Friday, September 8, 2000

 

7:24 p.m. Tonight we're having company and it's a very special kind of company. East coast company. I used to be East Coast and I once had brown hair. Now I have blonde hair and I live on the West Coast. I feel dumb about that.

I'm making my favorite dinner in the whole wide world. Spaghetti. Pasta. Linguini, noodles ... I can't be trusted to boil water in a kitchen when I'm alone, but when there's people to share the food -- bring on the starch. I've also made a nice berry desert, with fresh whipped cream, just because: people will help me eat it.

I've already had *a lot* of it ... tasting.

1:56 a.m. I just this minute had a hunger pang and I wish I hadn't tossed the leftovers, for safety's sake. If I become properly thin and svelte one day, it will be because of actions like these. I made a little more pasta than was necessary -- I was talking and tossing the handfuls into the water and talking and tossing and by the time I finished I had a veritable Vesuvius of pasta.

And now, now the dishwasher is chugging away, and I'm hoping the entire food parade was tasty enough, hot enough. I never really know. All I can do is worry beforehand and then sail through the moment and hope. Worry and hope. The second the worry part is over, it's time for a new worry, and I've very conveniently got one all lined up.

Igor brought his rented tux home today and it looks really nice on the hanger. He's looking forward to the wedding because he has not a care in the world about what he's going to wear. I've tried on most of the stuff at the far end of my closet -- all those things that are wrapped in plastic. Things I seldom wear, things with dusty shoulders and long hanger memories.

I think I'm going to do something revolutionary, for me. I'm going to wear long pants to the thing. I might be stopped at the door of the very fancy place where the wedding's being held, but maybe not.

As usual, I'll let you know. I'm also going to bring the camera and if they let me in, I'm going to press my luck and try to snap a few. We'll see.

For now, I really must go and get some sleep now. Maybe I'll dream about the pasta I didn't devour; maybe I'll dream of huge dumplings and wake up with my pillow in shreds.

I know. Shut down the computer. Step away from the keyboard. Don't embarrass yourself any further.