04-15-02 - 7:45 p.m.
i am one drink away from room spinning, keep-one-foot-on-the-floor drunk. if i need a reason, (and i don't, since alcholism is inherent in my gene pool), blame it on hotel hell, and the current state of (mis)management. or maybe it's because one of my favorite diaryland members has suddenly and inexplicably decided to end her entries and i have no idea how her life will turn out. is leif the father of her baby? will rob, who is sterile, yet the one she really cares about, grow up and stop playing with toy ducks in restaurants and take responsibility of his feelings? will the baby survive life with two gay roomies and an ex-junkie mother who recently electrocuted herself toying with rob's old amplifiers? will the ex-junkie preggo mother survive life in a law firm, her constant craving for drugs and validation, mono, and the trials and tribulations of the first trimester? will she live past age 18?
on a cheerier note, berries is planning my 50th birthday, which is still one year and several months away. black balloons and a pinata. i've only had one birthday party in my life; i was ten, and one of the party guests stepped on a dog bone and went to the emergency room for surgery. his fucking foot upstaged the cake. 40 years between parties is a long time, so i'm really looking forward to this milestone, black balloons and all.
i ran into patrick at the company office today. the chemistry is crazy. we look at each other and salivate. doesn't anyone notice? in public, our secret language for sex is 'the list.' in a crowded room, in front of company employees, he'll ask me about 'the list.'
have you finished the list? are you working on the list? when will the list be done? i'm still waiting on your list.
nobody gets it. we get hot.
i need another drink.