02-08-2004 - 8:19 p.m. - ding dong, the tiddlywink is gone

so the mystery lump's reign of terror has come to an end, the scar on my rib is healing, and I've emerged from my vicodin haze. the surgeon called last week to let me know that it was some sort of freak calcium deposit most likely caused by radiation therapy. all I really needed to know was that it was benign, I could finally breathe again [somewhat painfully at first].

I happen to be in debt for something to nearly everyone I know, thanks to my ghetto fabulous minimum wage job. state farm sucks my my bank account dry on a monthly basis, 200 bucks for car insurance. it's a good thing I didn't leave a note after the hit-and-run coffee shop parking lot incident, or the london trip would be postponed until 2007.

mom is back to serial dating with a vengeance, after the engagement with benny bitchtits went horribly awry. he pointed out his raging alcoholism, and how he's not over his very recent, very vicious divorce, and told her to take a hike until he is fit for dating. if you asked me, that would be on the tenth of never, but I digress. it's always interesting to see which mystery schmuck will pick her up for dinner on weekend nights.

as far as the fox love life, things are either barren or just incredibly fucked up. mike and I pseudo-dated again last month, and he broke it off because he was supposedly moving to calistoga. he gave me two days notice for this, we had a goodbye dinner sealed with a goodbye kiss and that was supposed to be that. a few days later, still recovering from the whirlwind almost-romance, he called to tell me he moved back in with his dad in town. he talked about all kinds of pretty things, laying blankets out on the beach, drinking champagne and stargazing... and I haven't heard from him since. I've reached the end of my patience with him, so I'm not going to try anymore.

andy is moving to the bahamas for a year to work on a cruise ship in a week and a half, and I've got all kinds of mixed feelings. when he leaves, I won't have to worry about him scaring away potential suitors out of jealousy, like the fate of the hot masseuse. andy caught wind of the love poem (small town), saw him at a bar, and blasted him a new poop chute by way of embarrassing him beyond that which is humane. the masseuse may or may not have cried, I got varying stories, and I wasn't there. I'm going to miss andy, but maybe the space will help him accept me more as just a friend. and the rumor mill will grind to a halt as far as the "are christina and andy doing the nasty" thing goes.

another victim of mr. andy was poor emo max. andy turned albertson's produce green at discovering that I'd been spending time with him, came in to tower and harangued max until I was worried I'd have to get between them. andy's insults are hilarious as long as you are not on the receiving end, seeing as he has this knack for nailing you in your soft spots. perceptive motherfucker.

if I don't end up ever being romantically involved with max, I will cry if not only for the fact that his family is amazing. his mom is the sweetest woman I've ever met in my life, his sister is the coolest older chick in the greater northern california area, and the only girl I've looked up to other than gwen stefani in years and years. his step dad is a cool old dude with an off-beat sense of humor and a completely laid back attitude. even their cat is cool, it's fat and blue. it just makes max, the wickedly smart, hilariously funny, talented emo kid, that much more appealing. it's win-win. watch him turn out to be gay.

last night I took jack to see a mates of state concert at the bottom of the hill in san francisco, in the effort to be a good big sister. my next mission for keeping him cool is to find and destroy all of the dorky gap clothes that my mom keeps buying him. at any rate, getting there was relatively easy compared to trying to get home. thanks to yahoo driving directions providing me with guidance to streets that incidentally, DO NOT EXIST, I got hopelessly lost, in the raunchy side of the mission district, on the complete opposite side of the city I needed to be in to get home. trying to keep jack from pointing and staring at the hookers smoking crack rocks and the gangster waving a gun on mission & russia proved futile.

I was so desperate that I called my dad for directions, seeing as he'd lived in the city for 15 some-odd years. only realizing we were carousing in the ghetto when I heard the distinctive "be-in-fear-for-your-lives" tone in his voice. I suppose it's sort of a rite of passage to be topsy turvy lost in the city, but why couldn't I do it in the castro or something, where I could roll the window down and implore some friendly homos to point me home? cracked out prostitutes tend don't tend to take pity on blondes on the road.