There's a hooker in Trenton who wants her boots back: Vacation Day 4. Or 2. Depending.

I just realized it's Tuesday evening and not Wednesday evening, so that's better.

I'm doing things. Not quite on schedule, but not too far behind. Other good things have happened like sleeping in and great sex and grocery shopping and meeting with Miss Rook to discuss writing and down-time with dommeyourass. Today there was an "exciting" airport mixup where we realized she needed to be at Midway and not O'Hare, which we discovered literally while circling Terminal 2 -- through some luck and maniac driving and apparently a quick-moving security line, she made her flight. She's probably in Boston now being wined and dined (hopefully) before going to bed to wake up at 4 am and fly back to Chitown. Is it weird to say I miss her? Maybe it's just that it's hard for me to conceive of her not being in the city right now. I'm going to pretend she's just at her apartment, even though I'm going over there right now to let her cats in.

After the driving adventure, I hung out with Educating Esme in Evanston because I needed to get my transcripts sent out from NU. There was a bit of a "moment" involving the name change. Apparently the policy is once you've graduated, your name is permanent record and they can't make changes. I was actually just trying to get them to amend, like add something with the new name so at least they'd know I'm the same person and not a really bad liar sending fake transcripts. They were all like "sorry, no we don't do name changes" and I was very polite and smiling but basically I just sort of played ignorant/petulant. They were quite suprised when I busted out with "well, that's nice but yeah, you're going to have to change this." Student-Worker even looked over from her station (I was being helped by a Cheri Oteri character lookalike) and gave me attitude, giving this little lip-curl pseudo-eyeroll and added "well, that's just the policy" to which my mind replied "WHATever student-worker! I smite thee with my transsexual power!"

And I did.

Once I told them my old name, their whole demeanor changed and she disappeared to find some supervisor and suddenly I was told it would be taken care of and they were apologizing for the beauracracy and the wait. I told them the wait was no problem and frankly I was just happy I had no delinquent library fines holding up my account.

Of course, we'll see how it looks when I get my copy of the transcript sent in the mail to me.

At this time I'm going to type up my grad school essays I wrote by hand this morning and will NOT, I repeat, will NOT watch Queer Eye for the Straight Guy. Or Boy Meets Boy. Or read my new magazines. But I won't promise I won't buy cigarettes.

I really really want you to see me, so don’t turn out the lights, girl.

Dear self,
You tried to trick me once -- making me feel all sad and depressed like I was going to have some anxiety attack for no good reason. But then I realized you were just trying to distract me from doing what I need to do and it was a complicated form of procrastination. Sure enough, the feeling in my chest pretty much dissipated and I managed to edit my essay (without your help, thankyouverymuch). Now you’re tried a sneak attack on me by distracting me to download remixes of Britney and Pink and Nelly Furtado and other fluffy goodness. Not fair. That’s harder to resist than wallowing in self-pity, which I’m a little less inclined to do these days.

But you ain’t fresh. I’m going to overcome you. First, by making an offering to the procrastination gods in the form of a phonecall to Damon and installing my printer (because that might, you know, help with printing my applications). But I’ll be back and I’ve got your number.

Pass the yogurt.