May 18, 1999.

Sigh. The cavalcade of crap has not ended for your plucky young heroine. Last night my mother paged me with the news that my summer counseling gig has evaporated. This would be the job I was tentatively given in February. They were supposed to confirm my employment in March, but they didn't obviously. I've structured my life around this gig...not to mention my career expectations. Without this experience on my resumé I'll have to work twice as hard to get into teacher's college. Plus, now I definitely have to go to my cousin's wedding.

It was sorta amusing getting the news, though. A whole bunch of people were over at the Boy's apartment to watch the hockey game, and my mom called right at intermission. I'd been mentally girding myself up for disappointment in the last couple of weeks, so I wasn't shocked or anything...but I still felt like crap. I called the Boy away from the terribly exciting teevee, told him the news & let him comfort me. After about a minute of head-petting, I glanced over at the couch to see all four occupants quietly staring at me with wide eyes. It was adorable. I assured them that no one had died, and we went back to watching the Leafs kick penguin butt. By the end of the game I had a battle plan, and the summer looked recoverable.

For of course there's a silver lining. If I don't have to schedule around July, I can finish my second teachable requirement by mid-August. I can spend more time in the city. And...I can get a phone. In fact, I'll have one on Friday. Not that I haven't grown to love my beeper...but with a phone, I can update from home, instead of running around with a disk in my pocket like the trickster nomadgeek I am.

And there was much rejoicing.

With all of this misery pouring down on me, I decided to spend the day in bed, just on general principles. But with my schedule, that's just not possible. I had to sign up for courses, arrange for my continuing residency and get started on my history homework. Besides, I'm at the saturation point again. Twice before this - when I dropped my new glasses in the toilet and when I found the exploded coke can - I was simply so saturated with badness that I just laughed. It's happened again, and I don't even feel depressed. But there are general principles to be considered.

So I compromised. Instead of staying in bed, I'm wearing my Winnie the Pooh pj's all day. Sometimes I wear shoes upon venturing outside...sometimes not. But even though I have a class in 45 minutes, even though I may be seeing Episode One tonight, I shall not compromise further. No clothes until tomorrow, dammit.

Well, it'll make bedtime a snap at least.

Last night my relationship with Q finally clicked into something like friendship. It went something like this:

Me: they want me to write a book review! I'm an English major...that's penny ante shit.
The Boy: wait...you didn't say that, did you?
Me: of course. What do I care? Bunch of friggin' history majors...with their frosted eyeshadow...ooh, I'm so upset.
Q: hey, I used to be a history major!
Me: yeah? [mocking] oooh, with your frosted eyeshadow, you little towngirl!
Q: be quiet or I'll beat you with the same stick I beat my wife.
Me: I was wondering how much time I'd have to put in before the ritual beatings started.
Q: they're not ritual.

Note of explanation: for those of you who don't know Q & Pixie Stix, there's a story about Q waking her up when she did not want to be woken...and she responded by groggily trying to insult him with the epithet "towngirl." It makes very little sense, but it's damn funny.

The point is that Q has always been a mystery to me. I found Pixie more accessible, and liked her immediately...but Q was an enigma. And knowing so many people who I liked that liked him was doubly confusing. What was it, exactly, that they saw in him, I wondered? I didn't dislike him, not at all...but I couldn't get a grip on his personality. And though it sounds ridiculous, that stupid exchange made me ten times more comfortable with him.

What a fabulous victory for the Maple Leafs! It was so exciting to watch the game and then run out to streets filled with honking, screaming people waving hockey stuff. Q was going nuts...he kept saying that this was our only chance at tribalism in this post-everything age and he was by goddamn making the most of the savagery. I tired of the noise before everyone else, but not before we had lost sight of the manic boy running around traffic. I got up to the apartment. Dirk and Pixie were watching Germaine Greer on the CBC and seemed to inhabit an entirely different universe.

I flopped down on the couch.

"We lost your husband. He's off having some Q adventure of his own. I get the feeling that he wanted your wedding to be like this...you get hitched and then he runs through screaming streets, giving high-fives to one & all."

"Our wedding was like that," she replied, deadpan. "There are still people on the street who recognize me from the rave."

Ah, the kids today. Don't you just love it.