Julie Nipp hasn’t called me in years …

It’s Friday and my house looks like this:

Also, I have a date tonight with A., and nothing to wear.

Need extra cash for the weekend?

Heh, heh. Seriously, though.  Meet me back here next week.

I saw the low full moon Saturday. It was neat. I was watching King Kong, by the pool, on my big giant screen. I fell asleep.

By the way, come see a movie! Details posted later.

While you’re waiting, read a book. Here’s the University of California Berkeley’s summer reading list (selected by faculty and staff who teach freshman seminars), published in 1995.

1995. What were you doing in ’95? I was living in suburban Philly. I drove a brand-new black Camaro (which I totalled in ’96) and was about to meet A. (who I married in ’98). If it was November of ’95 I was in Atlantic City, in fact. Bored stiff at a credit union convention, on a business call at a pay phone (we used pay phones back then!) A. was three phones down, he needs space when he talks. This was the first time I saw him, arms flying around, hand-talking on a pay phone.

That has nothing to do with reading or summer, but is the only thing I remember from ’95.

Anyway, last year here’s what you, the maddening crowd, said to read:

Teresa DiFalco dot Com’s Summer Reading (2006)

[Tomorrow I'll be married nine years. I know what you can get me, A. -- a good waterproof book. Thanks.]

Green again in the Sunday Times, green’s bugging me. Do I need to write another letter? Enough, already, it’s a cliche, it’s now bad writing. They’re going to ruin the whole damn thing, the media. They’re going to ruin green they already have, green sucks.

I’m embarrassed to go to my CSA pickup now, thanks a lot. I wear a hat so no one sees me. Junior slapped an “I Eat Local Vegetables” sticker on the car (thank God, not a hybrid, scrap that plan, A.!) and I cringe every time we get out of it — what people must think of me. It’s annoying, I don’t even want to recycle anymore.

I feel guilty asking for the stupid plastic bags (not paper) at Safeway. I feel the need to explain to them that of course I’d much rather use paper but I just got a new dog and the new dog poops and the kids only pick up the poop if they have a little plastic bag. I keep my mouth shut, though, because I’d probably be led out in handcuffs once someone did the quick math: puppies poop 20 times a day x 20 plastic bags x 365 days, etc.

At least I didn’t just buy a motorcycle. That has to be worse than my white plastic bags. I’ll make up for it, I’ll get hybrid light bulbs.

In other news the wall guys come today, if anyone cares. And, A. I got everything back in the room except the chair because I couldn’t get the second door open.

Go plant a tree.

[Helen, why did you make me read that book! It was horribly depressing.]