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Friday, 17 September 1999 (i think that I would die) 9:04am Nicked myself shaving this morning. I know what that means. 12:43pm By god, that's it.
I'm gonna register my shareware.
I've got the most completely evil thought in my head:
Halloween in Kansas. I can partially blame Tania for
the idea, and intend to drag her along if at all possible,
but even if she's not able to...it means seeing Maddy
in two months rather than four, getting the inevitable
Kansas excursion done, seeing her in two months rather
than four, being in an actual semi-spooky place for Halloween
rather the City, seeing Maddy in two months rather than
four, et cetera...
I could get used to this telecommuting thing.
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Thursday, 16 September 1999 (a million miles) 8:51am So, according to my scale, I've put on nearly twenty pounds since the last time I saw my endocrinologist. She is not going to be pleased, not one bit. I can only hope that there's been a substantial increase in my breasts or hips. You'd think I'd notice these things, but really, I see myself every day (it's my curse). She's more likely to notice these things. There's no denying that I haven't been exercising nearly enough, and the acquisition of the first truly comfortable bed I've owned since...Jesus, have I ever had one like this? Up until recently it was The Ex's, before that the stone slab at SFSU, then there was the waterbed that my mom insisted on getting for me in the early nineties...I know she meant well and thought she was doing me a favor, but that damn thing was way more trouble than it was worth. Anyway, not feeling as compelled to leap out of bed in the morning doesn't make getting up at 3am any easier. This morning was the first time I've slept for more than six hours in the new bed (only got it on Sunday), and except for the bad dreams, it felt reeeeal nice.
So I need to start going to the gym at night, like I used to back in '97.
Maddy's looking for an evening job, which will make me feel a little less
guilty about being gone nights. At least if we're both somewhere else
being productive...
So that was a very good thing, and I also got another bit of good news: when Leigh starts, she'll be on the cubicle to my right rather than my left, the one which is currently home to the printers. The practical upshot of this is that she will not be between me and TFQ, so I won't have to deal with him anymore than I do now. That's quite a load off my mind. It'll require a certain rearrangement of the curtains so I can work with her while maintaining the privacy I've come to depend on so much, but I think it can be done. So, according to the bloodwork done a couple months back, my thyroid levels are normal. I'm just...jumpy. My endoc wasn't as bothered by my weight gain as I was expecting, probably because it's not really noticeable. She decided to assume that the data was incorrect, that when I'd weighed in at 171 previously it should have been 181. I still can't decide if that bothers me or now. Anyway, the course is being stayed. Same prescriptions as before, although I had to remind her about the Meridia, which had apparently slipped her mind entirely. . "You're on Meridia and you gained weight? It is clearly not working." I then had to convince her to write me another prescription, citing stress and long work hours and everything else as possible reasons for the weight gain. It worked, but I didn't feel right having to do it. The urge to continue playing hooky from work (on the same day I get a raise—hooray irony) was strong, so I made a few stops after I left. The first, for some reason, was the library. It's not that as though I'm at a loss for books. I'm just about done with Wetbones by John Shirley, and I also have his New Noir (the one which Summer asked him to sign for me but which he signed to her anyway), Caitlin Kiernan's Silk from Maddy, Michael Tolkin's Among the Dead and probably some others I'm forgetting. But there it was: Poppy Z. Brite's Exquisite Corpse. How could I not? From there it was straight to work, right? Not exactly. I headed into the Mission to grab a burrito at El Buen Sabor, but ended up going into the Thai place at 18th and Mission. Because, of course, I'd had Thai the night before with The Doctor, and on Sunday with Imani. So it made perfect sense, you see. Can't have too much. Then to work. Well, almost... |
