phone home
2/26/99
I've been coming up with all sorts of fun and oh-so-practical ways to supplement my income. Self-help is very big right now. Just look at that rotten Oprah (who's an INFJ like me-how'd she get to be so successful?). I've already mentioned my favorite idea, "Truth Therapy." I'm still very big on getting paid to tell confused people what's wrong with their lives and then charging them $100 for the privilege (there's a certain somebody out there who's just begging for a $100 invoice for services rendered), but that only fills a small need, the people require more than just the truth to function. I call the entire course, "Back to Basics" because it really all just comes down to common sense, and if this seems pointless and ridiculous to you, well then you must have a good head on your shoulders and not come into contact with they types that I do on a daily basis.1). The Art of Conversation: We will chat and you will not be allowed to talk about yourself for the entire first session. You will ask questions and even listen a little. (I know this sounds strange coming from someone who pawns off their day to day life for the world to read, but Project Me is not a conversation. I may be a social retard, but I know how to talk to people.) You will learn that a good conversation consists of speaking and being spoken to. One session will be fully devoted to phone conversations. The rules: Do not call if you have nothing to say (I don't mean you must have something brilliant to say, just something vaguely interesting like, er, "God, wasn't it cold out today?" Well, that's a start). Do not call if you're intensely watching TV (I'm not saying you can't have it on), instant messaging friends on the internet, at work and are going to put the person on hold every 10 seconds, or are already having a conversation with people in the room. Little known fact: Being quiet and unresponsive is just as big a crime as being loud and domineering. Conversations are all about balance, really.
2). Walking 101: I will draw a line on the ground and you will walk on it. You will walk forward (not backwards, or sideways, or in circles), you will keep a brisk yet reasonable pace, you will not stop every few steps, you will not bump into others when there is plenty of room for you both, you will not swagger or strut, and above all, you will not spit while doing any of this. If you are crippled, or lame, or elderly, or have a legitimate problem, I will take this into consideration and try to go easier on you (however, I have a hard time with midgets and short people--tiny legs or not, they're just so damn slow and they're everywhere--where's Randy Newman when you need him?!). Mini-sessions will include "Stairs" (keep to the right and you will be fine) and "Subways" (hold on to the straps provided and don't talk to me outside of this class). If people viewed their bodies as cars, all would be well. You wouldn't randomly stop in the middle of a street, or run into other cars and keep driving, or pull into an intersection without looking first (or maybe you would, and that would make you a jerk [I think that word needs to be used more often]). You know, I wouldn't even charge money for this course. This is a public service that is desperately needed and I would gladly provide it out of the goodness of my heart.
3). Be Your Own (Beauty) Boss: I've noticed that many people are incapable of handling the tiniest of procedures. They are willing to pay money for things that would take nothing more than ten minutes and steady hand to do themselves.
Service A). Cutting Bangs: I get your hair wet, I comb it straight, I ask you how short you want them, I cut in a straight line, and then I ask for $10.
B). Painting Fingernails: You bring me the color you like, I trim and file your nails, I put on a clear base coat to prevent ruining and staining of the nail, I paint on the color, you sit still for 5 min. and don't use your hands, and you give me $10. I will even add a clear top coat if that makes you feel special and pampered.
C). Eyebrow Plucking: I'll admit this one is trickier than the first two, and if you want waxing you should go to a professional. But if you just have some stray hairs or want to do some light re-shaping, it is not difficult. You simply tell me how you want your brows to look (but if you're in need of this service you probably don't know what shape you want and I'll have to tell you), I will draw the ideal shape on your brows, and I will then tweeze out the hairs that are in the way. If I am in a good mood, I will even pencil them in all nicely for no additional charge. This will be a good money maker since there will be lifelong upkeep. $250 will get you a year's worth of plucking (that's a bargain!) or you can fork over $10 a pop. As with many skills, creating your own beauty regimen simply takes practice, and for a few extra bucks I will show you how to do these tasks all by yourself. Self-sufficiency can be so satisfying (but I have the feeling that people who pay for these things are not so much paying for the service, but for the attention, which is indicative of a whole other type of lack in their lives. And one which I cannot fill).
Ideally, I could combine Be Your Own (Beauty) Boss with either Truth Therapy, or The Art of Conversation and kill two birds with one stone. There's really no good reason for me to be so poor, seeing as how I have so much to offer to the world.
