Gingersnaps and Guttersnipes

Still feeling subpar. Argued (kinda) with the Boy, the parents, I., M., and can't find S. Love the amazing social life here in DC. Went to an actually amazing libertarian intern bbq and beer blast Saturday, though. Now want to intern for the NRA. I loves them gun nuts. Met another one of the Boy's unbelieveably great female friends. No wonder he doesn't appreciate me as he ought, when he knows these knockouts who are brillant and fond of him in unpossessive ways. Whereas, when I carry a drunk Boy around on the Metro, I want adoration and not questioning as to whether my mingling is perhaps a bit flirtatious. So I was chatting up some kid, so what? He gave me beer. The Boy ought to value the fact that I'm a cheap date, able to forage even in deepest suburbia.

So since I felt down today, I went to the National Gallery's Venetian painting exhibit (fun, want poster of Titian's 'Feast of the Gods'), came home, started reading a trashy mystery in the bath (finished A Confederacy of Dunces, delightful, pity about the whole only book author suicide thing), and now am making a batch of gingersnaps with a dicey online recipe (should it have so much molasses?) while listening to the Buzzcocks' singles album. The gingersnaps are in the oven right now and soon I shall DEVOUR! them. Like dinosaurs, falling peckishly upon newly evolved ferns, I shall demolish them. It will be sublime (Kantian), and I may not save any for anyone else. Take that, cruel world. And while eating them, I will sing What do I Get? loudly and with my mouth full.