I was looking forward to a nice long weekend, with plenty of time to clean my house, prepare my lecture, grade my papers and finish my "Cantos" project. Too bad I forgot that I work on Saturdays. Damnit.

Work was fun, though, as usual. Plus I got my review and got a twenty-five cent raise. That adds up to, like a dollar a week. Yippee! Of course, my manager told me how good I am at customer service. It's true. I'm good with people. Makes you wonder why I worked in an office for four years. Makes me wonder, anyway.

Of course, just because I'm nice to the customers doesn't mean I always like them. Today I was working bar, and I asked a customer in line if I could start a drink for her. So she gets out of line and walks all the way over to the bar to tell me what she wants. Then I tell her, "You know, you still have to be in that line to pay for your drink," and she was totally flummoxed. I guess she thought I was going to ring up her purchase on my invisible cash register.

Although, speaking of invisible, I did something truly spectacular today. I was getting a cup of coffee for a customer, which usually involves putting a sleeve on the cup, putting the cup under the spout, and pouring the coffee. Today, I skipped the part about the cup. I just held an empty sleeve under the spout and poured coffee right through the middle of it, onto the counter.

I know, you're not surprised at all. Me neither!

I came home from work and started cleaning. Bruce is coming tomorrow, and I'd like my place to be some semblance of clean. Except that I spent about six hours on the long overdue task of cleaning my closet (where he has no reason to go-- it's not even attached to my bedroom). The closet looks great, but my room and bathroom look exactly the same as they did yesterday.

I did do one fun thing. I have been meaning to update the photos in my bathroom picture frames. I've had these photos in there for years, and they include pictures of people with whom I have nothing to do, or who have negative associations for me. I don't look at my pictures all the time, but according to the principles of Feng Shui, even if you don't notice these things consciously, they impede the flow of your energy. Or something.

But I didn't end up replacing the pictures-- some of them are quite cute, after all. (Meaning I look cute in them.) So I cut up some pictures (mostly of my parakeets) and pasted them over the offending portions of the pictures. So now there's me, at a sidewalk café on Melrose Avenue, having lunch with a giant Phoebe head. Or a bunch of girls, the stripper we hired, and a gigantic Pigwidgeon. I don't know about Feng Shui, but the pictures are a fucking riot.

I don't think I'm ever letting Bruce visit me again. He brings with him the Curse of the Crevice Child. Because guess who's staying here? That's right, my roommates' friends and their crevice child.

This is not-- I repeat, NOT-- the little devil-spawn who made Bruce's last visit something of a living hell. It is possible that this kid will be an angel who sleeps placidly through the night, and whose parents won't allow him to lay just outside my door and shriek for hours at six in the morning. It's possible that this particular kid will not reek of dirty diaper and patchouli.

But I'm not optimistic.

Oh right, Thanksgiving! It was my second Thanksgiving in San Francisco, and I again spent it with Laurie and Joey. This year, we had Thanksgiving at Open's house, and he cooked a turkey. I brought wine and pie, and squeeze cheese. (Because I'm classy like that.) The girls brought a bunch of other stuff.

The food was incredible. Joey and I were drunk. We watched football, and Friends, and played cards and Cranium, and stood out on the balcony and sang and screamed, talked about poetry, and generally had a blast. Good times.

This is the first time I've been to Open's place, on the top of Twin Peaks. And my god, what a view. Joey and I felt like we could scream from the balcony and everyone in the city could hear us. We thought "Happy Thanksgiving" was cheesy, though. So we decided to scream "Potato." (Half a bottle of wine + squeeze cheese will do that to you.)

My obsession with Buffy continues. I downloaded a desktop theme from a Buffy/Giles shipper site. (Shut up. Giles is sexy. It's not that weird.) My wallpaper is now contains a leather-clad Spike and a leather-clad Giles. They both look damn sexy. It's... nice wallpaper. Sometimes I minimize all my windows just to stare at it some more.

So, I'm a giant dork, I guess is what I'm saying here. But you know what? I've always been a giant dork, and somehow people love me anyway. So I'm okay with that.

"I bet we could have joined the protest with our 'Eat Babies!' sign, as long as we stood next to the Vote-o-matic guy. He would have flummoxed observers so thoroughly with Vote-o-matic that, by the time they got to 'Eat Babies!' they would assume it all made sense."