2004-11-17 - 11:29 p.m.
ramble

so that, friends, was fucking scary.

so it's me and robert, right? (robert's the supersexy blackhaired wonder boy i met at thursday's a few evenings ago.) he just found out his sponsor's been fucking his girlfriend. so he's not having a good night.

i, too, am not having a good night. roxanne, for one. goodbye and good riddance to that abrasive little bitch. my speech went something like this, because this is how i felt at the time: "look roxanne you've been exceedingly patient and kind and given tremendous effort to helping me get sober, but i feel like i'm just wasting your time. i don't think i'm ready for this." and she says something to the effect of: "dammit, you beat me to the punch, ducklips." so that sucked. and i found out that i'm not doing as well in math class as i thought i was [big fucking surprise; do i ever do well in math? ever? well, once i take that make-up test and do a bunch more extra credit and get good grades on the rest of the quizzes and tests, which i will because i'm doing pretty well in this class (i switched over to math ten halfway through the semester because i had a wonderful beautiful thirty percent in math thirty. thirty percent! yes, i was dying. so i switched and basically started out where most kids were getting at least a C in math ten at an F, which of course puts me to a bit of a disadvantage. but i've done massive amounts of extra credit, and i'll be doing even more, so i think i'll be okay by the end of the semester. but still]). and FRANKIE. and veronica not calling me back. so this is my day and i'm mad about it.

anyways, we hang out for awhile, do a little bit of this and a little bit of that, here and there and everywhere, play with dogs, all that shit, and then we go to del taco to get drinks and use the restrooms (we both had to pee like motherfucking racehorses) (i don't know why that warranted any italicization), and on the way out he got all dizzy and shit and had to sit down, and he was sweaty and pale, and i was freaking out although it's happened to me fifteen billion times. it used to happen a lot when i was smoking a grip of weed, but it hasn't happened in awhile. but the thing about his was, even after he drank dr. pepper and sat down for a long time, he still wasn't okay. he wanted to go home and he still wasn't okay when we got there. he was better, but he wasn't okay. and he left all his shit in my car.

also i was thinking about something.

before robert swooned, we were getting our drinks at del taco. and he was doing little nice things for me, like opening doors and buying the drinks and whatnot. and i was like, "aww, thanks," but the thing is, i never really got the chance to, like, appreciate it, because i kept on opening my own doors and digging out my own money for the drinks and shit. when i really noticed it was when he started ordering the drinks and i bellowed, "two small drinks, please!" and then realized he had already started ordering. and i remembered opening the double glass doors at del taco and then seeing that he'd had the other door open for me. shit like that.

ladies and gentlemen, i am not a girl. which kind of disappoints me.

i like having doors opened and chairs pulled out and having my drinks ordered for me (as long as they ask what i want first). i like all that shit. it just never occurs to me to wait for it or to expect it.

just like i like wearing skirts and heels and makeup and doing my hair and going high femme once in awhile. i like it. i do. it just never occurs to me in the course of a normal day to dress in that manner. i wear dickies and wifebeaters and sweatshirts and converses.

so, let me reiterate. i am not a girl.

whatever.

i'm gonna go mope in the corner about frankie now.

- rachel

ooh, you touch my tra-la-la... mmm, my ding-ding-dong