07.27.02 - 6:01 p.m.

Continental is telling me via their website that I don't have a frequent flier number, though the paper updates they send me tell me otherwise. I've been home all day cleaning, cooking and reading through the stacks of magazines by my side of the bed, and it's putting me in a somewhat pissy mood. Dan keeps misquoting me on his version of the What Happened to Our Pizza? list. I know I would not have brought up my directional misstep or fat Oprah, but I know I was the one to talk about astronaut ice cream and Master Shake and most certainly the temperature in that hellish building. Just put it in a simple list, already. Now it's making me pissier than ever thinking about that stupid lunch. I am never going back to that place, ever. And their pizza's nasty, anyway.

But I've said that already.

I'm just irrationally angry and I don't want to be in the house but I can't go anywhere because if I leave, there is a 99.9% chance that I'll spend money, and since I just went through my bank statement, I know that's a really bad idea. And it's grey and blah outside, so why would I want to take a walk by the river, and it's now too late to go to a museum. And I hate the TV in the living room with its pink-tinted picture and perpetual surround sound, which is where I'd watch a movie just to get out of the bedroom but I won't.

And I'm tired of reading magazines just for the sake of getting through them and who decided I was subscribing to Wine Country Living anyway? Where's my Food and Wine, dammit? And if I just had the Buffy second season DVD this would be all better, but I don't, because I will perversely not spend my money on THAT, and I really think I'm about to combust. Maybe I should go for a walk. To Target.

No!