May 2000 - 3

....taken from the journal of the guy who lives in the apartment 32, right beneath Mulder's.

. . .and FINALLY FINALLY after eight @#$%ing years of listening to that psycho pretty boy asshole slamming that God awful basketball against my ceiling, I have peace and quiet!

~~~~~~~~
Monday May 29, 2000

I went to the Annual Scully Family Memorial Day Picnic today. 
Everyone was there.  Well, everyone who's still alive, that is, 
except for Charlie, who's still somewhere beyond the sea. I'm not
exactly sure, but I think he was trying to call us!  I got the 
strangest call on my cell phone -- some guy yelling a muffled, far away sounding,
"SCCUUULLLEEEEE!"  It may have been Charlie, because I heard water
bubbling in the background.  I asked Mom if Charlie was on a submarine,
because I know Daddy said that being stationed on a submarine is like
living in a fishtank with an uncleaned filter. Mom said, 
"Sorry, Dana.  Charlie's assignment is classified."  And they think 
*I'm* mysterious.

As usual, brother Bill was there.  He is SUCH an asshole.  I never 
saw someone cheat at whiffle ball before.  I don't know how Tara puts up 
with him.  Tara brought her famous ambrosia recipe for dessert.  I love how she 
puts those little marshmallows in it.  It was so good, I couldn't resist 
or serve it to any other guest.  I ate the whole damn bowl myself.  I must 
admit...Tara's ambrosia tasted much better on the way down than on 
its way up and out onto Bill's dress white uniform.  Oh well. 
Now we'll see if Tide's stain busting claims are true.

As my doctor advised, I've been substituting other words that begin 
with the letter "M" in place of my Touchstone's name to help minimize the 
fainting. It's working, but I miss him so much, I can't stop thinking of him.  
I ate five hot dogs with Mustard at the picnic. They reminded me of his.... 
beautiful mind.

I think I insulted Mom when I suggested that her small potato salad 
could use some more Mayonnaise.  I should have known better than
to speak of condiments in front of Father McCue. I tried to make 
it up to her by helping her make Swedish Meatballs.

I dread returning to work tomorrow, partnerless.  First item on my 
agenda is to enlist the Lone Gunmen's help in using some of the CIA's global 
satellite images to try to track the location of every box of Mallomars within 
a 10 mile radius of Washington, DC.  And maybe we'll get lucky and get a 
hit from the tracking device that Mmmmy partner ingeniously embedded in the 
part of me that's on his journey with him, my gold cross.

DKS

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