Lovely
We had a nice, long picnic for our friend L. who graduated from her master's program. I've been officially latched on to by A.'s childhood friend C.'s fiance, who does not relate to anybody else in the group. (Possibly because I'm still officially an outsider as well, and most likely because I'm one of the few women in the group C. has not shacked up with.) I'm quickly becoming the confidante; whether it's because I can remain objective and discreet, or because I'm just a very good listener, or whether these people are genuinely interested in being my bosom friends, I'm not sure.

Also, A.'s aunt and uncle were in town and we ate a lot. A lot. Lunch at the Slanted Door Saturday, an afternoon of snacking and sampling yesterday.

And we got to see our dear friend L. get hooded, which was wonderful, even if her stinky on-again-off-again boyfriend was there.

(I don't like him. He touches too much. Too many elbow grabs and hands on shoulders. Very insincere.)

And then there's ...

Crappy
We went to see "About a Boy" and got stuck in a traffic jam coming off the freeway, weird for movie theater traffic on Saturday, especially when I assumed everybody was out of town. Consequently, after spending 20 minutes trying to get through a traffic light, A. got fed up and got back on the highway, so we had to watch "Heist" instead. (I file "Heist" on the "hate" side of my love/hate relationship with David Mamet.)

A. got a flat coming home from his parents' late last night. And the very hot AAA driver (who looked like a dashing comic strip superhero in disguise) wouldn't take our $20 tip.

I got home at midnight, turned on my (relatively new) iBook, and my hard drive had disappeared. Fuck fuck fuck fuck.

And another thing: That New York Times article about September 11 caught me off guard. We saw Ground Zero on our visit to NYC two weeks ago, and I was fine: no tears, emotion of disbelief more than horror. Then I pick up the paper, read a few paragraphs, and suddenly I'm sobbing.

A bad, bad way to start a Sunday morning.

I think what horrifies me the most about 9/11 is imagining what those people must have been thinking in the final moments of their lives. "This can't actually be happening." Their whole world crashing down around them, and they have no way of knowing what else is going on, if it's really the end of the world or just a freak, freak accident, but knowing that they're dying because they're in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I have also become increasingly anxious about the next round. A. has no idea how I truly worry about him. How I am dying inside at the thought of possibly losing him, even though it's such a distant chance that it shouldn't even cross my mind. Yet I fret. I get a little teary about it. If he knew, he'd be really spooked, I think.