2/25/99
Well, I was the highest bidder and got my cigarette tins from ebay. Now there's nothing but happiness on my horizon. But I needed to send this woman the check and I never have stamps because I'm so poor, but I was very excited to sneak out of work and go to the post office around the corner. They have machine that sell stamps individually (and I don't mean those ones that add on an extra couple cents that are in supermarkets). The cool part is that you can use pennies!! No machine in the world will take pennies these days. So, I unloaded my entire change purse for stamps and was feeling pretty good (especially since I normally throw my pennies in the trash). I sent off my check and was pleased with myself for being so prompt. I got half way down the block before I realized that I'd addressed the envelope to Canada and had only used one stamp. D'oh! Just a minor set-back on my new road to a better, brighter life, I hope.2/24/99
I've got a new obsession and it may be the unhealthiest yet--Ebay! I didn't mean for it to happen, and it wouldn't have happened if I wasn't so goddamn bored at work every day. I spent 6 out of 8 hours goofing off on it today. I think it's because I don't have thrift store shopping as a therapeutic outlet anymore. It soothes me to be able to look at crap, even if I don't actually buy it. Today I had my eye on an apron, salt and pepper shakers, cigarette tins, a children's suitcase, and a toothbrush holder. See? Crap. The only thing I bid on was the cigarette tins, one was a 50's Lucky Strike motif and the other was Black Cat brand. There's a whole twisted symbolic reason why I have to have them and I won't even go into it because it's obsessive and crazed. If I get them (I'll know in a minute or two) it means good luck on my horizon. I hate to be superstitious, but when you see signs you have to give in. The future is all about online auctions.2/21/99
Smiths' quote: "Take me out tonight. Because I want to see people and I want to see life." Last night I went to a wedding reception for people I didn't know. Well, it was really more of a big party and my friend knew the bride. I've been sort of turning my nose up at hipster slacker types for a while now. I got away from the west coast to avoid that kind of thing, but Williamsburg (Brooklyn) is very much like a tiny Portland. Other than the fact that everyone lives in lofts, it's similar. Like there's cafes and vintage stores and you can buy wheat-free crap and people ride bikes and are in bands. Queens has been like a breath of fresh (well, sort of fresh) air and I smugly avoid Williamsburg like the plague. So, this party was in a Williamsburg loft and it was full of guys with sideburns and turtlenecks and shaggy hair and I didn't want to like it, but I did and I had more fun than I've had in a while and I decided that I just need to give in to the whole thing and quit fighting so hard. I'm tired of concerning myself with guys who are ill-suited for me. Trying to make polar opposites like you is just too much work. So, I have fun with guys who think they're artists or musicans, so they have jobs and not careers, so they live in apts. with 10 people and sleep in their clothes. So what. All I know is that people who like dancing to Creedence Clearwater Revival, listen to John Mellencamp, and are crazy about "Powder" (don't tell me you forgot about that movie) are so much nicer to deal with than the moody and emotionally unstable. I've given up walking on eggshells and biting my tongue. (O.k., I love the resentful, the disturbed, the misguided, and the aloof, and I'll never give it up, and I hate it, but let me pretend otherwise for the time being.) But oh my God, I was hanging out, minding my business and then IT walked in. IT, that horrible subway freak. The suicidal, halitosis hippy that was trying to get me and my friend to watch his bad movie and suck him off a couple weeks ago. This is just further proof of how weirdly intertwined things are becoming. He acted like he didn't see me so I had to approach him and yell, "Hey, Subway Freak!" He seemed ashamed as he well should be. At least I was able to find the stacks of flyers for his movie ("The Spider Inside Me") he'd placed all over the loft and dump them in the trash. Why it's a damn shame that I don't have a scanner that works: The bride was taking polaroids and giving them to guests. My friend Jane was handed one with wild-eyed, screaming subway hippy popping-up behind her. I feel scarred (she does too).2/20/99
I haven't been feeling so good lately. I mean like I'm physically sick or something. I say it's chronic fatigue, and who's to argue. I'm worried because yesterday I was called "melancholy" and I never thought of myself that way and then a friend told me I was too negative to be a Leo and that I should take St. John's Wort (I already do!) Oh, but I had such a happy experience last night...and it involved The Lord. I'd heard of Danielson, but didn't know much about it. Maybe you already know about him, but allow me to explain at bit. There's this guy Daniel from New Jersey who makes out of control Christian music. Along with his teenage brothers and sisters they go by the name Danielson Famile. I didn't understand it. My friend, Jane was all, "you have to see it to believe it." I don't always take peoples' words. I don't trust the taste of others. I guess they dress in costumes like trees and doctors and