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REM diary

Follow ups on some past entries:

My knee still hurts. But definitely not as much as it did before.

Also, you know how last week I found out that my professor won an O.Henry award? This week, I learned that one of my classmates has had a story accepted to Glimmer Train. While the O.Henry in my head is sort of like the cosmos, unreachable and far away, glittering there to be admired and perhaps mythologized, Glimmer Train is one of my goals. I say ‘goals’ as though it were something I could plausibly chart on a graph, write this many words by this date and boom, hello Glimmer Train, but really, it’s like a secret society. I’m not really sure what one must do or know or be to get accepted to freaking Glimmer Train, but I do know that according to their several No Thank You’s, I am not that person or do not know whomever. But here my friend, who sat next to me tonight, she got a call from one of the editors of Glimmer Train last Friday. At her home. And the editor introduced herself as ‘Linda from Glimmer Train’. I know. I know. It makes me sort of want to puke, but then perhaps scoop up the puke and try to hide it (you will thank me for not writing ‘suck it back in with a straw’) because it is just so damned cool and if I had to pick one person in the class who wasn’t me to be in Glimmer Train, I would pick her. Glimmer Fucking Train. Gah. I’m so stunned I can’t even be jealous. People really do win the Publisher’s Clearing House, and apparently actual human beings are getting published in Glimmer Train.

Also, hi, I’m the girl who just included a parenthetical about recycling one’s own vomit. Put me in Glimmer Train please thank you!

Also, through your purchases via the Amazon linky thing, you added $138 to my donation for the Tsunami victims. Which will supposedly be doubled by my employer. So yay you and your clever materialism.

Also, I made a pilgrimage to the Prescriptives counter in Appleton, where the annoying Prescriptives girl grudgingly sold me a replacement for one of my stolen lip glosses and then sighed with complete disdain when I requested that she color print me so that I knew which foundation to buy. She pegged me as a Red/Orange. I, for the record, am not a Red/Orange. A Red/Blue, absolutely. A full on Red’ perhaps. But a Red/Orange? No way, sister. But I didn’t realize that. It looked ok in the store on my cheek and I didn’t pay attention to the color classification that went with it. I got home to find that it was exceptionally too dark and orange (the color was Cameo, if you care, and yes, I am fully aware that I am so Northern Anglo that I practically glow in the dark), so while I was in Milwaukee, I stopped by the good Prescriptives counter there and returned the Toxic Avenger foundation and then decided, screw it, I always get the best results with the custom blends anyway. And the Prescriptives counter girl gave me the entire mixing bottle with the leftovers that didn’t fit into the real bottle, so I probably ended up with twice the foundation in a normal bottle for only $20 more. Go me. To celebrate, I also bought another lipstick and a compact. More stolen purse replacements, so I refuse to have guilt in the matter.

Also, this is not an update on a past entry, but since I’m starting every paragraph with ‘also’ it seemed fitting. Anyway, I feel compelled to tell you that I just spent $7 on a reasonably small amount of gourmet peanut butter. Which makes me have all sorts of proletariat guilt. But it has apricots in it! Think of the magical toast opportunities there! And if it’s good, I’m going back and getting the Asian curry peanut butter too, because how good would that be on chicken? Or maybe just licked off my finger even? It’s a good thing that this store is in Milwaukee and I can’t shop there every day because tonight I just got some plums, 1/3 lb. of pancetta, some gouda and the peanut butter and it came to, like, four hundred dollars. Stupid store.

I found the above on my computer screen at 6 am this morning and vaguely remember speed-typing it when I got home from school last night, still buzzed from the Caribou coffee I drank at 2 pm. Now I must go eat some peanut butter toast and go to work.

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