It's like a dream to be with you again

At Mara's place last night, we watched Jules & Jim until Obama's infomercial came on. On both counts, I was along for the ride. I've seen Jules & Jim before and didn't like it very much and, with all due respect to Obama, I've had more than my fill of him. The film was only slighter better this time around and Obama did his Obama thing, which is to say he was well-spoken, magnetic, and partial to the word change.

I could tell by her behavior that Mara had decided to curb her affection for me, which is probably not a bad idea. Several times throughout the night, if we were sitting or standing close to each other, she'd move away. I'm not sure if the distance will increase to the point where we no longer communicate, but I get the sense that it could go either way. It would be a shame if that were to happen. I really like Mara-- she is sweet and kind and deserves more than I can offer.
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I ended up getting a few hundred smackers from the insurance company that represents the woman who bumped into my car last week. Not bad for a few scratches! I won't see a penny of it, however; all of it will be applied to bills. Still a fine feeling, coming into money.
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Hey, FB! Are you done with MySpace, or what? If so, you better create an account on this site muy rapido and start posting. That is a direct order. Oh, and we need to be social soon. What d'ya say?
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At work yesterday, Deb, and a few others, were discussing the poor condition of the ladies room. By the sound of it, the women of our building are a filthy, unsanitary lot. Aside from an occasional unflushed toilet, the men's bathroom isn't so bad. I've definitely seen worse. Like today. Today I saw worse.

When I got to work I had to pee. In the bathroom I approached one of the urinals and saw drops of blood in it's basin. Smartly, I moved to another urinal. Somebody was not in a good way, to be sure. Pissing blood or bleeding from the balls is no one's idea of fun.
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Ellen was talking about going somewhere to see The Rocky Horror Picture Show this weekend. I told her not to. "I really, really dislike that movie", I added. "Makes me want to puke on my shoes just thinking about it." She was taken aback at my response, but it needed to be said. She'll still see the movie, I bet, but if she tells me she enjoyed it on any level, I will never, ever, speak to her again. I will, however, communicate with her in writing if need be. I'd finally be able to put the chalkboard I wear around my neck to good use.