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Dana Scully’s Diary 9/?
By Piper Sargasso
For Sallie.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The Chadmeister
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
~ Friday, 10 March
Alcohol units: 6, Krycek seductions: 2, Late videos: 3 (oops),
Carnie flashbacks: 6 (v. frightening).
Office. Drinks with the girls tonight — am excited to tell them
about date set for this Saturday night! Will conveniently gloss over
fact that was set up by meddlesome mother and instead
contemplate the nuances of his sexy and obviously
well-educated phone voice. Surely is sign of good breeding.
V. promising indeed.
(10:56 PM)
Ugh. Mulder in foul mood today. Was mumbling about losing his
stapler, then went on about how messy office is and needs total
overhaul. Am thinking informing him that I’ve felt the same way for
years was actually not a v.g. idea, as he has now taken to
scowling at me and tossing files into trash can, alternately. This
cannot be good.
(11:03 PM)
Have been ducking flying projectiles for past five minutes. This
must stop — will ask what’s *really* bothering him.
(1:12 PM)
Home. Have left the office after unexpected and nasty confrontation
with partner. Honestly, thought the worst of Vile Tom situation was
behind us, but can see now was wrong.
Seems the real reason for his hostility was not perpetually
cluttered office, but another run-in with that walking, talking ass,
Tom. From hostile conversation with Mulder, gathered that Tom was
unfortunate enough to be rubbing against a secretary in the copy
room upstairs (*our* copy room, no less! The nerve!) just as Mulder
was popping in to make run-offs. Seems that seeing him in that
situation opened the wounds afresh, and Vile Tom was on the
receiving end of a thorough ass-chewing. Hah!
However, inner victory dance quickly squashed when…
“So, did you sleep with him, too?”
Stammered that it was, in fact, none of his business, which only
made situation worse. Dimly recalled (as partner was ranting about
inappropriate behavior and the ramifications of “selling a friend
out in this manner” — honestly, selling him out? I’ve *never* sold
Mulder out!) how going on the offensive worked against me last
time, but damage was done. What was I supposed to do? Throw
myself at his feet and plead with him to understand that nothing
beyond heavy petting occurred between us?
Am beginning to see the merits of chastity drilled into all young
Catholic girls by the age of seven. Have not been with a man in
years, yet still made out to be the Jezebel. This puts a serious
damper on former “I-Have-a-Date!” euphoria.
Am meeting Meredith, Anya and Missy later — will see what they
think about this. For now, have plenty of paperwork to keep me
busy until then. Just after new episode of Trading Spaces is over.
(2:03 PM)
Have decided that life could be less complicated if only I’d be
willing to make some drastic decisions. Therefore, have taken a
major career change into serious consideration — would make an
exceptional interior designer, as have plenty of good taste and
creative energy to spare. Also, would be gratifying to take art of
carpentry in hand and be strong and inspirational role model for
women the world over. Imagine, me wielding a nail gun confidently
in the manner of Amy Winn or similar — yet another victory for the
“women can do anything” camp. Hmm… Appealing, v. appealing.
Now, to that paperwork.
(2:05 PM)
Oooh! Back to back episodes of “In a Fix” on. Interesting how rarely
the women wear the “It’s My Fault” shirt. There’s a lesson in that.
Mmm, that Andrew looks better every episode, could positively eat
him up with a spoon!
(2:07 PM)
Ugh. Just realized how much that last line sounded like Mom on one
of her more frisky days. Was contemplating whiting it out, but as
thought it would be useful as warning of what could become and
could not fine Wite-Out, have decided to leave it. Scary stuff,
that.
Wonder, should I start trying to set Mom up? Could be excellent
way of diverting her attentions away from my love life. (Or lack
thereof.)
(4:13 PM)
“In a Fix” now over, replaced with landscaping show. Turned off
TV in disgust, as have no yard to landscape — is touchy subject
with me and only thing I hate about my apartment. Well, that and
the frequent visits from Consortium members and psychopaths.
Would *like* to have mutant and conspirator-free dwelling with
nice garden in back and lovely flower beds in front.
(4:39 PM)
Cozy thoughts about becoming master carpenter and in-demand
interior designer within the year rudely interrupted by memories of
office argument surfacing. How dare Mulder act so superior? And
why should I tell him anything about my personal life? It isn’t as
if he tells me anything about his! Am not his wife, damn it!
Will do this paperwork now. Have four hours before meeting up
with the girls.
~ Saturday, 11 March
Alcohol Units: 5 (not bad), Number of dates: 1 (hurrah!), Krycek
seductions: 1 (must stop before habit runs rampant again.)
