Well, I got bored enough to add Roachboy to my buddy list for Aol Instant Messenger. BTW, for anyone that's really interested, I'm under agentskttr. I couldn't get my old online name back, because apparently the loser who broke into my account liked it so much that he signed up for aol and picked that name.
Adding Roachboy was a mistake, as usual. I should just cauterize him like the festering sore on the face of the planet that he is. Do you know he still reads this? He doesn't want to speak to me, he thinks I'm slime, and he reads this. Why? Because he's a L-O-S-E-R. He also went to his butt-buddies to ask if it was beneath him to write a response to my entries. Response to what? The truth? I guess it hurts his self-image to have the fact that he's an asshole shoved in his face.
Anyway, as a sort of salve to his self-esteem, he decided that he must mean something to me all this time. After all, why would I still mention him? Hello? $1,000 dollars, el freako? The money you'll never pay me back? And you have the fucking guts to call me a thief. So he sits there and reads about my pregnancy and snickers to himself, because God knows we didn't have sex often enough for me to get pregnant. I hope that makes him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Anyway, I'm just pissed because he wants to think he matters anymore. And he wants to think that we're foundering without him. This is a message for him, and him only: Dirk's making more money than you ever will, asshole! Plus, we've got a new lead singer, who can actually sing, trying out tomorrow! What do you have? More teenyboppers? Good luck, Roachboy. Maybe you'll get lucky...or maybe you'll just die a mentally unstable weirdo, whose father even doubts he'll ever be able to live on his own (he told me, yes he did!).
I feel better now. Roachboy takes my mind off any real problems, you know? But I've got to quit talking to him. He makes me want to puke, and it's not doing my raging hormones a bit of good. I think I might have sounded a little....out there?...in the past couple paragraphs. I cut him off, mid-conversation, after calling him a loser, then blocked him from my buddy list.
Today was semi-decent, despite the fact that I got squat done and I had to give up the current herbal remedy. It was killing my will to live. I'm going to look for a store that sells herbs tomorrow. Use a stronger purge.
C--'s been very concerned about my pregnancy. His last e-mail said, "hello,
how are you feeling?
thank you for e-mailing me.
keep me updated,
please.
goodnight
C--"
For those who don't know him, this is practically gushing for C--, these days. To translate, he's really worried about me, and doesn't want me to make any rash decisions. Most of all, he doesn't want things between Dirk and I to go the way they did between him and his Girlfriend when she got pregnant. I'm touched, honestly.We went to Don Pablo's, then Border's. I ran into Jason. At first, I didn't think it was him, because from twenty feet away, he looked much older. Maybe 35. Granted, I don't wear my glasses in public, so I couldn't really make out his face. But you can't mistake that walk, or the voice. I talked to him for a few minutes, after nonchalantly wandering near to make certain it was him. He smiled a lot, as usual, and was meticulously polite, as usual. The basic cruxt of the conversation was Who I Was Dating. I think that's all Jason really wanted to know. He doesn't work at the library anymore. He works at a research facility in Manassas now. He seemed like a bad photocopy of himself, for some reason. Still looked mostly the same, but he's mellowed. He's not the man I used to know. Roachboy thinks it's because Jason's become more insular, instead of getting out and getting to know people. Really getting to know them, that is. I don't know.
Don Pablo's has the most worthwhile soapapillas I've ever encountered. To the uninitiated, a soapapilla is a "mexican fried puff pastry, in honey butter sauce". If you go to Carlos O'Kelly's the "puff pastry" looks suspiciously like a microwaved soft tortilla. But it was the real deal at Don Pablo's. Obviously fried, cut up into four sections, with powdered sugar sprinkled on top. It tasted like a cross between french toast and funnel cake, with the great sauce. The sauce tasted like Werther's Original candy...I loved it.
Here's a little thought: Newt Gingrich is going bye-bye! Dirk was doing happy dances all over the upstairs of his house. Part of Krisco's road was blocked off tonight, with firetrucks, ambulances and police cars. At first, I was hopeful that something nasty had happened to her. Unfortunately, it wasn't at her house.
There's probably reasons why god, assuming there is one, takes a dump on me at every opportunity. I'm not the nicest of people, am I?
Okay, I'm suddenly tired, and not screaming at Roachboy took a lot out of me tonight. Goodnight.