No Title, too miscellaneous.

I’m trying to channel Iris and her work ethic, which is on par with mine. Actually, above par, or I wouldn’t be trying to channel it. Do you think energy is real, that it’s possible? I do think it doesn’t hurt to try. Robyn told me to drink a glass of water and imagine sweetness and light. I thought of sweet n low. I actually prefer Equal, but I always order sweet n low because I like the name. I prefer sugar, of course, but we’ve all got to make sacrifices. I drink 2% milk so I can eat cake in bed.

Robyn said I could retell this funny story of hers. She was over at the neighbors’ the other day, with Lauren and Lee and Chris and the girls were sweet and high pitched and giggly and they were telling stories that they thought funny but which really weren’t, and Robyn, who is clever and funny, was telling real funny stories and the girls were helpless with laughter. Robyn said that she was horribly embarrassed because her own voice sounded so deep in comparison that she felt like a man entertaining a bevy of girls, and no matter how hard she tried to elevate the pitch of her voice, she couldn’t get it high enough. So she sat there feeling mannish with her bowl of ice cream on her knees, telling funny stories and trying to sound high-pitched.

It was also funny because the night before I read that men prefer women with higher voices and I read out loud to myself a little bit and became alarmed at my own voice. I went and asked Ashley if my voice was disgusting and mannish and he said no, but also I tricked him because when I asked him it was in a higher pitch than I usually use. So I still don’t know.

Jarrod’s friend Cathy K is in town, or was, and I met her the other night. She’s a hippie, from California/Michigan, and a real easy person to be around. I was telling her and Iris the story from Bridge night and she was laughing because, she said, she too was a network scammer. I never knew it, but I am. Unequivocally. I first got the idea to learn to play bridge from some book I was reading. Possibly Rebecca, by Daphne du Maurier. It’s a game played by the wealthy (in novels, anyway) and you figure it’s gotta be good cause they’re playing it all the time. Also people of leisure don’t have jobs. The impression I’ve gotten is that pretty much only classy, rich people play bridge. Soooo it stood to reason that when I got good at the game, classy rich people would want to hang out with me. I convinced Erin and Shady to learn the game– it took months to convince them– but they love it now. I was explaining that bridge is my ticket to Yemen, a bridge to a richer world, and they were very confused. I said well when some rich person with nothing but time and money on their hands wants to play and they think of me, they’ll wire me a plane ticket to Yemen, or wherever. (Recently Shady asked me if I still wanted to go to Yemen, on account of the synagogue bombs, and I said more than ever, because if I had to pick I’d rather be where the bombs are coming from.)

I’ve got a Christmas list with two things on it, but not because I’m content or anything. I just can’t think of anything. Santa block. I’ve got:

A watch. Feminine and sweet or plastic and funky. I’ll be thrilled with anything that tells me the time.
Patterned socks. (Dumb patterns= puppies. Cats are okay but I was thinking more like argyle-ish.)

I also sort of count Annie’s tricycle as my gift. I’m looking forward so much to it.

This year’s presents are very prettily wrapped, a trick I picked up from my dad, who used to work at Pohlig Bros Paper Box Factory in downtown Richmond. It’s 55 degrees in my house right now so although I planned on writing more, my fingers are slowly freezing in place.

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