On my way out to have lunch with Anya, Meredith and Missy —
support group and rediscovered lifeline. Have been invaluable since
Mulder’s cold-shoulder treatment, giving me outlet to rant while
also throwing a few of their own opinions into the mix — much to my
supreme satisfaction and amusement.
“Screw him!” Meredith said loudly at dinner last night, brandishing
her martini glass. “Where does he get off, acting like he’s king of
the fucking hill? It’s just another way to control you, Dana. Men
get off on that. He needs to be Master of your universe or he
can’t stand it.”
“No, it’s more than that with them,” Missy said sagely.
I glared at her. “Don’t you start, Melissa.”
“What? It’s so obvious, even if I hadn’t done that reading –”
“You still do that stuff?” Anya asked, back from the bathroom.
From there, conversation headed in more supernatural direction.
Was relieved non-existent love life with partner was not
embarrassingly explored and analyzed. After all, is ridiculous!
Mulder doesn’t think about me in that way. Even after the carnie
incident two days ago, we’re back to uncomfortable silences. Less
troubling than before, but awkward nonetheless. Seems worse
somehow.
Anyway, am late. Have good news for once! Date confirmed for
tonight — hurrah! Can’t wait to tell everyone.
(10:58 PM)
Date with Chad utter disaster. Knew as soon as I opened the door
that two hours of careful “first date” preparation (i.e. bubble
bath, tedious attention to hair and makeup and an unforgivable
amount of time agonizing over what is appropriate to wear) was
wasted on this, Amazon man with bad aftershave and yellow
stain on front of shirt. Will forgive him the dreadful tie, as have
been conditioned by partner to overlook such things. However,
cannot forgive him the Turkish bath and insistence on imitating
Pauly Shore to fill strained silences.
Was forced to endure loud comments during play (v. embarrassing,
as was shushed four times by people around us), and annoying,
snooty dissertation on why “Chicago” is immoral and harmful to
society. Clearly has no grasp of the term “dark comedy,” but was
NOT about to enlighten him.
Think the fact he referred to himself as “The Chadmeister” several
times throughout conversation was deal breaker.
What ever happened to the smart-sounding guy on the phone?
What? Is like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde or similar. Was attractive, no
denying it. Personality? Will give him a three. Had not thought it
possible for person to be dishrag one moment and obnoxious the
next. Clearly, man is an unchallenged talent.
New resolution: Will no longer allow Mom to coerce, guilt-trip or
otherwise pressure me into going on blind date she set up. Is
pathetic and never turns out well.
Am going to shower and collapse in front of TV with extra large
slice of cherry cheesecake and bottle of wine. Hope to wash away
whole nightmare (and sickening scent of CK1). Doubtful tap can get
hot enough.
~ Sunday, 12 March
Late Videos: 0, Krycek Seductions: 0, Alcohol Units: 0 (am
considering petitioning for sainthood)
Am v. disappointed with sad state of things. Date last night
shouldn’t have been such a miserable surprise, as things have
been going south for a long time now. Have been fighting with
Mulder and given cold-shoulder treatment. Have fallen into the
clutches of office scoundrel, Tom, Master of all things Vile.
Reputation has been ruined, not to mention fact that have
been love interest of scary, piranha-toothed carnie and Troll
Man.
What have I done to deserve this? What? What? Is like entire
universe is against me. Missy says I need to cleanse my chakras and
have some sort of crystal therapy in order to rid myself of bad
luck. Is coming over this Wednesday to Feng Shui my apartment.
Sad, that I don’t even have strength to tell her no. Am spiraling.
(3:45 PM)
V. strange thing has happened. Was contemplating horridness of
Chad and all his gender when heard a knock at the door. Was Stan
the Bugman.
“Hel-lo,” he said, “Care if I come in? Wonderful.”
Was too stunned to stop him. He walked to entertainment armoire
and began to rifle through CDs, humming in approval at intervals.
“Can I help you?” finally asked.
“Huh? Oh, naw, naw. Just thought I’d drop in. Like my suit?”
Could feel my eyes grow wider in surprise. What would
exterminator want coming in here and asking my fashion advice?
Was v. weird. Weirdest of all was the suit itself. Looked him up and
down in attempt to be polite and at least appear to be giving
ensemble serious thought. “Well first off, I think it takes a very
confident man to wear a plaid jacket. It sets off the green pants
wonderfully. And of course, you can never go wrong with brown
loafers.” Dear God. “Are you going to church?”
“Naw, funeral. Well, best be off.” He pulled a rolled up magazine
out of his deep, be-plaided coat pocket and pressed it into my hand.
“Thought you might like to take a gander at that.” He winked and
left, leaving me standing in my own living room in stunned silence.