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Wednesday, 15 September 1999 (the great beyond) 11:12am This could get to be a problem: I'm not wanting to get out of bed in the morning. I actually used the "snooze" button three or four times this morning, which is very odd for me. It's not the most pleasant experience, either, because it's a CD alarm clock (L7's Bricks Are Heavy being the disk du jour which pauses while snoozed, and the sound of the disc spinning is fairly obtrusive. Worse, the time isn't displayed, just the track number. Doesn't do one's conscience any favors. Even beyond the fact that I prefer to get to work earlier, the most compelling reason for getting myself out of bed (why do I need a reason? what's happening to me?) is the undeniable fact that the later it is, the more the commute sucks. Today was far from an exception; the train functionally stalled out just before West Portal station. They strongly suggested we get off and take another train, but I remained in my standard fetal position with headphones on. The wise thing to do would have been to have gotten off, taken the train back to my part of town and caught the 71 line, which ends up in the same place but takes surface streets. I may take the 71 tomorrow, in fact, but this morning I rolled the dice that I'd be able to just stay in my seat and I'd eventually get where I wanted to go. Today, I got lucky. I'll admit, sometimes I yearn for a simpler way, the way it once was for me and still is for many others. Roll out of bed, drive 15 minutes to work, badda-bing badda-boom. Or Lee's method of avoiding civilization entirely, of fending for yourself to a degree. Something. Not that it qualifies as a safe alternative in this city, but maybe I could resurrect my bike. Well, not resurrect—it's extremely dead, with the possible exception of whatever's evolved in that half-full water bottle over the last five years—but get a new one. If I could find a relatively non-lethal route...it'd be damn good exercise (huh? whuzzat?), and more importantly, I'd be controlling my own destiny, so to speak. That's the worst part of muni breakdowns: you're helpless and typically uninformed. Yes, obviously something's wrong with the damn train, but WHAT? The drivers tend to keep mum, which doesn't help the mood of the captured passengers one bit. Maybe they're under orders to say nothing, I don't know. Wouldn't be surprised. And I don't pretend to know what's wrong with the Muni, or how to fix it. I can see the symptoms (unreliable service, overcrowding, unpleasant drivers), but the actual root is surely something much deeper.
Sadly, the system is locked into place. Probably the only way service can be improved would be additional
funding, which is only going to happen if fares go up, and I don't think they have the nerve. What I find
even more ironic is that regular traffic is still frequently congested as well; if everyone who was driving
decided it just wasn't worth it and went with public transportation, there's no way the system could handle
it. And yet that's what must happen to an extent; the overreliance on individual vehicles (those of the
internal combustion variety, at least) must end. Particularly if the population keeps growing;
the demand for comfort and convenience will eventually become greater than the resources available. Indeed,
it's already happened for a lot of people, and it's just getting worse...
Being transgendered is a disease, chemical balance, mental illness, hanidcap, simple lifestyle choice, all or none of the above--depending on who you ask. I've heard rather compelling arguments for and against all of them. I don't really care all that much, and am just damn grateful to be in a time/place where (for the most part) nobody else does, either. It's just not something I get worked up about. (I'd like to think of myself as a subtle activist.)
Well, duh.
Cool. Thanks to Maddy, I now also have two pictures of Ewan MacGregor at my desk. One as Obi-Wan Kenobi holding a lightsaber, and the other as Renton shooting up heroin.
Even cooler. (And I'm not sure which one I find more erotic.)
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Tuesday, 14 September 1999 (bottoming out) 10:25am Yeah, I'm jumpy as hell. In a few days I should be finding out if there's a medical reason, or if I'm just...jumpy. 11:13am How much of a geek am I? Since I've grown so frustrtated with Netscape constantly locking up, crashing, et cetera, I'm experimenting with the Opera Browser as an alternative. It's smaller, faster, does most everything I need to it do and very little of what I don't. I probably wouldn't be able to use it much at work for development since our standard is friggin' IE, but it'll come in very handy at home. I also like the idea of releasing myself from the Microsoft/Netscape grip as much as possible. Thusly, learning to use the Linux which Dana and Costanza so graciously installed on my system prior to Maddy's visit would be a very good thing. (Remembering the goddamn password will be a great start.)
Of course, I'm going to obsess over the little details. I can already see that the <br> and the <p> tags
render differently on Opera than they do on Netscape. As in, they seem work the other way around on Opera. What's up with that?
It's going to be tough not to let that sort of thing bother me too much. Goddamnit, it's fast, it's indie, it's punk rock. Yeah.
Fuck yeah. Granted it, requires a $35 registration after a 30 user days (not necessarily a month, just thirty cumulative days
of actual use—nice touch, huh?), but that's a small price to pay for the revolution. Strike, motherfucker!
He also bangs around a lot, and that doesn't help my jumpiness one bit. Slamming his fist (I assume) on the desk in
frustration is a very common occurance, typically followed by loud swearing. Hearing him say "buttfuck" has caused
serious damage to my respect for the phrase, and that saddens me. A part of me that I liked has been taken away,
and I want it back....
