lately she's been down because of her job and prospects for other tech positions in the Valley are bleak, but this afternoon she received a solid job offer just when she despaired the most. I think she's spiritually rattled, something that everybody needs to experience and probably does, even if one doesn't recognize it for what it is. She was sitting at her desk and said God, I Give Up when the phone rang with the headhunter from Not Going Under And Never Will Dot Com.
Maybe it's happenstance. Maybe it's not. Maybe it's folly to engage in conjecture either way. Maybe. But she's rattled and I'm happy for her.
So we celebrated by going out for Chinese and her fortune cookie said Prosperity Will Be Yours. Hm. Maybe. Maybe?
Then she asked me if I had a double life because Token Gay Friend informed her I'm too good looking to be straight and she still doesn't understand why the ex-girlfriend and I aren't together. I suppose I could have said Sister, I'm bisexual and put an end to it, but I didn't, choosing instead to laugh it off. I felt dirty afterward.
Remember the Irish couple? They're not decomposing after all; they're visiting and Mrs. Alzheimer's is upset at the dead state of her garden. Thought you might want an update on their status.
I'm really avoiding what I want to talk about, can you tell? The quality of my writing has devolved into crummy the same way my thoughts have jelled into Useless.
