trancejen's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I bawled like a toddler last night, but all in all I'm really not very upset. The guy was kind of a bohunk, it wouldn't have gone anywhere serious, and the sex, while much-needed, was nothing too spectacular. I'm not saying that just to be vindictive, either. I could expound on that topic a bit, but that would definitely seep into the realm of Sharing Too Much. Today I received an e-mail from a former flame who may or may not be taking me to dinner this weekend. And yes, that certainly soothed my wounded little ego. Shut up. It would soothe yours too. This is a guy that is very much on the same page as me in regards to personal space, a love of reading, and complete dissection of the daily news. We had many excellent dates that involved nothing more than freaky sex followed by hours lounging around in our bathrobes eating Chinese food and watching MSNBC. It sounds weird, but it was nice. I'd be delighted to be around someone like that every now and again. He's filthy rich, which I will admit freaks me out a little because I am so not even close to being anywhere near financially stable, let alone rich. However, I'm always moderately fascinated by people that have money and aren't ostentatious about it. I think if I had money I would be up on the roof screaming about it, simply because I'd be so damned relieved. Anyway, we shall see. One thing I'm not about to do is count my proverbial chickens before they've hatched. To quote my friend B2, "Men become more and more twisted and confusing as we get older. It's best just to ignore them completely." In other news, it's finally getting warm, and I had my first barefoot stroll through the backyard today. This is an important spring ritual for me. I loves me some bare feet. If I could, I'd never wear shoes, and I plan to one day open a nightclub which steam-cleans the dance floor hourly so that I can boogie my ass off with no shoes. The J-Man shares my love of foot freedom, and my mother is horrified. She believes that we will pick up some rare disease from the sidewalk and will wind up in intensive care. What she fails to consider is the fact that I have been a barefoot hippy since I was a wee sma' child, and the bottoms of my feet are consequently tougher than most shoes. This doesn't bother me. I have never seen the need for pedicures and silky smooth feet. You walk on them, for Christ's sake. How soft can they be? I should mention that my feet are not crusty or corny. They're just hard. I never leave home without painted toes, but other than that, my feet are able to fend for themselves quite nicely. Please God, let me not get any Google foot fetish hits. In still other news I have been up my lawyer's secretary's ass for the past two days and if she wants me out of there, the lawyer had better return my fucking calls. There is no way I am going to court again. Those bastards approved me before and they shall approve me again, and if I have to camp outside of the main office in Maryland, that is what I will do. There are thousands of disabled people in this country. I find it ridiculous that I have to jump through hoops even though this is a clear cut case. They send me to doctors who have nothing to do with my condition so that I will be marked as having a clean bill of health, and it's asanine. What the hell is a GP supposed to do for me? Or an eye doctor? Not once have they sent me to a neurologist, and it's because they know damn fucking well they'll have to pay me once that happens. Ignorant. It's a mess of red tape and I will cut my way out of it or die trying. Fuckers. I can't figure out who I want to win American Idol. I think I like most of them. Happy Tuesday.
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