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Monday, 13 September 1999 (jacking up) 9:15am Damn, but that's a comfy bed. It's a Sealy Posturpedic something-or-other. Or maybe there's only one kind, I don't know, but I like it. Easily the most comfortable bed I've been in since Lee's; granted, that sounds like a no-brainer since I haven't slept in a bed at all since Lee's, but what I mean is, I liked his more than the one that was being removed from my apartment while I took refuge in Bolinas. I happily overslept this morning, and didn't want to get out of bed. That is extremely unusual for me. Meanwhile, I'm expecting TFQ to be even more pouty this morning when he sees the construction that took place in the office over the weekend. His desk is closest to the windows, and in fact the walkways between his cubicle and the window has always been very narrow. No more. Now, not only is his cubicle not as wide as it once was, but it seems a lack of proper construction material has resulted in the wall between him and the window being shortened to practically desk length, meaning he has almost no privacy whatsoever in what is a fairly high-traffic area. Oh, he is going to have such a cow, and is probably going to resent my little fortress here that much more... On the definite negative side (as though having to listen to him whimper won't be bad enough), it means his horrendous Geddes baby-porn pictures are that much more visible to anyone who walks by. Ewww.
I wonder if the unfortunate subjects of those photos are ever upset when they grow up and find out that they
were taken advantage of in such a manner. If I found out my parents had prostituted me like that, I'd be very angry.
Bad enough that I was baptized against my will...hmm, I'm actually not sure which is worse....
The news has now reached the extended family, at least, so if my father doesn't know yet I'm sure he can't be far behind. So far there doesn't seem to have been negative reaction, and at least one cousin has been outed as a result. Considering that he's one in a family with at least ten children (my extended family is big on adoption), statistically it makes perfect sense.
That's a common reaction to this sort of thing, mentioning that a friend of relative is gay. I realize they mean well,
but frankly, I'm not sure what difference it's supposed to make. To make me feel more comfortable or less alone,
I suppose. It's not as though I'm unaware of how widespread homosexuality is, nor do I labor under the belief that just
because someone's gay it makes them a better person. (Indeed, I suspect that's one of the reasons TFQ doesn't like me,
because I try to look like a grrl.) So that approach has always confused me a little. But, again, they mean well.
In any event, my mom assured me I can be expecting some email....
I've been playing "Against All Odds (Take A Look At Me Now)" by Phil Collins for the better part of
the evening. It's always been an extremely guilty pleasure, and when I found a used CD of the
Against All Odds soundtrack for $6, I had a hunch I'd get my money's worth. And I certainly
have.
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Sunday, 12 September 1999 (alone together) 11:00am This is the way to do it: Sunday morning at the office. Nobody else around, free and easy parking, I can play my music as loud as I like, and I don't even have to wear clothes. Okay, I am wearing clothes, but that's not the point. Summer cleared out most of her things from her desk on Friday night, although she seems to have forgotten one of her Elvis CD's, which I'm listening to right now. What is it with goff grrls and Elvis? Summer, Maddy and Louise are all huge Elvis fans, and I'll bet if asked around I'd find he rivals Bowie in terms of unspoken popularity. (Goffs love Bowie, even if most are afraid to admit it. Since most seem afraid to even admit that they're goff and consider the term grievous, it should come as no surprise.) I wonder if that so many of them are from the South (Summer and Louise) or the Midwest (Maddy) have something to do with it. I'll have to ask Imani tonight; we're finally getting together for this evening. If I'm not mistaken, it's a vegetarian Vietnamese restaurant at O'Farrell and Leavenworth, deep in the heart of the Tenderloin. Figures. Between her going to Burning Man and Maddy's visit, I'm sure we'll both have some interesting tales to tell.
In spite of the final episode of Mystery Science Theater 3000 having been
broadcast last month, there's a new—or, as they describe it, "lost"—episode on tonight.
I am, needless to say, very excited.
Meanwhile, now that the cows are safely home the barn door is being repaired: my landlord is ready to move
in my new bed. I'd almost forgotten what it's like to sleep above the ground.
