thediastema's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Conflicts of interests, stuff that rhymes with Madeleine Albright Good. New bed linens. Flannel. White, blue snowflakes. Insanely comfy. Also invested in mattress pad to make my crummy futon mattress a wee tad more hospitable. Bad. I still can't make hospital corners and while I appreciate my cats' sincere efforts to help break them in, comfy new sheets make it easier to remember you're in bed alone. Good. Dimples, still in Korea, has been working as an assistant to a world famous former US politico. It would be inappropriate to mention this woman's actual name, but I can say this: her name sort of rhymes with "Cattle In Mall Fight." Bad. Dimples caught word about Alternayuppie's upcoming stint back in the office, and she e-mailed today bemoaning the "conflict of interests" this presents for her. No, really, pretty bad. Conflict of interests. Let us review. A boyfriend, a large portion of a year on the other side of the planet, a hundred billion joules of hard effort on my part to conceal a big secret from her for her own peace of mind, and a month on my part, crammed into a tiny little bar-lined room with this inscrutable towhead, pretending to be bored by him, while she's still not even back in the country, all this supposed progress, and she's worried about a conflict of interests. There a doctor in the house? No. Conflict of interests is telling a huge-ass lie to an otherwise incredibly close friend. Conflict of interests is the upkeep of a big facade of indifference to a guy I've liked just a few seconds longer and been too damn professional and shy to so much as tap his shoulder. Conflict of interests is toasting a beer when the friend announces her plans to conquer the guy and saying "Go get 'im, tiger!" Conflict of interests is concurrent employment with an avoidant personality who has been opening can after easy-open can of whoop-ass on my pericardium since late summer of 2000. Conflict of interests is continuing to lie to Supposed Confidante about all of this when she has a perfectly good boyfriend waiting for her to get home, willing to put out and buy her stuff. Is it the lying to her? Is it treating him like oatmeal to cover my tracks? Is it still wanting him? Which part of this is doing the most to make me such an asshole? ~~ I puked a whole bunch last night. Which only lends more credibility to my theory: Every few months I spontaneously vomit for no reason. ~~ Planck has found a way to break into the pantry. Twice tonight I have had to pull him ass-first out of the All-Bran. I should probably toss the All-Bran but I know in my heart nobody else is eating it. ~ETK So when I saw the latest panic report from Homeland Security, how could I help but remark that "spectacular attacks" sound like terrorists trying to kill all the Rockettes? I mean, "high symbolic value, mass casualties, severe damage to the US economy, and maximum psychological trauma"? 00:58 - 22 November, 2002 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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