mainsqueeze's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- daydreams featuring Jason Schwartzman Every couple of weeks or so, I get crazy, intense crushes on boys I will never, ever meet. Like Neil Gaiman- Yeah, Neil and I are obviously soul mates, is all I have to say. Oooh, and Tobey MacGuire, because he was Homer in "The Cider House Rules," AND he was Peter Parker. So, anyhow, this week, I'm in love with/fixated on Jason Schwartzman. He made this comment on Conan O'Brien last week- He was talking about his friends dragging him out to clubs to meet women. He compared himself to Frodo in the Prancing Pony, right before he meets Aragorn. You know, little and lost, nearly invisible, but freaking out inside all the same. So, Jason, if you read this, please come date me. (I just pictured my Mother doing this thing she does sometimes, where she makes an 'L' with her left hand and holds it up to her forehead and goes, "Loooooser!" Yes, I am aware of the fact that I am a loser. Thank you.) In case you don't believe that I am a loser, this next piece of information should cast all doubt from your mind: In one week, I am moving back into my Mother's house. I went and took a look at the room she's building for me a few days ago. Wow. I'd say it's roughly the same size as my kitchen (my kitchen here, that is) which is about 1/3 of the size of the bedroom in the apartment. I can squeeze in my futon, my bookshelf, and my television. Everything else will be either thrown out, put into a storage unit, or sold. There is nothing- Nothing- that can bring a person down a few notches like moving back home can. I just keep telling myself that I'm doing this so I can establish some sort of future for myself, so that I can go to school and get my teaching certificate, so that I can make myself into a worthy, respectable human being. I figure that if I repeat that a few thousand times more, I'll start believing it and stop feeling like a failure. I met Jeromy's sister for the first time last night. Actually, I'd met her once before, but she was drunk, really drunk, and she didn't remember me. She's nice enough- Kind of loud, a little bit hyper, but nice. We were there for twenty minutes, most of which I spent sitting on the floor of Jeromy's nephew's bedroom, playing with a MagnaDoodle. I decided, after awhile, that I should join the grown-ups in the living room- I ended up standing in the shadowy dining room, smiling nervously at his family from the dark. After we left, I apologized for being such an anti-social, nervous spaz. Really, I felt awful for not being able to think of anything funny to say, for standing anxiously in the corner, fanning myself with my hand (man, it was HOT in there) while his sister-in-law snuck glances at me, presumably to make sure I hadn't thrown up or exploded on her carpet. It's over, though. I've met all of Jeromy's siblings, and I've met his daughter and his nephew, so all that's left is... his Mom. We'll cross that bridge when we get to it, and hopefully, when we do get to it, I'll have a bottle of vodka handy. Or some quaaludes. Or maybe a floor-length wig, like Cousin Itt. 11:19 a.m. - 2003-08-25 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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