3 May 2002 - 12:21 p.m.

No entry yesterday? What were you thinking, jpellecchia, leaving that weepy, end-of-school entry up for two days?

Well, in all fairness, not much happened yesterday, save an argument with the ex over which of us gets high.

Wait, that wasn't interesting at all! Aren't you glad I didn't update yesterday?

There was one thing, though, that didn't really strike me at first, but now that I think about it, I guess I have concrete proff that I am someone who cares about her image. And that proff came in the form of a Pottery Barn catalogue.

I really hate Pottery Barn. I hate it mostly because even though it's a cheesy chain store, every time I walk in, the employees give me dirty looks and follow me around like I'm going to shoplift. The only reason for this can possibly be is that I am young, because when I go shopping, I try to be careful to look nice, because really, if you make an effort to dress up like Holly Golightly and walk alll over the East End in non-sensible shoes, somebody had better treat you like Holly fucking Golightly, you know? And often they do. But not in fucking Pottery Barn. I just want to go up to every single one of them and be like, "Face it. You work in retail, bitch. Reatail!!" But then I don't.

So the one time I ever succumbed to buying Pottery Barn stuff was when I was housesitting for my landpeople, B and Richard Dreyfuss, and I figured I could just steal their catalogue for the month they were gone and be done with it. Of course, you can never just be done with it when you order from the ol' P-Barn, because they have to send you their catalog, as well as the Willaims-Sonoma catalogue.

I wonder if they ever imagined they would be wasting so much paper of a little strumpet in Pittsburgh whose not even worth waiting on when she walks into the store?

Jesus, this is a lot of backstory for what happened yesterday! Which was simply this: the P-Barn catalogue came. I noticed it on the wya out to do some errands before class. I thought, "I should take this with me. Then I can think about all the stuff I like and remember it for the next time I go to the craft store and/or flea market, and get the real deal for a hundred times cheaper."

But then I thought, "Now, what would someone think if they say me in one of my many pink skirts and my silly mules reading the P-Barn catalogue on campus? They would think, 'There's a little biznatch who doesn't give a whip about her education!'"

Of course, that assumes there is anyone at CoMputer U., or in the world, even, who would use the phrase "little biznatch" in the same sentance as "give a whip."

It then occured to me that I had a copy of Writer's Chronicle in my bag, and that I could read that on campus. But since my whole, you know, image and stuff had come into question, it further occured to me that I don't get nearly as excited about reading Writer's Chronicle as I do about carrying it around.

And why should I? There was an article this month that was advertised as "Writing the Couple," but ended up being about how two writers can live together as a happy married couple.

Well, I live with a cat. And I'm marrying a usability specialist, and no he does not specialize in the use of, I dunno, poetry. Which is not to say that every issue of the aplty abbpreviated WC needs to be so jenncentric, but, you know.

But at least I got to look like a writer. And go on that tangent there. Sometimes a good tangent really hits the spot.

What I'm wearing:

What I'm reading:

What I'm doing after this: