Retard Sex

Every minute of my life for the next 28 days is utterly pregnant with things I ought to be doing to maintain my straight-A status of the semester. For every minute I spend doing anything other than the necessary then there is some minute later in time which will bear the brunt. I'm the one who volunteered to present all those papers the effing day after Thanksgiving break. And it's not so much that I'm against studying over my break, as it is that I simply know it won't happen.

My father said I can sleep in the same bed as my boyfriend. I sort of tried to make him feel like an old fuddy-duddy and only half as cool as my biological dad when he defiantly told me "no" a week ago. Seriously: imagine me only seeing the lover of my soul every six weeks and then having to just hold-hands on the sofa before retiring for the night. All my father is really doing is preventing a lot of sneaking around after he goes to bed.

I talked to the new nanny of my kids up on Long Island a couple days ago. She flattered my ass off by telling me how much she's heard about me and that the kids love me and what a good cook I am. Freaking awesome.

I'll be in PA over Xmas break - towards New Years - and that's only 4 hours from NYC. Do you know how excited I get when I think about taking Mike to Patio with Asit and the Matthew in company? I get, like, stupid excited. The plans are not definite, but Mike has a Grandma in Yonkers and we just might make the Manhattan-to-Long-Island experience come true.

Planet Thai in Williamsburg.

FAO Schwartz and the Guggenheim in an up-town romp towards Asit's new neighborhood.

I miss that fucking dump of an island...

I would like someone to buy me a car for Christmas. Once I bought a car for myself. Paid for it totally. It now is not. I mean, it has ceased to exist.

Truth is, I'd rather not-own a car I didn't pay for, than not-own a car I did pay for.

But the next car I get will be one deserving of such descriptors as "hugs the pavement" and "finnesses curves". And without regard to my deteriorating left knee, I will have a manual transmition.

Public transportation is the absolute loneliest place on earth. Flying solo. Glancing back and forth between a cab-driver's eyes in the rear-view mirror and your own rain-streaked window. Bracing yourself against the velocity of a bus or train while standing and trying to contain yourself within personal space. Pretending you have nothing in common with swarms in airport terminals, but imagining that you could be sitting next to your long-lost best friend.

the passengers change they don't change anything... you get off some one else can get on

The moral of the story is: Michaela feels plum creepy being so far away from the people who really matter in her life. Adding to this is her inability to visit any of them at will since she has no car, and the only alternative is public transportation. Mama will be in Mexico for Christmas and Daddy will be in the Florida keys. My sister is in the beginnings of a divorce and I've just fallen in love so the holiday will be spent in the most unconventional fashion.