More Doubts

First, Justin called me at work today, and was telling me about his morning. I asked him if he got the email (announcing his subscription to Out), and he said yes, and then kept right on yapping about the staffing at work. No thank you, no "I appreciate it", nothing. It's good that I only wasted ten dollars on it. Of course, he claimed he had already subscribed to it, and really didn't (another lie over something completely benign), so this little gift is a subtle message that I know that he wasn't being honest with me.

I met him out by his work tonight, and we went to Ruby Tuesday for dinner. I was bound and determined to have the salad bar, and I did exactly that. I told him that in a week, I would be attempting to ingratiate myself with his family, and hoped that they liked me. I also said flat out: "your father hates me." I also said that I was nervous with going to his reunion knowing this fact. His response? "You're so beautiful." I told him that he was changing the subject. Looking like a deer caught in the headlights, I told him that this was not an easy conversation to have, but we had to have it. I expressed hope that one of these days his father would be able to deal with me. I also said that if his father has an event during this family reunion where they go out with Justin, his brother Chris, and Chris's girlfriend, propriety would indicate that I would be going along as well. He just looked at me like I was from Mars.

So I am very nervous about this family reunion. I will be leaving my travel itinerary, the address of the bed-and-breakfast, and Justin's home address with Beth, so if anything happens, she will be able to contact the police.

I am hungry right now. I guess three plates of salad (which was all vegetables and low-fat dressing), half a pack of Skittles (shared with Justin), and a 100-calorie pack of graham crackers isn't a whole lot of calories for dinner. But I am done eating for the day. I went and got some groceries for the rest of this marathon work stretch, and now I am once again on the sofa, writing what a friend calls my "letter to the world."

Once again talking about magazines, since I subscribe to a lot of them, I get a lot of come-ons for other magazines. Most of the time I can tell where they get my address: for left-leaning periodicals, I blame Harper's. For gay magazines and men's fashion magazines, I blame Out and The Advocate. For financial magazines, I blame Fortune (whose subscription I canceled). For any other Time Inc. publication, I blame Entertainment Weekly. But somehow, I recently got a come-on to subscribe to Maxim. Maxim is a celebration of the heterosexual male: basically, it's about sports, beer and blonde bikini-clad bimbos with legs up to there and tits out to here. The question is: how the HELL did they get my name and address? As anyone knows, I just love sports, beer, and hot chicks!

It is now almost eleven o'clock, so it it time to say...Eric OUT.