space-oddity's Diaryland Diary

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the hoverer

everyone, libby. libby, meet everyone. libby has taken over the apartment, and she owns us. but never fear, i'm not turning into one of those cat fancy clipping, sad old fuzzy cardigan ladies. i just love my kitten. that is all. clay says i'm giving away all my love to the little purrbox. he used to be guaranteed at least 59% of my love with the remainder of 41% going to people like my mom, friends, jarvis cocker, people like that. now the cat is getting the biggest piece of leslie pie. maybe.

one of the best things about sharing my computer with clay is that he keeps songs like margo guryan's think of rain on our mp3 playlist. it's nice stuff.

when you get too big for your breeches, it is time to buy new ones. someone please tell this guy at work that he needs to follow this general rule of thumb. someone in a better position than i, someone, please. i share the same schedule with this guy. i see him about every other hour, on the hour, as we both ascend the stairs to the breakroom. he's one of those hoverers. if he's ever within a fifteen foot radius of your center, you feel like he's floating over you, watching everything that you do. he's lonely, but not that shy and quiet kind of lonely that just makes people seem interesting or mysterious. he's just fucking annoying, whether he's spewing out mindless blabber about his boring life or just standing above your shoulders as you're trying to read the news of the weird on your fifteen. he never sits down like everyone else. like i said, he just hovers. his massive beer belly hangs over his belt (though he doesn't even need to wear one), but i don't think it's from beer 'cos this guys so sappy and sugarcoated and disgustingly g rated that i just couldn't possibly see him sitting down and having a bud. and you fear that if he were to stand any closer, pry any deeper into your business, his belly would just pop your head right off your fucking body because it's just so overbearing and big. so back to the beginning, his clothes are about three sizes too small. this guy hasn't done any shopping since 1982, and you know, some people could probably work that look and pull it off okay, but not if you've gained about 70 pounds since. i'm waiting for the seat of his pants to split. it's bound to happen. perhaps this is why he chooses not to sit. he's not taking any risks. no sudden movements. something might break. even still, his favorite way of standing consists of his left hand jammed into his tiny pocket on his tiny pair of pants, a styrofoam cup permanently planted in the right hand. what in the hell is he drinking?? i know it's not coffee. then what? anyway, i've noticed that he's started to hover a little less. it's refreshing, but i'm curious. so i looked into the matter, and i've noticed that he's discovered the computers in the breakroom. he's surfing the net. he's surfing internet personals. it's hard not to notice, though i do admit that i make it a point to see what he's looking at. he just scrolls and scrolls and clicks and clicks. picture after picture. all he does is stare at these women. it's pathetic. it's one thing to do that sort of thing in the privacy of your own home, but to do it out in the open at work is another. so sad. someone come save this man. not me, though, i'm taken, and about 25 years too young. this man is in desperate need of a kind woman. she'd give him a reason to buy some better fitting threads. he probably wouldn't be so into other people's business anymore, either. just a hunch. you know, that whole, "you make me want to be a better person," kind of relationship.

by the way, clay and i were locked out of our apartment last night, and a nice friend of mine let us sleep over at his place. again, thank you. i went shopping today, and i have your four cheese deep dish pizza whenever you want me to bring it. it's all yours.

11:22 pm - 10.09.02

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