Feeling: schizophrenic
Listening to: Jimmy Eat World - Your House
Reading/Watching: Dragons of a Lost Star

This diary entry is going to have two parts to it: absurd & angsty.

We'll go in alphabetical order, so if you'd rather skip one and read the other, the asterisks will mark the change of topics.

ABSURD:

I am becoming as frugal as my mother, a quality I always despised in her, because she would pass up on brand names for their always-cheaper, rarely-equal counterparts. She clipped coupons obsessively. She made me grow up thinking twenty bucks was expensive for a shirt, shoes shouldn't cost more than fifteen, and a bra should never run higher than maybe $9.99. I don't think we ever had a box of Pop-Tarts in the house when the highly-taste-deficient-Toastettes were on sale. My prom dress cost 20 dollars (I am not embellishing).

I'm not necessarily penny-pinching when it comes to brands (I know sometimes the best is worth paying for), but when it comes down to what should be purchased, I get so chinchy, I think Nimsay is getting sick of it, and I hear my own voice speaking and inwardly wonder, "who are you?"

I realize my genetics are rearing their ugly little heads when I throw away leftovers and actually feel emotional pangs about wasting food. Nimsay's take on things is, if we don't finish the lettuce before it goes bad, fine, we'll get more and throw the rotten kind away. Mine is, the lettuce should be bought either in lesser quantity, or not at all. In college I trained myself to eat popcorn for breakfast rather than buy a box of cereal that would go stale before I could finish it. It's little things like that which have become silly habits, and I need to chill.

We went grocery shopping today, and again wondered whether we could get it home (we walk to the store in evenings and carry the bags back on foot), since last time we were each wearing backpacks and had Nimsay's scooter loaded down with bags tied onto every available tie-able, and it was heavy going and unpleasant.

So we stole the grocery cart.

Just walked out of the store, all nonchalant like "oh, my car's just past this row" and kept walking. And then jogging. And then walking again, because true to the tradition of all grocery store trollies, the wheels were wibbly and evil and I had the darnedest time steering. My wrists are exhausted from the effort.

We got stared at, again, but I still say the sight of two girls driving a scooter packed like a shopping cart is odder than two girls with an actual cart. Plus, we do intend to bring it back next time we go shopping.

In the meantime, the cart is parked in our living room, out of sight of the windows, and we have named her Larceny.

ANGSTY:

My official 21st birthday party was Friday (6th St. was the unofficial, family celebration). I invited somewhere in the region of 20 people, and 14 were there, and I was happy. I spent 150 dollars total on food and drinks (alcoholic and not), including the two pizzas and the breakfast tacos in the morning, and no one thought to pitch in a couple bucks, but it's okay. The main thing that bugged me was that I said the party was BYOB, and very few people B-ed their own B. They just drank mine. Mrph.

I have decided alcohol is way too damn expensive to become a habit. I have to get rid of it all (or hide it) before my parents come to see my apartment this week, because I can easily imagine that scene:

Mom, Dad, this is my kitchen: see the nice dishwasher, oven, stove, and fridge- oh, and eleven kinds of liquor, whee! Ain't apartment life grand?

Remember, these are the people who thought I didn't drink more than a glass of wine on holidays until I turned 21. They are slightly deluded, but I'd like to keep that delusion somewhat intact, because it makes my life easier.

Commence hard-core angst: I am happy with how the party turned out (for the most part). There was just one problem, and I actually wish it could be less of a problem than it is, because it obviously doesn't bother the source of the problem, but hey, that is actually the root of the problem anyway.

Okay, I'll explain, since your eyes are probably beginning to cross, reading that last sentence. I invited my dearest friends, and did not honestly expect them all to come. It did not bother me when people said they couldn't make it, and it did not bother me when people called at the last minute to say, "I'm so sorry, but this and this happened, and I won't be able to come after all."

But one person said he "might" be able to make it, provided he didn't have something else planned. He wasn't working, he didn't actually have any plans yet, but he wanted to make sure nothing better came along before he committed himself. Before he wasted his time being friends with me.

We have been friends for almost two years, we know more about each other than most people's families do, he has been there for me in some very hard times, and I have been there for him, or tried to be, when he would let me.

He didn't come. He didn't call, e-mail, or IM, before or after, to explain or apologize. He just gave me an open-ended brush-off a week beforehand, and didn't show. To my twenty-first birthday party.

I really would like for this not to hurt as much as it does, because it's clearly not important to him (it's not even in the same viscinity as important), but the reason it hurts is because even though he matters very much to me, and I try to include him in my life when possible, try to arrange ways we can keep in touch despite the distance of summer, he is always too busy or too broke. Too busy and too broke to meet sometime just to catch up, or (as I suggested) come over to my place (which he has not yet seen) and I can cook dinner and we can chat or watch a video.

But not too busy or too broke to go out to dinners and movies with other friends of his, who mention they saw him on Friday, or last week, or whatever.

I hate to whine. I hate to pine. I really hate that I am doing this again about this person, because it is nothing new. He seems content to let me incidental in his life, bumping into me at school and to hell with me the rest of the time.

So I'm going to let him make me incidental. It'll be my early birthday present to him (since he obviously chose to make his absence his only gift to me). I'm not trying anymore, because I really don't handle repeated rejection very well, and it is exhausting, not mattering to someone who actually does matter to me.

I'm re-reading these few paragraphs, and they sound like the words of an entirely different person. It is disturbing.

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