Still a raging bitch - but a raging bitch sharing body space with the loving daughter of the best parents ever to spring one from the loins. Home again, home again, et cetera. It's good. My mum is also home again, home again after three weeks with her parents in England. I try to avoid talking about my personal life here, let alone my parents', but I'll say nonetheless the way they're happy to see each other after a three week seperation after a kazillion years of marriage is something fucking enviable. And I adore them. I'm the luckiest daughter in the world.
Moving on. It's Carmen's birthday tomorrow, and I just found out about it today, and she's going to Romania on Monday. I suck. Amazon, don't fail me now! Carmen, if my naughty language hasn't got you off this blog, just know I'm thinking about you and wishing you the best for the next year. Better than the best. The uber-best.
Moving on some more. Last night at the new opera house was enchanting, they did fun acoustic experiments and it's lovely, fucking lovely. Like a space ship! Except cooler! You can hear a goddamn pin drop on stage. Not to mention "Les tringles de Sistre tintaient". Eeeeeeeee! I'm already jizzing over the next season. Then I met Gigi's new boyfriend, who is damn easy on the eyes and sweet to boot. A little tense to meet me, I think - not me personally, but Gigi's acquaintance in a general sense. He'll do nicely.
And here I am. Happy. Still missing my baby, but the way I feel about him is a part of me now, and not something to make myself upset over. It's better than not missing him, let's put it like that. Now if you'll excuse me, my parents have TV, so while I wait for a massive Calabrian dinner I'm going to have yet another emotional reunion, this time with Jon Stewart.
Oh Jonnnnnnnn . . .