Saturday, December 04, 2004
- Instead of writing letters of recommendation and taking care of business during the three hour break between the end of her office hours and the beginning of her committee meeting, she would go to the mall ('tis the season to be selfish) and buy a new pair of jeans (which look better on me than they do in the picture, in my humble opinion), a bubble-gum pink slutty sweater-shirt thingy, and some new unmentionables (that I in no way needed). Indeed, I was a professorial version of shopaholic Paris Hilton - a Whore-Pants Hilton, if you will.
- Take a nap from 4:30-5:30 in an effort to be ready and raring to go when... Oh yeah, that's right I didn't have plans.
- Talked on the phone to Stella, who did have plans, and had a little glass of wine - hey, it was Friday! While on the phone, I also tried on outfits as if I had some plans for the night.
- Decided that I should shower so that I would be ready when... Oh yeah, no plans.
- Wrote in my journal while having a second glass of wine. Veered between rational musings about the good reasons why Freud would definitely not call me and irrational musings about how I really wanted him to call me and how I hated him because he wouldn't call. Because, you see, we didn't have plans, so he'd have to call if I was going to see him.
- In a moment of (slightly tipsy) optimism, I decided that really I should style my hair and put on a full face of make-up. Even though I wasn't going anywhere. [Aside: I was able to achieve the new hot hairstyle that I've seen in the magazines - Star? Elle? Glamour? Dunno - that's sort of straight on top and wavy on the sides, sort of like Sarah Michelle Gellar in this picture. I'm very excited that I was able to achieve this, even if I was the only one to appreciate it. After achieving that, I also achieved some sort of weird faux-hawk thing, that I thought was really cool but I would never leave my house with it]
- I (full-on tipsily) justified this as a normal and fun activity, not unlike a slumber party of one.
- When Freud called drunk at 11 I actually considered meeting him out. He didn't know where they were going, though, so he said he'd call me back in 15-30 minutes. I proceeded to put on clothes as if we had made plans for me to meet him out. Even though, as you all know, we did not. No plans were made. At all.
- I talked to Jezebel and Stella on the phone between 11 and 12, at 12 I called Freud back and asked him what he was doing because I was fading fast, he said they were headed to Hip Area With Lots of Bars but wasn't sure exactly where they were going and "promised" to call me back. I promptly took off my going out clothes and crawled into my bed (but with the full face of makeup and with the phone, because I am nothing if not an optimist).
I woke up at 5:10 this morning with a cat chasing his tail on my legs and meowing in excited morning fashion. There had been one call in the night (during my dead-zone between 1 and 2 when apparently, regardless of when I go to sleep, I cannot be roused by man or beast or at the very least telephone) - from Stella. I'm not mad about Freud - he was in that wacked out place of having jumped through an academic hoop - and he does love me or he wouldn't have bothered calling me at all (Dr. Crazy says, impersonating a 12-year-old idiotic girl). So after the kitty woke me up, I fed him the wet food ("Delicious!" says Man-Kitty) and I went back to sleep. Then I went to Starbucks, went into the office to get the stuff so I can write those letters of recommendation and so I can work on my syllabi for next semester, ho-hum, productivity, bla bla bla. If that asshole Freud doesn't call me this afternoon, though, I will be very irritated indeed. He owes me an apology. And I've got to stop getting ready for imaginary dates. It's a bizarre, bizarre hobby.