12 November 2002 - 10:41 a.m.

Isn't it funny that Toothbrush should write an entry about getting a new cat on Hatbox's second birthday? Aw.

Also funny is that I have been complaining endlessly about my insomnia, and wouldn't you know, there was the world's biggest thunderstorm the other night? And all I remember of it was a few flashes outside my window, and rolling over thinking, "Oh, must be a Peeping Tom."

Yes, the insommniac who is afraid of every little creak and footstep was completely unfazed by the idea of a strange man photographing her in her sleep. But then there was a low rumble in the distance, and that's all I remember.

So imagine my surprise to wake up all refreshed and shit, and to be greeted by the Juice to my Jenn (or the Jess to my Gin, whichever way you like) with a concerned "Were you able to get back to sleep after the thunderstorm?"

Um.

"What thunderstorm?"

She pointed out that maybe I just need a storm raging right outside the window for me to be at peace.

See how the irony just loops around and around?

I also had a strange feeling I should wear the outfit I wore Saturday night to school yesterday. This is something I try not to do; I really feel like everything in my closet should get some exposure. But since I had just worn it for a couple of hours at the dance show, it wasn't dirty, and it was already out and right therem and did I mention it made me look all cute and stuff?

Well, I was rewarded for this by being told I was not permitted to stand around like something out of a movie, and when I replied that I was, in fact, allowed to stand however I pleased, he assured me it was quite unfair, being as I was fully attired in the fashion of one who has just stepped off the silver screen. Then he mentioned some novel I have never read and quoted some person I had never heard of, and went on his way.

Talk about the male gaze.

I won't tell you who this was, but I swear to Christ he was laying it on that thick. That's almost word for word. I'd never use a cliche like "silver screen."

But did I have a premonition that led me to believe I would be complimented if I wore that outfit? I hope not - what a useless brand of clairvoyance! Unless of course, you are a compliment whore like me, but I already know all the ways to get my props without having to rely on like, soothsaying.

My friend Max called last night, to tel me that our mutual friend was in a motercycle accident, and broke his wrist and femur. Perhpas I should have placed this information at the top of my entry, but, frankly, it doesn't seem all that dire after listening to the message max left on the machine, which included pregant pauses between phrases like "bearer of bad news," "[Name of our mutual friend] was in a motorcycle accident," "pretty bad," and "broken leg and wrist."

Max, if you are reading this, I didn't take you to task for it at the time because it seemed petty, but talk faster on my machine, motherfucker! I thought T was dead. I am practically doing cartwheels to find out that he will just be in a wheelchair for five weeks. And that's not something over which one should cartwheel, even if has certain Jimmy-Stewart-in-Rear-Window significance.

Word. To your mother-in-law.

What I'm wearing:

What I'm reading:

What I'm doing after this: