Rachel’s in a band. Di is a businesswoman. They couldn’t be more different. Or could they? These two find out they have more in common than they thought, even while they argue and compromise and work together to find a place in their lives where they fit. An honest, true to life love story that’s as easy to read as it is to enjoy.
Thursday, March 21st, 2002
Rachel's online journal
Held out for a long time, but my amigas said this was the place to be. Said to just write and spill my guts.
Brenda says it's as good as music.
We'll see, I guess.
Spent the morning walking the sand, watching the waves hit. I can't believe it's spring already. It's been eight months since Ellen hit the road. My sister called yesterday and said she heard El's preggers.
El. 'I hate men I'll never do that Never leave' El.
Having a baby.
Okay, well, this is weird and kinda creepy -- bringing everything out like this.
I'm off to work.
11:09p - Grrrrrrrrr...
Okay, fine. So I'm a singer. I'm a musician. I dabble in poetry a bit, write a little story here and there -- nothing major or anything, but I write.
So, to pay the rent I wait tables at a little cafe downtown. I mean, Jake, the dude who owns it, he calls it a bistro, but it's a cafe. Good coffee, great desserts. Sit down frou-frou dinners on Fridays and Saturdays with big-time tippage (which of course, I can't work half the damned time because we've got a gig -- figures). I can pay rent and bills and buy books and music and guitar strings. It doesn't suck most days, but damnit, some days the world won't give a girl a break.
Tonight there was this loud, obnoxious bitch all over my ass, snarking about my clothes, my hair -- ''You know, if you'd pretty yourself up and wear something more flattering, you could find yourself a man and quit massacring people's orders.''
I mean, honestly! Did she talk to my mom or what? Damn! She gets mashed potatoes instead of frites and she's giving me relationship advice in her nasty, upper class, pinched nosed, fake hair dyed ever Thursday by Pablo so her husband won't know she's really old and funky and sagging way.
Then, when I looked at her and said. ''Not an issue. I'm a dyke,'' Jake ragged me. Even bitched about the nose ring. I mean, come on. I wore the stud. You can't even see it when the lights are low for the supper crowd.
So, anyway, I'm home. I'm showered. The stinky work clothes are soaking in the bathroom sink. I've got my jeans on and a soft little tshirt and I'm finally *me* again. Liver's headbutting me, wanting his walk and his kibble.
I'm off tomorrow and Saturday. Two gigs in a row -- one tomorrow night at the Potato Lounge and one Saturday afternoon at the spring folk fest. Still have to decide whether to wear the red silky shirt or the sagey-green embroidered one. I should call Kissy and Brenda and see what they're wearing.
Maybe I'll take Liver to the shore...
Diane's online journal
7:01p Oh my!
Well here I am. Beth suggested I give this thing a try. I've been ''connected'' for a few months now and she doesn't think I'm doing enough ''on the web''. She's cute really, 19 and the world is her oyster. She's the computer expert down at Dreams, keeps us in just the right computer books that I don't have to send any back to the publisher. A very bright girl.
Anyway, she mentioned this online journal place as something I might want to try. I don't know if I'll keep it up or not, I haven't kept a diary since I was a teenager myself.
10:40p Veal Scaloppini with Noodles and Pine Nut Pesto
That was dinner this evening with enough left over for lunch tomorrow, heated up in the microwave at Dreams. I like to cook. That's actually what I've used my internet connection for the most -- looking for new and old recipes.
I know a lot of people don't like making elaborate meals for just one or two people, but I always have. I find it relaxing and I love the way all the individual smells come together into one. I like the taste of good food. Sure I could throw a box of something into the microwave, but easy and processed food never tastes as good as made from scratch.
I'm no Martha Stewart and most of my plates would probably horrify a proper chef, but no matter how it looks, it pretty much always tastes good.
The ex's current boobs on legs burns water. Serves him right. What, me bitter? Yeah, yeah, I'm bitter. I was 28 for Pete's sake -- how could I be thrown over for a younger woman? He's been through a half a dozen of them in the four years we've been divorced. The sad thing is, I don't think even he knows what it is he's looking for...
Well, sad for him. I didn't realise how miserable our marriage had gotten until it all blew up in my face the day I came home and found him in bed with the first set of walking breasts. That was the worst day and every day since has been a little bit better than the last. It didn't take very long at all for me to be happy to be signing the divorce papers.
There are times though... it's the biggest failure in my life and sometimes that's hard to get over.
I've had a few dates since, mostly with men -- I've been too shy to ask another woman out though there have been one or two that I wanted to. I'm not really interested in a relationship with a man right now. I'm attracted to women, I want to sleep with one and see what all the fuss is about.
Well I've certainly wandered about here tonight. Maybe this was a good idea afterall.