Like burning cat fur

It has been an interesting couple of days. My mother left on Saturday, after taking a roll of film devoted to a few Hollywood stars (she took one of Joan Crawford's star, too) and the scary people that live near my apartment. "So I can show your sister how you live," she said. As I was dropping her off at the airport, I decided that I should try harder to not get into arguments with her. I do miss her, especially after my usual summer return to Minneapolis was cancelled.

On Monday night Gabby's friend called to tell us, "Everyone is going to Tigerheat tonight." Considering that the club was horribly crowded the last time we went, and being trusting lushes, we went out early and found that NO one was there. I got to hang out in the smokers section while Gabby got more alcohol to deal with the disgustingly young crowd.

I met one of his 'friends' standing in the drinking section with a fun conversation:

Skinny guy: "How does it feel being in High School."
Drew: "What?! I'm a senior in college! Did you go to college?"
Skinny guy: "Yes. Well, I'm still in college."
Drew, extending hand to shake: "I'm Drew. I'm a math major. What's your's?"
Skinny guy: "Something art related."
Drew: "Painting?"

He was cute. It's a shame he wasn't that bright. We all danced for a while, then decided to leave at one am, happily tired and sweaty. Gabby's phone conversation friend never did show up.

The next morning, I woke up just in time to see the space shuttle launch live online. Breath-taking. My "things to do before I die" list has been updated. Later, while listening to Asian Roomie complain about her boyfriend, my knee began to throb. I rolled up my pant leg and she screamed. There was a mysterious black and blue bruise the size of a melon. Gabby doesn't remember how it happened. Neither do I. I'm guessing Skinny Guy.

The fourth was spent with Objectivist Ex and his logic friends. He didn't tell me they were all making steak. I made some veggie indian food, more than a little irked at being trapped in vegetarian hell. At least his friends were interesting. All of them were well-read, could quote Rand, and knew way too much about computers and networking. I couldn't stop thinking they were all the same person in different body types--a slim runner, a rower, a straight fit boy, a body-builder type gym rat, and a non athlete. I suppose when people spend a lot of time together, their personalities mix. Everyone was already well knit together. Objectivist Ex seems to have found the perfect group. He changed a lot while I was living in China.

I left before it got too late. In the back of my mind I was afraid people would end up in some naked platonic objectivist flirting make-me-want-to-vomit twister match. I ran to my car with that image in mind, and forgot my backpack in my rush.

In other news, Kurt Vonnegut reminds me of the writing style of a lot of Harvey Mudd folk. Cat's Cradle has been amazing so far. Protein is the meaning of life (giggle).

I think I might be going on a date/cuddle fest soon.

This Sunday is Tosca at the Hollywood Bowl. I splurged on Garden Box seats--the ones I drool over each time I visit. That, along with catering from the Patina group may just make me orgasm during Vissi d'arte.

Apparently my underware is on inside-out. I must be tired.