05.18.04 - 10:21 p.m.

Life is getting in the way. I'm spending weekends watching the best sister in the world graduate, weeknights having friends over for dinner and figuring out how to make stupid scrapbook pages for stupid bridal showers I don't even want to attend, and weekdays having work kick my ass. (I'm also afraid to post there because I don't know how much I'm being monitored, computer-wise). I had to learn Excel yesterday. Dude. Excel. I used to be a journalist! I had no need for this sort of thing! What happened to days of bitching and meandering through the internet for eight hours?

But now I'm not a journalist, really, I'm a pr lackey, or museum exhibition flogger, or whatever you prefer. It's still not so bad, inasmuch as I can slip out at 5 to attempt to get Wicked rush tickets (and fail miserably because I forgot Tuesday shows are 7pm shows, so for all my planning, I got there a half-hour too late). Or I can slip out at 5:30 to stroll across the park, past the Boathouse and the Alice in Wonderland and a girl in a Bucknell t-shirt to see the Whitney Biennial before it ends.

Also, people at the job notice and compliment me on my shoes, which is validating. "You're going to become the new office fashion icon," said Corner Desk Girl. Wouldn't that be nice?

But there are at least nine major things I need to do in the nine days before Ye Olde Road Trip of Fun and Relaxation, including but not limited to: purchase and assembly of aforementioned bridal shower shit, attendance at one of the two bridal showers, attendance at one former co-worker's and one soon-to-be-former co-worker's dinner parties, drinking of beers and hanging out with two other former co-workers, the doing of laundry, the changing of my car's tires, air filter and oil, and addition of songs to Le Pod in preparation for the trip. Oh, and pack. Somewhere in there, I must pack. Will the money hold out? Will it be done in time? We shall see.

Oh, and I watched the Luke and Lorelai kiss(es) for the third time tonight. Because the 'shipper in me just can't get enough. And because Luke, fictional though he may be, can look at me like that anytime, baby. Eeeee!