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First off, if you're looking for my comments on the journaller's meeting,
you'll find them here. If you came from
looking for stories about me sexually harrassing our accountants, um,
well, you're gonna be disappointed. It's a joke. Of course, when I first
read that I assumed she had just misunderstood one of the stories I told
at the meeting...I wasn't mad about it, I was actually more amused at the
thought of me harrassing our accountants (both of whom are women I'm
pretty good friends with). Anyway, I'll try to tell a scintilating tale
now and then, just to keep you reading. Or you can go read some of my
erotic poetry instead.|
Last night I went over to my friend Kimio's apartment. Kimio lives in downtown Oakland, and I have to admit, his neighborhood scares me a little (and he lives only 5 minutes away from me!). I guess I just know all the crack dealers, pimps, whores and street people on my street; his neighborhood has a slightly more menacing feel to it - more urban - so I get uptight walking there at night.
I approached his door with the padlock combination written on my hand. A friend of his was trying to undo the lock through the iron bars from the inside. This is a real pain in the butt, let me tell you. I offered to help him, but he assured me that he had it. We exchanged stories about being stuck behind the bars, trying to get the combination to take, and having street people come up and say, "Just give me the combo, and I'll get you out." I don't think so. Anyhow, he got out and as he let me in he made some comment about me going upstairs to trade sexual favors (which, for the record, is NOT true). He said it in such a way that I could play dumb, so I did. I hate it when I have to play dumb, but the only other alternative was a joking, knowing laugh or uptight offense, and I was not in the mood for either. He then made some joke about putting the lock on upside down, which he proceeded to do, shouted "good luck getting out of there!" at me and left, laughing.
I was pretty peeved as I made my way upstairs. I left early so I'd have time to futz with the lock.
Went over to David's for a bit after that, but I've forgotten what I was going to say about that. When I finally got home, I found a glorious parking spot right in front of my house. Now, the only reason this spot was available is that the next moring that side of the street is supposed to be cleared for street sweeping from 9 to noon. Of course, I leave for work at 8:15, so that's no problem, right?
I awoke around 2:30am, drenched in sweat. I tossed off my covers, only to freeze. Bathroom, drink some water, try to sleep again. My mind is RACING about all sorts of crap. As usual. About an hour later I'm still awake, frustrated that I can't sleep. I take some Valerian. An hour after that (4:30am folks) I try reading myself to sleep.
I think I finally fell asleep around 6am, not long after my roommate got home from her graveyard shift at the newspaper.
So, I called in late. Jenna was understanding (I wouldn't have been worth snot had I gotten up to come in by 8:30am). I sleep in, only to awake at 10:30 to the swishing sound of the street cleaner. Oh. Shit.
So, an hour and 32 dollars later I'm at David's cafe (ok, ok, so it's really called the Lili Pad and is run by Karen's sister, Gail (see what a small world it is?), ordering yummy 'za and bemoaning my insomnia induced parking ticket. David suggests I don't skip yoga tonight. Good idea. And the best part is that yoga is over in plenty of time for BUFFY!!!!
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