Disaster has struck.
My boyfriend (or my gentleman pal as I like to call him) is highly allergic to cats it turns out.
William from downstairs informed me of this yesterday evening as I was telling him about how when I moved apartments in the next few months I hoped that I could move in my cat Emma that my parents have been watching for me.
"Well you know Elliot can never come to your apartment then?" says William
"What am I supposed to do about this?" I ask
"Just don't bother with the cat" says William from downstairs.
What is wrong with William from downstairs? I really don't see how his mind works.

If it comes down to being between gentleman pal and the cat, the cat will win.

After all I had her first.

And she will watch reality tv with me.

Twenty-Three

In 40 minutes I will be twenty three. Though if we're to be exact in 7 hours and 44 minutes I will be 23, as that's the time I was born.
On the eve of turning twenty three I don't feel a lot of excitement, or joy at the prospect. What is there to twenty three? I can already drink, I can't yet rent a car.
My Grandmother, my mother and my older sister all got married at the age of twenty three, and as I have no biological aunts or great aunts on my mother's side this means that every woman on my maternal side has gotten married at the age of twenty three for the last three generations. And though I have recently been on several lovely dates with a man who is actually taller than me and whose main flaw right now seems only to be that he thinks Law and Order SVU is the least good of the Law and Orders, I don't think marriage is in the cards for me any time soon. On top of which, what would I do with a husband?
So what do you do when you're twenty three if not get married? If you don't have a husband you need another plan. And right now I don't have very many of those.

Except for I do know I am buying a dog this summer.
So in place of a husband we'll have a dog.
And I'll figure it out from there.

Gilliambaby

Gialliombaby is an aspiring writer.
Roughly every night a week I try to go get coffee and get work done, and more often than not I run into Gialliombaby who is doing his aspiring writer things.
My goal is to get Gialliombaby to write a short story about me. He hasn't done so yet which astounds me as I am so very amusing I don't see why one would not write a short story about me.
Usually our nights go like this
'Gialliombaby, why aren't you writing about me?"
"I will at some point"
"Not good enough Gailliombaby" I say
Then Gialliombaby calls me a harlot and I say I hate him and then he uses my cell phone to send texts that should really not be sent to Gus the worker making the coffee, all though this last  part only happens on Thursdays.
Then he speaks to me in Italian because he knows my Italian is non buono and I say 'No mi piace Gialliom-bambino' because that I can say.
For a bit I pretend to do work (talk to Phil) and Gialliombaby actually does work and then he gets distracted by my hilariousness that is hilarious enough to distract but not enough to be written about apparently.
Gilliambaby said he'll write about me before I write about him.
I'm writing about him on my blog.
Fail Giallombaby.

Here is what I love: Autumn.
I love leaves changing colours, and boots, and sweaters, and pashminas as big as I am.
Autumn is by far my favourite season out of the four.
Here is who apparently does not love autumn:
Texas.
I don't know if Texas just missed the memo that autumn is a season or if they just don't care but regargless of what happened it doesn't seem to be a season in Texas until roughly November 1st which on all accounts should be winter at that point.

It's sort of autumn at night. By that I mean it gets to be 70 degrees at night so I can wear a sweater.

I try to defy Texas and claim that it's Autumn anyway. This weekend I went to a party at a friend's apartment, it was raining and it was cold and I declared that I was going to wear my grey cold weather coat from H&M that I bought in Rome last fall, which makes it fancy even though it was only $20ish dollars. (I say 'ish' because I was always bad with euro/dollar conversions)
"You can't wear that" Will from downstairs tells me as I put it on
"Why?" I ask
"Because..." Will from downstairs tells me giving me the all too common stop being crazy Jessie look that I always get from him.

I wore it anyway. And I was stylish. Even in the rain

Will from downstairs wore his winter jacket too in the end. He saw my side of things.

Jessie: 1
Autumn and Will: 0

This weekend I spent my friday night hanging out with my best friend's daughter Bell.

The awesome thing about Bell is that she's Bell and she is a hoot and a half.

The problem with Bell is that she is way too cool for me.

Every time I say anything to her she gives me this look like 'What are you even talking about?" or "Go away Aunt Jessie, you're boring me" and scoffs at my jokes like they aren't actually clever when up until the moment I said them to her I thought they were immensly so.

She also never answers me when I try to have deep intellectual conversations with her, which I believe is  due to her cool factor and the fact that she is too smart to have deep intellectual conversations with me.

Of course this might also be because Bell is 15 months old and doesn't talk yet.

Still.

I realize now it would have never worked out.


He doesn't like dogs.

Learning New Things

We're in a predicament.
We being me and Michael the roommate
who yes! yes indeed is back in Te-jas after a summer of being an accountant without us.
The predicament is Michael's return has coincided with  Roomie J going out of town for two weeks, and Roomie J does all the cooking around here.
So Michael the roommate and I have been learning to cook for ourselves.
It's difficult but so far nothing has burned and no one has gotten salmonella.
Also we've eaten a lot of taco bell.
We're writing a cook book together for people like us
It's going to be called
"The Liberal Art Student's guide to Cooking: A delicious meal for every form of the soul"
Or
"One Million and One ways to cook rice"

So far we have fried rice, brown rice, chicken and rice, and stir fry rice which yes, is different from fried rice.

We've got this.

Recently I was going through the photos on my computer and I noticed something.
I have a lot of photos of me walking away in places.
I think there should be a coffee table called "Jessie walks across the world'
I would buy that book.
Who wouldn't want a coffee table book of my ass? I would put it on my coffee table next to my New Yorker comic coffee table book.

Juuuuust kidding.

It would look like this:

Jessie walking in Pompeii

Jessie walking up Mount Vesuveus in Naples

Jessie walking in London, England

Jessie walking in to the Mediterranean Sea

Jessie walking in Barcelona, Spain

Jessie walking in Geneva, Switzerland

Jessie walking in Nemi, Italy with her boyfriend

Jessie walking in Nemi, Italy with her boyfriend's best friend.

Don't worry about that last one.