2000-11-17 - Started at 9:05 p.m.

Now playing: Some classical organ music, don't know what, from an el cheapo "Masterworks of the Organ" LaserLight CD. Nice background music. Sounds vaguely Handelian. Drat. Now I have to go look...Well, I was wrong. It was the Allegro of Bach's Organ Concerto in D Minor (Reconstruction).

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This diary is dedicated to Donna and Chrissy, only because they bitched me out last night on IRC for never doing anything for them. I never.

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So my buddy Steve from work and I had lunch at Fernandez today. The subject came around to how I never planned to stay at Laserpoint more than a year. That brought me on to how most of the major events in my life have been a result of something bad happening, but how I've managed to circumvent those obstacles. Well, not something bad per se. Let's just say that my love of lemonade seems to be a mental state too. (Get it, making lemonade out of lemons that life deals you...yeah yeah, whatever.)

First: My parents had decided after my last sister was born that the next pregnancy would be terminated. When Mom became pregnant with me, she changed her mind, but Dad was still for a termination. This was before Roe v. Wade though - I guess I'm lucky. Second: Even though Mom decided to stay pregnant, my life was still a mess since I was born 2 1/2 months early. I spent from 10/30/71 to 1/1/72 in an incubator in the hospital. Somehow I managed to avoid the preemie curses of major eye and lung problems, though. Third: ummm... a pretty miserable childhood. Skip ahead 18 years. Fourth: I went to a too-expensive college and had to drop out. While at said college, in addition to incurring 30K of debt, I learned a lot of computer shit as part of my work-study job. Said experience led me to getting my job at Laserpoint. So if I hadn't gone to Drew and paid too much, I wouldn't have wound up working at Laserpoint, then Artios, and now Barco.

I forgot where I was going with that. It's now 9:52.

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Karen honey, that was TMI. Also, you're not fat.

But that reminds me...I *really* need to go underwear shopping. I'm torn (hahahah) between getting the plain white boxers, 2 pair for $15, or for getting the fancy plaid printed ones for 2/$18.

Here endeth the TMI.

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I still don't know what, if anything, I'm doing for Thanksgiving. Melanie has decided she's having a quiet thanksgiving at home with Peter and Alexandra. Mom and Granny are dining at the Delaney House, and I've been invited to join them, but I don't think I'm up for that. Dad hasn't talked to me about it, and I'm sure Grampa isn't planning anything on his own.

I don't want to cook, I don't want to go out, I don't want to do anything, but I don't necessarily want to sit home all day. That'd be pretty fucking miserable. Maybe I should volunteer to serve to the homeless at the Civic Center. Hmm...Maybe Dad and I could do that together. Hmmm. That actually sounds pretty good, the more I think about it.

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Bleh. I lit a honeydew melon candle a while ago and now it's cloying.

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Have I updated since I went to the Wilbraham Young-At-Heart Club's Thanksgiving Luncheon with Granny? No, I don't think I have. Well, it was fine. The tablecloth absorbed most of the ice water that Granny spilled, but some of it did manage to gush all over my lap. I was the only person under 75 in the room other than the waitstaff..and there was seating for 100 people.

I think the thing that makes me uncomfortable the most about being in public with my family (meaning anyone but my sibs or cousins or Auntie Val) is that they just don't blend in with society. This was painfully aware to me as I sat at the table quite embarassed about how Granny was carrying on, flirting with the guy sitting next to me, trying to be all the center of attention and shit. Cripes, she's 84. Time to give that a rest, but I guess that's hard when that's all you've ever done your whole life.

Still, though, it embarasses me. I try to pretend that I'm above it, and that it doesn't matter, but yet somehow deep down I still think it reflects badly on me, that somehow I am to blame for it. I shouldn't care what other people think, and in most cases I don't, but my family is my Achilles heel. Whenever Dad shows up at my office (unannounced of course) I'm always mortified. What's he going to say? How's he going to unknowingly make me feel like shit this time? I know he doesn't mean it...but still. I have yet to have a conversation with him that's Playboy-reference-free. C'mon. You're 65, Dad; act it.

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Shannon wrote about how I inspired her to make lists. Yay! Inspiration is a Good Thing.

However, I think I've run out of inspiration. Catch y'all later.