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rue-madame's Diaryland Diary

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Why me? Why not me?

I was idle all weekend. I slept in both days (9:45 on Sat, 8:15 on Sun) and managed to accomplish very little. It was heavenly.

The few things I did do were not very taxing. I got some groceries, sat in a café nursing an iced tea for about 3 hours, bought this magazine, saw You Me and Everyone We Know, had delicious blueberry pancakes at The Pantry, watched The Quiet American and the Tour de France, read the entire Sunday Times, ate a lot of salads (it’s too bloody hot to cook anything more than a potato for a salade niçoise) and drank lots of pretty drinks like this one:

It’s non-alcoholic (mango lemonade, maraschino cherry juice, tonic), as are all drinks I consume these days. Alcohol + RA medicine = liver disease, kidney damage, stomach lining bleeding… funfun!

My entire family is in France right now. My parents left last Wednesday, my older sister (plus husband, son and son’s friend) left last Thursday, and my younger sister left yesterday (with boyfriend.) They are all spending time in Paris, then traveling to the family compound in the Pyrenees. I was supposed to go but instead blew the bulk of my travel budget in March. I am neither poor enough to qualify for a parentally-financed PityTicket (like my younger sister did) nor financially secure enough to use my emergency cushion/health premium savings for travel.

I shouldn’t be annoyed—after all, I made my bed and I’m fluffing the pillows in preparation for stewing in it—but I am.

Grrr, I should have married better.

We talk about that every now and then, TA and I. About how we really should have married better. I think he should use his time at fancy grad school to find a wealthy heiress because we are never going to achieve what we want to achieve on two paltry designer salaries. Either that, or one of us is going to have to write a blockbuster book that gets optioned or invent some ridiculous tchotchke that’s made in China and sells stateside for shitloads of money. God forbid we just WORK HARD like very other schmo.

Mr Bingo was showing me photos of the guy who owns DesignBeyondReach—he’s single, wealthy, and educated. He might be a good match but he’s an aging hippie! I’d rather have sex with an octogenarian conservative oil magnate (à la AnnaNicole) than commune with some drum-circle lovin’, linen drawstring pants-wearin’, pot smokin’, Creedence worshippin’ hippie. Oh sure, he might have reformed (trading in the drums/Creedence for jazzanova, the linen pants for Armani suits, the pot for a wine collection valued at a quarter of a million dollars) but deep down, he’s still one of those guys for whom the 60s represent the apex of American Liberties when in actual fact, the only reason the time period has any significance for him is that the Pill got him laid.

I don’t know where that screed came from. I’m not cranky at all today. In fact, I’m feeling pretty good.

3:10 p.m. - 2005-07-11

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