Dinner with Imani went well, even if it took forever to find parking. Hence, we ended up not going to our original destination but to a Thai place close to where we ended up parking. Not too shabby, but still not the best Pad Thai I've ever had (still found at the hole-in-the-wall join at 18th and Mission whose name escapes me). It was a classy-looking place, certainly, particularly for a pair of glamourgoffs such as ourselves. Indeed, her hair was freshly dyed turquoise, blue and purple from the night before and she was dressed for work, so I'm sure if the place had been busier we would have gotten more odd looks than we did. She was very pleased to hear that Maddy's visit had gone so well, and it certainly seemed to go better than much of her excursion to Burning Man. The poor thing's travelling companion couldn't take a hint that she wasn't interested in him on any kind of romantic/sexual level whatsoever, and continually made advances. It's a shame, it really is. That must make it difficult to trust people in general...though she seems to trust me, which I consider quite an honor. And, because I knew she'd appreciate it, I showed her the now-fading scar. She quickly figured out what it was, laughed, and said "Cool!" I'd say that qualifies as approval.
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Saturday, 11 September 1999 (somewhere in between) 11:21am Right. Time to get productive. Not that I have the first clue where to start. This place certainly needs a lot of cleaning and rearranging; it's in essentially the same state as during Maddy's visit, and that was just barely presentable to begin with. The Ex has moved more stuff out, and I'm dying to hook up my old printer to start making CD covers. In an attempt to explore the other abilities of this computer besides those just relating to pissing off the record companies, I downloaded the demo of Quake II last night. After all, this computer has a real neato graphics card and stuff, so I might as well try to use that, too. Frankly, the game bored me after about twenty minutes and I uninstalled it. Oh well, it was worth a shot. There's still System Shock 2, which at least has cool-looking goffy villain. And don't even talk to me about Tomb Raider. Been there, done that, lost interest real quick. In any event, this is the first day I've had in weeks in which I have no pressing obligations. Last weekend Madeline was here, and the weekend before that I hid in Bolinas as the apartment was gutted. I definitely need to go to the office, but I've decided that can wait until tomorrow so I can park for free. The wisest thing for me to do right nowe would be to just relax. Unfortunately, there are very few cirumstances in which I can just sit still, and at home when there's clutter to be modified is not one of them. For a while yesterday I'd entertained myself with the fantasy that I'd be making my triumphant return to the gym this morning. Whoops. Guess not. My doctor is going to have such a cow when I see her next week. Even more fun than why I've put on the weight (I wonder if Meridia comes in 20mg?), will be the scar on my chest. Honesty, I suppose, is the best policy, and I've known enough trannies to know be aware that I'm still extremely vanilla by their standards. At least I'm still aware of my ribs. That's a good sign. When I first really started losing weight, right about this time last year, the first time I could feel my ribs was a very peculiar experience. I knew that most rules of physiology implied I had a skeleton and thus a ribcage, but until that point, then been buried under several thousand layers of fatty tissue, the same stuff which had held me back for so many years. But they're still there. Maybe not quite as prominent as they were...and I could feel Maddy's. I realize the cultural pendulum is completely against me on this one (typical; even I lost count of how many Manson references I made in yesterday's entry), but I absolutely loved the fact that when I held her, I could feel her ribs. And yet at the same time she was also wonderfully soft and feminine, a phrase which seemed to cause her great anxiety. I honestly don't know why.
Tomorrow morning? Could it possibly happen?
The noises emanating from the kitchen area? Nothing, I'm sure. Well, maybe the resident mice.
But probably nothing. Yeah, nothing.
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8:28am On two different mailing lists yesterday, the subject of disturbing baby imagery came up. I know what you're asking: is there any other kind? The answer, sadly, is yes: really, REALLY disturbing baby imagery. Like Inkan's Anne Geddes Preemie Gallery. "Preemie" meaning (ick) premature. Yes, that's right, premature babies. That's her stock in trade. (The Fidget Queen has a Geddes calendar at his desk, and it makes my skin crawl whenever I have the misfortune of walking by.) Consider this caveat on the page: "Some of the pictures might be other babies than prematurely born, but I couldn´t resist them." I get woozy just thinking about it. Truth be known, I couldn't even look at all of them; I turned off the images and loaded a few individually. That was more than enough. This is completely legal, I should point out, and not considered pornography or erotica by any existing legal definition. Nor am I suggesting it should be banned or suppressed in any way; clearly many people find this stuff totally charming, and they're welcome to it. I'm the first to admit that my aesthetic sense is a tad unusual; it simply doesn't include premature babies. The thought that I simply cannot shake from my brain is that somebody does consider this stuff to be porn, and not with a sense of moral outrage, either. Oh, we'd like to pretend that such people don't exist. It's much more comforting to be shocked when the news gets out that a priest has been diddling the altar boys than to face the fact that just because someone is respected or considered holy in some fashion doesn't mean they aren't just as flawed as everyone else, if not more so. However, it doesn't work that way. (By many xtian standards, as a tranny, I'm right up (down?) there with child molesters.) Somewhere, there's a well-regarded family man—a pillar of the community who goes to church every Sunday, blames Doom and Marilyn Manson for the Littleton shootings, supports his local football team and donates to Operation Rescue—who frequently locks himself in the bathroom with an Anne Geddes book...
