what happens in diaryland when a particular diary gets attached to a particular type of event (say, mungleford, to a divorce). and then what happens when another diary happens to involve or allude to that same type of event (say, asymptotic, also to a divorce). is it only natural that we compare the writing styles and the degrees of information that they give out about their very personal lives. who, i wonder, will write the better divorce?
last week i met twice with ben slivka, the man who designed the first three versions of internet explorer. that's my name drop for the day. he's pretty smart, but is that enough to make him a million billionaire? if we filtered out all of his smartness into a dixie cup, and we filtered out all of my smartness into a dixie cup, would his dixie cup be worth a million billion dollars more than mine?
but yesterday i was dealt a bad hand, and i played my cards all wrong.
my boss quit again. that makes four bosses either quitting or getting fired in the last two months. i mean, it could all just be moving water, but it's beginning to look a little fishy to me. and then yesterday was my co-worker's last day. a good friend who has been around much longer than i and is now packing it all in and flying to nicaragua. okay, so there was a going away party.
there are cool people at my work. i am not one of them. at work, i usually just work. but at the going away party i managed to be cool enough to be invited to the cool party that was going to start as soon as the first party ended. we had to eat first. there was a scene in the jack-in-the-box about sex on tap. i wasn't part of it. then some stranger girl came up to us (she was about 16 maybe, and we'd recently overheard her complaining about her friend's kid opening up her c-section) and asked us if we like kids. we said we like kids from about 10 feet away. she said when we grew up we might change our minds. i can't wait to grow up.
we took a cab around and the driver was driving all crazy and we were squeeling and raising our arms into the air as he shot around little roundabouts and and bounced up and down hills. he told us to live fast and die young. i can wait to live fast and die young.
then the party. it was at a house on a hill in magnolia that had dozens of huge windows that overlooked all of the city. v. beautiful. we had margaritas, we had tequila and squirt, we had tequila and tequila. maybe drank more than i should have in a group of strangers. my cooler friends and i got separated and i ended up talking with some people about sororities. i wasn't being polite about my opinions. i began asking people sincerely for the quality of life that they were living. they all seemed happy. i pretended not to be happy. became somewhat of an embarrassment for my cooler friends, once they started asking me to go home with them. there was debate about leaving me there to sleep on an extra bed. i, somehow, decided that that was a bad idea. someone gave me a last beer. i spilled it all over their new house. we got in the car and i started picking on my cool friends. told the driver how, when she was picking us up, my cool friends said some things about her that were not nice. i was not a good person. it's okay though, cause i don't care. the cool friends are moving to west virginia next week.
this has taught me a good lesson. we are all dealt a few bad cards once in a while, but we have a small pile of "i don't care" cards that we can occasionally use to cancel out bad cards. i used one last night. i've used quite a few in my life. but the danger is that every time you use an "i don't care" card, your soul becomes a little blacker. using an "i don't care" card is like breathing in the black tar of a cigarrette. a soul can only get so black before you are a genuinely bad person. i haven't been to church in a while. i need to go.
i am pretty hung over. i am ugly on the inside.