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12:57 a.m. | Monday, Sept. 23, 2002
Dues, paying them, and why you should always remember birthdays
Cats. I despise cats. Actually I'm not sure that's strong enough a word. Loathe doesn't quite cut it either. The only way I like them is in Mexico, where they make quite a lovely entree, whether it be in tacos or whatever "beef" foods you may order. She knows this. Of course she knows. And she knew I'd read the entries. A devious woman. I'm James, a fairly busy guy that lives on the go. Or does now. Why at any minute I may be paged, and off I go to clean up some rich person's to *die for* sofa just before a giant gala they wouldn't dream of letting me into, or to suck out waste water from a persian rug that has never seen modern machinery or anything other than the hands of the 8 year old persian child that worked on it for half her life up to that point. It's a glamorous life, sure, but it has it's prices. Sometimes I miss a milestone here or there. A christmas, the birthday or a full year spent in captivity of a good friend. Things happen. A true friend understands this. Understands, but doesn't necessarily forget. And so here I am, paying for my past egregious trespasses. Writing journal entries for people I've never met to read, setting up lawsuits against the lovers of friends, and reading about cats. Fuzzy, dander ridden cats. Let this be a warning to you, gentle reader. She's cute, sure. She's sweet in words and soft to touch. But don't cross her. And god forbid you forget about her. She'll know. And you'll pay. In loving memory of James, posthumously posted after a tragic and fatal bout with psychosomatic allergic reactions.
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This is my blogchalk:
Canada, Saskatchewan, Saskatoon, , English, , Female, 26-30, Reading.