This woman said, "Did you say Dawn?" and when I said yes, took the drink. Another woman standing next to her pulled the cup away (actually yanked it out of her hand, I kid you not) and said in this shrill voice, "No. This is MY DRINK." She started jabbing her finger at the other drinks on the counter. "That's my HUSBAND'S drink and my KIDS' drinks and I ordered them all at the same time. This is a GRANDE NONFAT LATTE and it's MINE." She paused and added, "My name is Dawn too."

The other woman just sort of looked at her and blinked, as did I. I mean dude, come on, it was an honest mistake. Same drink, same name. I said, "I have another one coming up next, must be yours" and I smiled at the non-psychotic Dawn.

Evil Dawn walked out the door and I turned to Good Dawn and said, "Man, some people sure do get possessive about their coffee." She smiled and said, "Tell me about it. Your latte or your life."

In other work news, that promotion I was hoping for is happening now. Yay, promotion!

Two shifts just quit, so everything has been expedited to slide me into a supervisory capacity immediately. I have an interview with the district manager tomorrow, but she already said she likes me and she'll hire me, so it's more of a formality than anything else.

I've already changed my schedule and added more hours so I qualify to be a shift supervisor. I think I'm going to be working closing shifts, which is fine by me. As long as it's not opening shifts. Getting up at four in the morning does not compute in Mopieland.

I did the math, and now that I'm going to be working more hours (for a higher salary) I will finally be able to afford things like postage and books and movies and presents for my friends without counting every nickel like the tightwad I've recently become. I still have to be very careful with money, but I will have enough to live on for a change, and it's nice. Nine bucks an hour, and it feels like winning the lottery in comparison to the current state of things.

I have to remember to ask our district manager about health insurance, too. I know I'm eligible for the stock plan and the health insurance if I work more than twenty hours a week. I don't want to leave my current provider, but I do pay $125 a month and that is a huge chunk of my budget. If I can get Starbucks to chip in at all, I am going to be set.

As for the job itself, I am not sure yet what it entails. I'm guessing someone will explain it to me at some point. It can't be that hard. It's a coffee shop, for chrissake.

I went to go buy those work pants today. I couldn't actually buy them because I have this $25 off coupon that I thought was good starting today, but actually it doesn't start until Thursday. After spending an hour picking out clothes, the nice saleswoman let me put my clothes on hold until Thursday, which is against their policy. Thank you, nice saleswoman.

My pants size has gone completely mad. I'd be happy to tell you what size I am, but I haven't a clue. Size 18 fits me about half the time. I'm floating somewhere in between 18 and 20, I think. I fit into their new style size 18 jeans perfectly, but I have to really work to get the old style 18s on, and those are the style of jeans I like, so I'm waiting. I am getting the pants in question in an 18/20 though, hoping they'll shrink. The 14/16 fit me, but a little tightly. Since they're 100% cotton, I'm thinking they'll shrink. I hope, anyway.

I also got some more of the string underwear I like so much, including a pink satin thong. I've never owned a thong before. It should be interesting. And no, you can't see the webcam pictures of my white, white ass. Um, I mean, not that I'll take any.

Losing weight is weird. I've had several conversations about this topic over the past few days (a magazine interview I did, a conversation with Leah...) It's like I feel like a hypocrite, losing weight. It's true. Because I am so adamant about overweight people being beautiful, and so I'm betraying that somehow by losing weight.

The interviewer said, "Well it's okay, since you're not really doing it to lose weight." But I'm not going to trick myself losing weight with a mind game like that. "I'm not really doing it, so it's okay. It's just an irrelevant side effect." I'm not depriving myself or being maniacal about it but I am counting calories and tracking my exercise. Fuck yeah, I'm trying to lose weight.

I'm not trying to become "thin" by the standards of society (I would like to be curvy without flab) but what if it happens? Do I need to feel guilty about that? Sabotage myself to avoid that outcome? (She says, eating a lot of crackers.)

But I tell you what really worries me. I don't want to turn into one of those people who loses a lot of weight and then becomes an asshole towards overweight people. No offense, but I've met more than my fair share. (Abby and I used to baby-sit the kids of this woman who lost about a hundred pounds, mainly by doing drugs, although we didn't really get it at the time. She transformed from a nice, wonderful person into a total psychopath who fucked up my sister's adolescence and has since lost her husband and custody of her kids. We used to say that losing a lot of weight must turn you into a bitch.) (Disclaimer: I don't actually believe that.)

I just don't want my principles to change. Prejudice against fat people is endemic to our society, and it's horrible and wrong. Fat people are not all lazy, they are not all unhealthy, and they are not automatically unattractive. I could list plenty of counterexamples, from total strangers to my own mother.

I refuse to loathe my own body, and I swear to you I will not loathe it retroactively. I am not going to look at pictures of myself at size 24 and say, "Man, I was such a HIDEOUS FAT COW, I am so happy I am a size 16 now." Or whatever.

I don't know why it all has to be so complicated. Some days I feel better about myself than others. There are some things about my body, my cholesterol level, my fitness level that I'd like to change. That's me, that's not you.

It's a big world. Who cares if some of us take up a little more room in it than others?

I watched the 9/11 documentary last night, and I cried in a way that I didn't cry on that day itself. That day was all about shock, and black humor, and disbelief. I cried when it occurred to me that Joey might be dead, but I didn't cry for the towers, for the people in them. It was all so goddamn unreal. It didn't compute.

But I've had six months to absorb it. Watching the documentary, I kept thinking about the people in the tower, people like Joey's friend who died. Those people who were alive, afraid, suffering, and very soon going to die. It was hard to watch. I hated that I knew how it would all turn out. I willed it to end differently.

No, don't go in that building. Don't climb the stairs. Don't talk about saving anyone or putting out fires; you won't save anyone. You won't put out any fires. You can't do anything. Nothing. It's too late. Get out. Save yourselves. Run. Run for your lives...

Six months is not a long time, and yet it feels like a very, very long time since that day. I had forgotten, to a remarkable extent, the horror of what happened. The words "September eleventh" have grown dull due to repetition. The "Open for Business" and "United We Stand" and "God Bless America" signs took on the relevance of a network logo at the bottom of my television screen. A minor irritant. And Joey doesn't mention her friend. What is there to day?

When the words "never forget" appeared on that screen, I felt thankful that such a record exists. Because, yes, I forgot. Somewhere deep down of course I didn't forget, I'll never forget, but somehow, yes, I forgot. I'm glad I watched.

Now I remember.

"Eleanor said, 'Why don't you just lick the chair?' So I did.

Possibly not my most dignified moment."