evany's extended cake mix
(PS: My diary has officially moved over to my official evany.com website. Let's meet up over there!)
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get into my head from twitter:
Tuesday, May. 20, 2003 | link
So I guess I'm all better now. Or at least I'm feeling good enough to chug, with true gusto, alternating mugs of margaritas and champagne like I did last night at Jill's PhD-getting celebration. (Point of information: "you be Jillin'" now means "kicks lots of smart ass while wearing very cute shoes.")
I think once you officially get loaded, you give up all claims of being in recovery. And I even went so far as to get a touch reloaded later at The Lexington. So no more brain-free TV marathons, no more parents doing my laundry and cleaning the hair off my bathroom floor, no more holding my side as I gaze wantingly at the last piece of cake until my friends fork it over. And back, back to the gym! (Oh fuck.)
In other news. I finally met Gene in the flesh (actually he was wearing pants, and some other stuff, both times I saw him). And man, I positively REGALED him with like a six-hour demonstration of my cat's unhealthy obsession with string. I also made him a noxious drink of Absolut Currant, weird fuzzy water, and cloudy hippy cranberry juice. Welcome to San Francisco, Gene! Usually, I'm a lot more thrilling in person, but I'm still in recovery. Oh wait.
Gene went out to breakfast with Jill, Marilyn (all the way out from Boston for Jill's Special Week!), and me, and afterward he asked, "Are all your friends that smart?" I was all, "Yes, yes they are." And then he said, "Well, at least you're taller than they are!" Hahahah! Oh wait.
Up next: The Prom, this Friday! Tune in for pics and a maybe a report about the wisdom, or lack thereof, behind wearing a strappy bra with a strapless, 30-dollar RDFL dress. Also I still have lots of untold hospital stories (did you know that "CT scan" is secret, possibly Canadian code for "enema at the gates"?) percolating. Much like my bowels! Oh wait. No I mean it. You're going to have to wait.