Wow. I was in a much happier mood a week ago (as was Madeline, not coincidentally). Funny how much things can change.
While she still thinks I should have come out to him by now—it would seem she doesn't consider the meltdown-via-email that her and I experienced earlier this year to be as much of a cautionary tale as I do—she said she understood why I've never gotten the impression that he gives that much of a damn about me one way or the other. Very much like his father, apparently. Madeline was also discussed at greater length than last night. She's happy that things are going so well between us, but is concerned (of course) about us moving too fast. I set her at ease, fortunately, when I went down the standard list: she's probably not moving out here until after January, she's not moving in with me, there are absolutely no plans to get married, and it goes without saying that children aren't an option on any level. She sounded a little surprised when I mentioned that Maddy stayed with me the entire time rather than with Summer, as I guess must have still been the plan when I last talked to her about it. I didn't flat out say, "Yes, we slept together," though I could tell she was curious.
Perhaps most importantly, she assured me that The Ex is no longer a factor; I was honest and told her that I'm worried
about Maddy being compared to The Ex (fairly or otherwise), of having to exist in the shadow of someone she's never even met and
doesn't want to. I'd like to think that it won't be a problem, that my mom's telling me the truth. I guess we'll see.
It turned out to be about one of my least favorite subjects: advertising. More specifically, the dumbass commercials of ours which have been flooding the airwaves. (Think either "proctologist" or "dead fetal pig" and you'll probably know the ones I'm talking about.) We were shown brand-spankin' new ones, certain to anger both Italian-Americans and anyone of a Middle Eastern origin. Hey, what good are stereotypes if you don't use them, right? It was another two-hour block of my life that I'll never get back, and god, it hurt. At least I was able to amuse myself by finding the perfect angle at which to sit so TFQ could see both my stripeys poking out from underneath my velvets, and my freshly black-polished fingernails. That's gotta be disturbing to him, just a little. I ran into Trevor while over there, and complimented him on how nicely gruff his voice is getting. Very butch indeed. Testosterone has a definite impact the f2m voice, though estrogen does nothing for m2f's in that regard. (Which sucks for me, but all things considered, it's a fair tradeoff.) Anyway, I may be wrong, but I could have sworn that he referred to me as "he" at least once. Considering that I sent him Dana's resume last week and in his response to me referred to me as Jeff in spite of signing as Sherilyn, it seems likely. That's kinda disturbing, particularly since it's a discussion we had a long time ago. Hell, I was calling him by his boi name while his email still had his grrl name, so I don't think a little consideration is too much to ask. Damn, it's been a long day. Feeling dizzy, almost. Strange and not good. In spite of my workload, Summer and I went to lunch today. Seemed only right, since it's her last day in this office; Monday she'll be back in the old building in another department altogether, surely much happier there than she's been in a long time. Meanwhile, we'll get to deal with The Big Boss eating his fucking words and doling out her responsibilities to the already severely overworked staff in an effort to save face—admitting that he actually needed Summer would be akin to admitting defeat for someone so immature and arrogant. At my very corny suggestion, we went to the sushi place where we first had lunch together way way way back in early January, before the entire world shattered. For some reason (maybe 'cuz it's so damn expensive?) we'd never gone back since, so it seemed like a perfect way to achieve a kind of closure. Oh, we'll always be friends, and she insists that we'll continue going to lunch together just as often as we do now, but I'm not so convinced that we'll be seeing as much of each other as we once did. That saddens me, but I'm also very happy that she's moving on, which is an extremely good thing for her. Right now, my immediate family and any number of relatives and friends are gathering somewhere in LA for the rehearsal dinner for Tom's wedding tomorrow. I suspect I'm either something of a taboo subject, or a popular topic of conversation. I don't regret not going, but it's an odd feeling just the same. It wouldn't have been a good idea for me to attend. That kind of drama, nobody needs. Too many questions to answer in a setting within which I wouldn't feel comfortable answering them. Not a place where I belong. Besides, it would mean being out of touch with Madeline for the entire weekend. Uh, no. Not right now. My mother asked if I intend to avoid family functions from now on. As appealing as that sounds on some levels (admit it, there's more than a few you'd love to get out of), that's not the case. I'll be there for xmas, at the very least, as will Tom and his new bride. Thanksgiving? Fuck that. The farthest I'm travelling is across the Bay to my brother's home.
