24.Mar.2001

baker

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baker, baker

I made dinner last night.

No, I made dinner last night.

And dessert.

We had raspberry vinaigrette tenderloin steak, with scalloped potatoes, macaroni salad, and garlic French bread. For dessert, I served up one of those Jello no-bake Cookies and Creme pies, which only took about 15 minutes to toss together, and I was pleased.

My desire to create that website for my new 'clients' as it were is overwhemled by my desire to edit this one here. Now that I am accustomed to making image-maps and messing with tables, this is all I do anymore. Utilising spans and frames will have to come into effect while I mystify the Mystical Underground.

My l33tism is only l33t to the minimalistic mind of mine.

I have noticed half of Diaryland has fallen victim to site:meter, and this amuses me. I have found two more diaries to add to my pita:favourites list. It needs to be altered much like this one has been altered. It looks better with a white background, I think; of course, you can't be dark with a white background.

As the days progress, I find myself falling more and more into that sensual thing called love with Joe. Even though we argue constantly about trivial things, he instills something besides sex into my tiny heart, and those momentary crushes on other people vanish without hesitation.

I am still awake because the neighbours upstairs had a raunchy party, and they decided to reinact the WWF Wrestling Championship with Pabst Blue Ribbon. They attempt to play the guitar. It wouldn't bother me so much on a Friday night/Saturday morning, if Joe nor myself didn't have to work today, and we weren't subjected to hours of morning frat-vomit until 5am. Our weekends merely mark the end of our weeks.

I am no longer a booze:hound.

This scares me.

Instead, I have stretched my wildchild limits to becoming a Gatorade:fierce:melon:hound, and this makes intently watching paint dry seem much more entertaining.

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time & machine