nurses and sing about God. I couldn't tell if this was supposed to be like a joke, or kitschy, or what. But they're dead serious, and that's why it's so amazing. I hate to be one of those hipster types that gets into "kooky" music just for the sake being different and ironic and jaded. They do have that appeal, but it's so much realer than that. The songs are actually good. I think I'm obsessed with Daniel. I'm always saying that I can't explain things or that I can't do them justice, but it's the truth in this case. It must be heard (and seen) to be believed. They use organs, violins, flutes, and a saxophone, and Daniel sings in this crazy falsetto, and they totally rock (the opening act was The Strapping Fieldhands who I could care less about, but I must mention that the guitar player looked like Dave Foley if he had Down Syndrome--it was too hot). I'm not joking. Last night the family was wearing these purple velvet hooded robes with metallic shirts underneath to look like chainmail. Each member had a gold shield thing with their name on it and pink circles of blush on their cheeks. Their parents were in the audience, it was great. It was one of the few times that a band has done an encore and I was genuinely wanting to hear more. Danielson (Daniel when he's solo) is playing a show next week (with Genesis P-Orridge, which is really demented) and I have to go. I want to befriend him like nobody's business. I think I need to find myself a nice blonde Christian boy with a bowl haircut. It's all about the music and vocals, but here's an example of some lyrics:
Be Your Wildman - (I'm a romantic)My loins say one thing to me,
But my brain,
My brain says another thing to me,
But my loins...I deserve to be drop-kicked,
I deserve to be flat-drop-kicked.
Drop-kicked by my God,
But He won't;I deserve.
My name is cut and then you dry,
Don't even try me;
They call me slip and then you slide,
You gotta find me.I'm gonna be your wildman.
I've got things in mind,
Do you mind if I plan my wedding?It's gonna be grand!
2/19/99
Look, no Smiths' quote. Two themes combined in one: This morning on the subway there was this boy who was probably no older than 6 with his dad. It was really weirding me out because this kid was full of interesting questions and I couldn't stop paying attention to him. Like he was the brightest, sharpest, funniest kid I'd ever seen (at least on the subway). He was sounding out all the letters on the ads and trying to read. One was this AIDS comic that's in Spanish and English and he kept trying to sound out SIDA (AIDS in Spanish, if you didn't know) and then his dad had to explain what AIDS was which must be a strange thing to have to do, then he wanted to know if there were any birds in the world that are blue, then he wanted to know about red birds because blue is for boys and he wanted there to be birds for girls too. And then he wanted to know what dumplings were because he heard about them on The Smurfs and got all crazy talking about things that are blue, and he wanted to know how to eat lobster (there was an ad for a culinary school behind him) and if shrimp had shells too or if you just cooked them and they got soft. He knew all about lizards and pythons (and used words like "molting") and komodo dragons (he said they liked meat, especially steak). He knew all 12 signs of the Chinese zodiac and listed them off and wanted to know what "culture" meant. I don't know, am I supposed to be warming to the idea of children? Am I being desensitized? Is there some strange master plan to change my life through the use of children and subways? Probably not. I went in Barnes and Noble this afternoon and in the window I saw this book by Kevin Canty. I knew that name. I didn't realize he was such big stuff to have a window display. Once inside I found a big set-up with his books and a sign advertising his in-store appearance. "Rounders" was one of the books on the table and then it made sense why he was being promoted so aggressively. I guess he'd written that card shark Matt Damon movie. I don't really know Kevin Canty. I said, "nice to meet you" in my apt. last year and shook his hand. But I know about him. He was some childhood friend of the last guy I went out with, Tom. This guy had no friends so it was unusual that he'd keep in touch with someone for over 20 years. I guess they were street kids in the 60's. Kevin won a computer in some contest and started writing in his 30's. Now he's a creative writing teacher at the University of Montana. I think Tom was very impressed with this. He, himself was a pull-yourself-up-by-your-bootstraps type with a second grade education. I don't know why I'm bringing this up other than that it gave me a weird feeling to be in New York in a Barnes and Noble and see Kevin's face on a poster and to realize how intertwined everything is in the world. Twenty years from now I have no idea what I'll be doing and I wonder if I will be affected by the people I know now and do you think people come back to haunt each other without even meaning to? Tom never called me his girlfriend, but that was how he introduced me to Kevin when he stopped by to pick Tom up one morning. He was like a real adult, with a wife and kids, and I felt awkward and guilty like I should be hanging out with boys my own age. I doubt he thought anything of the sort. You'd think I was 80 years old the way I get sentimental at the drop of a hat.
