I told him about the llama incident, even though it was before I was born, I think.

I sometimes have trouble telling the days apart. It’s usually when I have a string of Goldilocks Days – days which are just right.

I finished the third of my Four Papers Of Doom on the couch of The Big Yellow House. It should be noted that I do not live at the Big Yellow House but have slept on one of those three couches innumerable times. I slept there Friday night because I was afraid of serial killers and Vince and Steve invited me to, post Fight Club. I don’t think they expected me to take them up on the offer. That’s what you get for being nice, boys, that’s what you get.

If anyone’s keeping track, I did watch Fight Club for the first time mere hours after posting an entry about David Fincher – it was a complete coincidence. (which means that the danger of serial killers was GREATLY increased. They love coincidences.)

On Saturday I: Drew a doodle around 8:30am. Turned in a paper (electronically) around 9:30am. “Woke up” to Vince’s melodious voice around 10am. I don’t sleep sometimes.

Chris and I lay on the hood of his car and watched the clouds. He said, “tell me something interesting” and I complied, interestingly enough. I twirled around in my green and white skirt. Steve, Chris, Vince, and I played pool at 3pm in the upstairs of a bar on the downtown mall. I got one ball in. I am not very good at pool, but Steve pretended not to mind. We got gelato and saw Ginny and Ellen. I think that third girl was Carrie, but I wasn’t paying enough attention. Mama came up and did my dishes and took me out to dinner and drove me home.

Sounds like a Goldilocks day to me. Days that start at the Big Yellow House almost always are.

Steve showed me his sketchbook full of doodles. I do not particularly doodle – I think perhaps I will take it up though the truth is I use words because I am bad at coloring. Steve is not bad at doodling, but I don’t know what you say to someone when they’re showing you their sketchbook – it’s like sitting around while someone reads your writing only maybe even worse. Also, I never know what to say to phallic imagery other than “oh! Phallic?” Saying “I neither have a penis, nor am conscious of any penile oppression I may face daily – this…this has little context other than an overt and potentially insecure expression of masculinity for me” just never seems like the right thing.

Maybe if I doodled. Maybe if I doodled vaginas, I would understand. I doubt it.

I really like the uterus-and-ovaries shape. If I have to doodle something overtly and reproductively feminine, dibs on uterus and ovaries.

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