Saturday, May 18, 2002
Can I just take a moment to make a long overdue comment concerning women and dates? Drawing on my considerable expertise as a woman, I would like to offer this advice to a few of you guys out there (ok, all of you guys out there) and hope and pray that you take it. When a girl asks to you a movie/dinner/coffee/bookstore, nine times out of ten it simply means that she wanted to go out and she didn't want to go alone. Maybe it does mean that she likes you, or maybe it means that her girlfriends are out of town or that she just wants to get to know you better. It DOES NOT mean that she wants to date you, kiss you, marry you, or even see you again in "date" type situation. You're best bet would be to keep from making assumptions of this type. Understanding this concept, guys, is paramount in avoiding embarassament on your part and utter regret for having asked you out on hers.
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Friday, May 10, 2002
My house is littered with remnants of the pity party I threw for myself last night. Chocolate wrappers and empty ice cream cartons from my misery binge and piles of tissues from the hours of uncontrollable sobs. I have a jumbo sized hangover type headache from crying over disappointments I can do nothing about. I didn't get the interneship, I'm losing friends left and right to the charms of bigger towns and better jobs, and not one of those departing cared enough to say goodbye. I'm headed home today, finally, though I wish I were there already. The charm of this town and the people in it is rubbing off and I want to leave before the enchantment completely wears away.
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Saturday, May 04, 2002
My Communication on the Internet teacher delivered my grade tonight via email. I got a B+, an amazing feat considering I got a 69 on the final. Along with the final grade, he sent along an analysis of the research project I threw together in ten hours. I don't deserve the 92 he gave me, but I'll take it.
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Wednesday, May 01, 2002
Yesterday, I had the next three months perfectly planned and tied up in a cozy little corporate internship in Tampa. This afternoon, I watched as those plans slipped through my fingers and shattered into millions of pieces like a priceless vase hitting a marble floor. My mother, without missing a beat, asked if I was still coming home. "Why? What would I do?" I returned. She says I can clean her house or maybe try my old job/torture session at the book store. Ahhhh, the bookstore. Nothing says summer like pushing self-help books and trashy novels, all while forcing smiles and genuine assurances of the fine quality of the author's work. "Yes, ma'am, I do think Danielle Steele is one of the greatest authors ever. No, sir, I don't think Star Trek novels will ever be 'uncool'. Of course we have the 2,356th Helping of Chicken Soup for the Christian Teen Pet Lover's Soul." My father thinks I should be optimistic because there is still a minute, microscopic chance that the hardass who is overly proficient at shitting out red tape could still change his mind and let me work for his company wage-free. I'll start holding my breath tomorrow.
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