Her Name is Barbara PanAm, That is Her Name

Surprisingly easy time waking up given how late we went to bed, but I forgot coffee or caffeine pills. I saw Din on my way in - he lucked out on parking. I did not. It was a fairly quiet day, which certainly did not reduce my desire to stay home forever. It being voting day for the big recall, I thought about requesting time off at the end of the day but really didn't want to lie to them. Again. I stopped by the store on the way home. I really appreciated Julian buying White Claw last night, even though no one drank any, so I figured I'd stop by the store on the way home for snacks to replenish what we ate. Also Splenda and creamer. I met a little old lady named Barbara when I was snagging the creamer. Ralph's used to carry a French vanilla generic creamer but they swapped to a hazelnut one. I can't have either because the fuckers insist on casein, but maybe someday. Barbara offered to help me find whatever I was looking for and I overshared about casein, though I didn't attribute it to veganism. She was a PanAm flight attendant in the Golden Age of flying, the 50's. Also had a friend who could only digest goat's milk, so she totally understood my frustration. Talking to her, though, just cemented my concept for a talk show. There are fascinating stories *flying* past us every day. Julian was upset that I got home late, but he didn't specifically mention his anxiety about me fucking others, so that's still progress. Lady Miss Friday was calling for me almost as soon as I entered, so Julian put the rest of the groceries away and I went to her. She was mostly hungry - I left her dry food with salmon extract on the plate but she'd apparently rather starve to death than eat it. Maybe Julian's kids will like it more. And after all that, I forgot the creamer. Ah, well. We weren't sure what to have for dinner, so Julian started throwing something together. Ground "beef" with marsala sauce, potatoes, and scallion pancakes. There was something wrong with the stove - apparently something about oil spilling on the heating coils or something and hot boxing the place. Julian said Dorota told him we're going to be charged an additional pet deposit because she saw cat shit outside. Bring it, fuckers. The toilet paper holder has been broken since before I moved in, the heater is still out, not that we need it in San Diego, I still don't have a screen, and for fuck's sake, why didn't they get rid of the blinds when last they renovated the place, to say nothing of why they even put them in to begin with. We sat down to watch Lucifer and eat together. The potatoes had an odd scent to them but tasted fine and of course I ate everything on my plate. Julian asked me to put the rest away before we even started and I appreciated that so much. Julian put a time limit on watching Lucifer but even so, I was struggling to make it to the end.