Now, however, it's quarter past seven on Friday night and I'm still at the fucking office. Time to travel
across the City to my home.
The wedding was the first time I had been in a church since I was a kid, and I felt uncomfortable throughout the long service. I wore my black suit with a red shirt, a black tie and sunglasses. Everybody seemed to be staring at me disapprovingly. Not only was the priest giving me dirty looks, but so was the rest of my family. As they all piously recited their prayers and sang hymn after hymn, I studied each and every one of them coldly. I imagined walking down the aisle in Chad's place, but marrying a black woman or a gay man and watching the confusion and anger that would result. I imagined responding to the priest's question, "Do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, till death do you part?" by dousing myself in gasoline and lighting it. I couldn't figure out why I had turned out different than everybody else. I had the same education, the same advantages, the same disadvantages. It was then that I came up with the lyric that would end the album, "The boy that you love is the man that you fear."
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Thursday, 9 September 1999 (the last night on earth) 6:43am Today's the day Madeline regains her freedom. 7:56am The storm appears to have passed. Since I made it home from work last night and to work this morning without getting soaked, I can say it was rather enjoyable. Lightning with minimal rain, what more can you ask than that? Much of it was in the west, and there are few natural sights more beautiful than lightning over the ocean. 48 hours previous, Maddy could have seen it.
Christ! I've gotta stop doing that.
we are not lovers 5:01pm I've been dragged to two meetings today, and have kept my beret and sunglasses on during both of them. I'd like to think that shows the proper amount of disrespect. Oh, I've been in quite the mood today.... 10:12pm So I'm coloring The Ex's hair. There was no apparent tension between us, though I'm probably not being as aggressive with her hair as I should have been. Fear of getting too intimate, I suppose, though efficicent dyeing requires you really get in there and fuck with it. She confirmed my suspicion that neither her boyfriend nor any of their friends would have the first clue how to do such a thing, as I'd suspected. The phone rings for the second time that evening. The first time had been a wrong number, though it took me a while to determine that it was a wrong number, as I can't hear the phone very well since I have the cordless balanced on my shoulder (hands covered with dye) and Manson blaring from the stereo. The second time, it's my mother. Of all people to call while I'm coloring The Ex's hair... She started out asking how Madeline's trip went, much to my surprise. Hell, I was surprised that she'd even remembered me telling her that Maddy was coming, let alone when. I mentioned that The Ex was over, and though my mom was clearly wanting to discuss Maddy, she wisely suggested we continue that particular conversation another time. As I figured it must, Tom's wedding this weekend came up. I've officially decided not to attend, since it would simply be more trouble than it's worth. While she understands and supports my decision in that respect, she's bothered that I haven't come out to my father. Normally, her disinterest in his feelings is so aggressive as to border on pathological. So, with my hands in The Ex's hair, my mother is telling me that she thinks I'm being insensitive to my father. Sometimes my life is just too surreal.
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Wednesday, 8 September 1999 (before we were so rudely interrupted) 8:25am Back at the fookin' grind. 3:32pm So I'm walking to lunch with Summer, telling her a bit about Maddy's visit, particularly seeing my brother and sister-in-law over the weekend. It was rather amusing, since Maddy was using grrl terms and they were steadfastly using boi terms. I imagine they'll continue to do so until I specifically ask them not to.
Anyway, much to my surprise, the normally TMI-shy Summer asks me flat out if Madeline and
I had sex. An honest question, of course, deserves an honest answer.
She's glowing, and I'm very happy for her. Granted, it means that come this Monday
morning I'm going to be functionally alone here, although she assures me that we'll be
going to lunch just as often as we do now. Probably true. And Brian tells me that
Leigh is very close to being hired...
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