PickledCherub

Chris' mom was on Texas TV yesterday for her Nordstrom's thing. "There's your mom!" I kept saying, but it was true only the first time.

Last night I got wiggledy wasted at the Hedge House and came home driggledy drunk and had a series of unsettling dreams. In one, I was trying to find Marian, and I couldn't. In another, well, it was a sex dream, and those always freak me out.

Today I found out the Jaime, Amac and Katy's old housemate, works at my new favorite coffeeshop/bakery on 28th. This place has the best tuna sandwiches. I know that six dollars seems like a lot to pay for a tuna sandwich, but this thing is all gourmet with dill and mustard seeds and celery and green onions. I guess I could try to make it at home, and it would be cheaper, but then . . .

I've been sorting through boxes, boxes in the basement, boxes in my closet, sorting and throwing things out. I came across this thing that my first boyfriend in college wrote about me on some legal pad. It's all about whether or not I would recommend keeping him alive if women took over the world. His guess: yes. His reasoning: he could express his emotions (why do guys always think that's a big deal?); he could "give" me multiple orgasms; he loved me. I also found a picture of him graduating from High School (he was cuter when he was younger), and one of his nephew. The question becomes: do I throw this stuff out? Usually I throw some of it out, but now I'm at a point where if I threw it out, I'd have nothing left. Not necessarily a bad thing.

Then I found this letter my dad wrote me that I always find. I don't get all teary eyed anymore, not usually. But the combo pack of sitting there with my boyfriend recording something and me re-living all these relationships made me feel a little bit nervous. As in, a series of reminders that relationships end, no escape.

Eh, but who cares?