Transplanted Life
Friday, April 22, 2005
Sorry about Wednesday's post not going up right away; I somehow managed to screw things up while adding Blogger comments (because the length limit on the HaloScan ones annoyed me past reason yesterday).

Last night was kind of frustrating. Chet and I were going to hit the opening night screening of Lonesome Jim at the Independent Film Festival of Boston (most of which is actually in Somerville), but since we didn't have passes, we had to wait in the "Rush" line, which, yeah, is a complete contradiction. They didn't actually start selling tickets to us non-passholders until 6:45 (for the 7:00 show), and then the line moved sloooooooooooooooooowly. Around 7:30 (one hopes they held the movie), a theater employee came out and said that the entire 900-seat auditorium was sold out, so we headed out to grab some takeout, then headed back to my place to... uh, to watch the game.

Yeah, to watch the game. I'd sort of figured Maureen wouldn't be around, since she works at one of the hotels where the film festival guests are staying and the concierge types are putting in extra hours, but apparently that won't start until tonight. It's sort of uncomfortable fooling around with someone in the next room under the best of circumstances, but that person being Maureen is hardly the best of circumstances. She's loosened up some, but still doesn't exactly approve of the premarital sex; I kind of think she tells herself that doing it with another girl isn't really having sex, since you can't make a baby that way. (Not that it's really an issue for her right now) And even if she's willing to live and let live, it sort of feels like it would be rude.

So we watched the game, and it was a good one, a 1-0 victory over the Orioles. Chet left during the postgame, kind of frustrated because he knew that Kate and I would be spending a lot of time hanging out this weekend so it would be a few days before his next chance to get laid.

Or at least, I hope he was. I'd like to think I would be, in his position.

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