READ ME ... yeah, right. Right?

I'm sick of everyone else having on-line diaries. I want one too.

What is this all about? Maybe you should read the READ ME READ ME.

november 25, 1998:
three things to give thanks for

In my back "yard," down the partly rotted-out-stairs, under the shadow of the building behind me that has wooden doors for walls and children's clothing drying on lines like Christmas decorations, in the corner to the right, on a small patch of earth that weeds have not swallowed, next to the row of garbage cans, where it smells pretty bad, is a small plant brimming with bright red hot peppers. There must be about twenty peppers there.

And next to it in the dirt is an old cigarette butt.

A few weeks ago on a Saturday night, I was walking down Valencia Street near 19th. I was too early, and no one was where I was supposed to meet them, and I kept missing these phone calls, and someone was being frustratingly confusing, and I was starving, and it was cold out, and it was starting to rain.

And I remember thinking to myself, "Well, sometimes my best nights ever have begun as my worst."

As it turned out, I did in fact have a smashing evening that night.

My freshman or sophomore year in college I was wearing a borrowed formal dress, riding in the back seat of a car being driven from Stanford to San Francisco by a person I didn't really know. My date was next to me in a tux, talking about something or other having perhaps to do with drinking, when the woman in the front seat reached for her can of chewing tobacco and placed a chunk in front of her lip.

She was wearing a white lace traditional trimmed Gunne Sax dress and I smiled with the intuition that we would grow to be close friends.

And, countless boyfriends and breakups and parties and jobs we hated and happy hours and drama and adventures and nights at Old Pro's and pool games and Bar Exams and Irish Pub evenings and stints I did standup comedy and marathons she ran and bars we were cut off by and dinner parties I navigated while she cooked and bottles of Zima consumed while out of town visitors searched for stolen cars, as well as twelve years, two weddings and one bridesmaid dress later (not to mention a baby named Isaac), we still are.

And that is why I am heading off to the ridiculous weather of Bend, Oregon tomorrow.
To visit her.

pssst: might as well watch Computer Chronicles on PBS this week.

Pixar Parties Hard
COMDEX! Schwag AND Meeting Bill AND PLUS Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow!
silence of the lambs
7 Questions, Answered
Burning Man Photos
Silicon Spin.
New References Galore!
more stuff.

thanks, COMOFLOW





or, if you must, back to Rebecca's Revenge

Copyright 1996, 1997, 1998 Rebecca L. Eisenberg All rights Reserved.