I unrolled the thin magazine. There, on the cover, was a picture of
a triumphant-looking Stan in full bowling attire, holding a trophy
almost as tall as I am. Next to him, bright print bore the legend:
Stan’s the Man!
Have hit new level of strange. Wonder: when will it end?
~ Monday, 13 March
Stunning career moves: 1, Alcohol units: 0, Krycek seductions: 0
(am perfect, saint-style person), Frohike calls endured: 6
(12:13 PM)
Office. Have decided to leave Chad debacle behind me and focus on
my career afresh. Realize becoming master carpenter before heading
out of state for next “big” case is slightly unrealistic at this
point, so have decided to instead be the vehicle with which to drive
to next case — or would is that the driver who steers the vehicle
of case to its destination? Whatever, I’ve presented Mulder with a
case that should interest us both — is fantastical enough for him
while being at least somewhat based in the realm of normal for me.
Is perfect! Will be headed for Missouri tomorrow morning.
At last, a case that will make us look *good* for once!
(7:21 PM)
Just off the phone with Anya, who says that Meredith is in shreds
over fuckwit boyfriend. Having emergency meeting over drinks at
Anya’s place tonight. Can’t stay long, as have flight to catch in
the morning. Will catch up on plane, if chance comes up without
Mulder looking over to see what I’m doing. Humph. Right.
~ Tuesday, 21 March
Suits ruined by exploding pustules: 3, Mutant Elk Lodge members
dodged: about 70, Dreams shattered: all.
(6:20 PM)
Cannot possibly sink lower. After almost a week of trailing an
infected, secret society of Elks, not only did I spend a lovely
evening at the insistence of crazed son of Elk leader who enjoyed
watching videotapes of ballroom dancing with tied up Federal
agents in his basement, but was also privy to his extra special
hobby — the dried cores of his pustules stretched over colored
glass bottles and jars which he lovingly referred to as his “art”.
Was able to stave off his advances by pretending
commiseration and appreciation of the way he chose to
express himself. Mulder talked to him at length about menstrual
fluid paintings. Anything to keep the pulsating boils on guy’s
face from getting too close.
Will never, *ever* be clean again.
Have to wonder, though, how Mulder knows so much about
menstrual art. V. strange. So much for impressive career move. So
much for ever eating again. Am scarred for life, am considering
suing Federal government.
~ Wednesday, 22 March
Nightmares about previous case: 2, Krycek seductions: 1 half-
hearted attempt (at normalcy), Alcohol units: 6
(3:15 PM)
Where have pantyhose gone? Where? Cannot understand it.
On the bright side, Mulder seems to be thawing out since horrible
night together in that basement. Have trouble believing, though,
that spending the evening tied up and cringing back from
pus-filled sores was worth it. Still, was nice to have lunch
together for first time in a while. Oooh! Phone’s ringing.
(3:18 PM)
Was Anya. Am meeting up with them for drinks after work. From
sound of Meredith shouting in the back, something has gone wrong.
(11:00 PM)
Things definitely not good with Meredith. Spent major portion of
evening listening to laundry list of complaints about fuckwit
boyfriend, when finally, in her drunkenness, she let it slip that
the main reason she left him is because she found his stash of
coke in the four tin. His reason for hiding it there? “Well, you
never cook. How was I supposed to know you’d find it?”
“As if that excuses him!” she shouted. “And who the hell cares if I
cook? I’m a woman of the nineties, not June fucking Cleaver!”
“Wait a minute,” I interrupted. “Why didn’t you mention this the
night you left?” Humph! We were out all night, consoling her. Why
didn’t she bring this up? Something of this magnitude deserves
hearing, I’d say.
“Well, anyway, it’s done now. I’m moving in with Anya, and good
riddance to Barry and his emotional stunttage. At least I’ll be
living nearby now.”
“And away from that coke-snorting jackass!” Anya chimed in. Was
obvious Missy and I were last to know about the drugs, but I let it
go. For now.
Made it home just in time to hear answering machine pick up. Was
Mulder.
“Scully, it’s me. Are you screening? Stop screening.” A pause. “Are
you screening? Anyway, call me back.”
Picked up the phone. “Hey.”
“Ah ha! I knew you were screening.”
Smiled. “What’s going on?”
“Uh, not much.” Sounded a bit nervous now. “I just… Scully, are we
okay?”
Was taken aback. As close as we are, we almost never take these
things on directly, and if we do, I’m usually the one to initiate
it. “I hope so,” I said quietly.
“Good. Good.” A sigh. “So, can you bring the Betzer file with you?”
“With me? Where?”
Could hear the smile in his voice. “When you pick up the pizza and
come over.”
Oh yes, things are definitely back to normal. Thank God.