saint-louise's Diaryland Diary
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I just tossed a fifth of gin...
Today, I wanted to say something to my sister, who has been my best friend and the one person to whom I�ve been able to say anything at all for as long as I can remember.
But she works for a company that veers wildly between:
* jumping out from closets and from behind furniture to startle her with as many bizarre, heretofore unthinkably MAD requests and events as her little ticker can handle,
AND
* drawing a quartering her between massive, high-profile projects that usually require her to put in twelve-hour workdays and binge on stress the other twelve hours of the day.
Therefore, trying to talk to her on the phone or through messenger is nigh unto making a plan to track down Moses wearing a pink tutu and carrying the holy grail, a dodo, and a copy of �Ritual de lo Habitual� with the original cover art. As he is wont to do. The sneaky bastard.
What I wanted to say to my sister is this:
�Did I ever tell you that when we were growing up, I thought of myself as strawberry and you as cherry?�
I know what you�re thinking. If you�re not thinking anything in particular, and you�re confused about what it is that you should be thinking, it�s not as simple as, �What the hell is wrong with you?� But more along the lines of, �Well, it�s either all the drugs she did, or she�s finally reached the end of her tether, and she�s purging the dregs of her inane thought processes as she slowly strangles to death.�
Just so we�re clear.
And I�m not going to explain the strawberry/cherry comment. It�s something for my sister to respond to, and since she's unavailable for comment at the moment, you all will have to writhe and weep and wail and gnash your teeth, driven wild with curiosity.
Or, you know, take a nap from the overwhelming lack of caring. Either way works for me.
Next week, however, I actually get to hang out with my sister. We�re going to Disneyland.
Okay, wait. I should have said, �We�re taking my daughter to Disneyland.� If I phrase it this way, it doesn�t sound like I�m actually excited about the idea of going to the Happiest Place on Earth. Because adults who give in to the glossy, overexposed nonsense of Disneyland are pathetic. They consume the oxygen that could be used to fuel the brains of productive, intelligent human beings (the ones we really want to contribute their genes toward the evolutionary process). ADULTS WHO GET EXCITED AT THE PROSPECT OF GOING TO DISNEYLAND MAKE ME PROJECTILE VOMIT.
Also, I�m probably a bad mom for exposing my daughter to this kind of blatant commercialism.
I think.
I�ve lost my copy of the Adult�s Handbook to Widely Approved and Cool Ways of Having Fun. So I�m a little lost, over here.
I�m pretty sure I�m absolutely not supposed to have fun at Disneyland.
Nor am I going to buy one of those insipid mouse-ear hats for my daughter.
Nor will I enjoy the Nightmare Before Christmas decorations they put up during this time of year.
Definitely, most assuredly NOT.
Maybe.
2:01 p.m. - 2004-10-08
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