2/17/99
Smiths' quote: "The dream is gone, but the baby is real." If subways are a reocurring theme that equals hope and positivity, then kids are the theme that signify my demise. Children have really become the bane of my existence and the source of all the ills in the world (o.k., just my world). Sometimes I think that this isn't really my life, that these things aren't really happening to me. It's all that wrong. Today I had help with my first chat at work. The topic was Discipline. The expert's name was Dr. Sal Severe. I kid you not. For the most part, the questions people had were legit, but then there those with ones like, "I like to kick kids. Is this o.k.?" "Why does my child hate God? (later from the same person, "What do you think of Satanism?" We had to kick one guy off because he kept calling people bitches. Another kept asking what to do with their 5 yr. old who wouldn't stop setting fires. Then they got mad and asked, "Why are you ignoring me?" then they said, "SAL SEVERE I WANT TO GIVE YOU HEAD." It was actually all very entertaining to me, but God, people taking the time to type things like, "Is it o.k. to feed my kids pizza five times a week?" just make me wonder about the world. Kicking kids, and 98% of the population is o.k. by me. Me and my mom (yes, my mom) decided that my luck would change after the 16th. That I was wrong in marking Jan. 1, 1999 as a fresh start and that I should go by the Chinese calendar instead. I wouldn't mind erasing the past month and a half. It's only been one day in my new year, but so far, so bad.
2/15/99
3:21 AM. Smiths' quote of the evening(?)(I still feel like it's the 14th, but I guess it's technically the 15th.): "Please shut your mouth. How can you say I go about things the wrong way? I am human and I need to be loved. Just like anyone else does." God, I just committed a big-mouthed mistake and my absolutely-not-secret-at-all-anymore crush is going to definitely hate my guts forever. I spilled the beans. Yes I did. Happy results? Uh, no. Second Smiths' quote: "And I'm the most inept that ever stepped." Am I ever inept. I had the saddest ride home, carrying my single pink rose. And do you know who I ran into? My only friend in the world, the subway freak, the one who calls me "Pretty Eyes." I was so bummed that we actually had a conversation. His name is Benny. He told me about a sale at Caldor. He asked who the rose was from. He told me to be safe and that I wasn't waiting for a subway in the safest neighborhood. I know that. I fell asleep on the subway again. At least sleeping keeps me from crying. Third Smiths' quote: "The boy with the thorn in his side. Behind the hatred lies a murderous desire for love." I only wish. I didn't set out to have a painful Valentine's Day. Fourth Smiths' quote: "Bigmouth strikes again and I've got no right to take my place in the human race." I need to go to bed before I do something rash...or vomit. Fifth Smiths' quote: "'Cause if it's not love then it's the bomb that'll bring us together." Maybe? Possibly? I can only cross my fingers and hope that I didn't cause irreparable damage.
5:27 PM. This whole Project Me thing was originally supposed to be a way to discover patterns and figure out why things always go awry. I still haven't come to any concrete conclusions, but the fact that subways seem to be a reocurring theme is something I'm trying to make sense of. I was talking to a friend on the phone about me and Jessica's run-in with the depressed hippy and the volatile birthday woman on the subway a few weeks ago. She was sort of joking, but said, "You two met up with yourselves." I don't know why, but this really set me off. It was funny and disturbing at the same time because it wasn't far from the truth. I told Jessica and it really irked her, but then later she was all, "I think Dassi was right." We both agreed it was unsettling. What should be learned from this, I don't know. And now I have Benny showing up in my life. I'm a little more clear-headed and less self-pitying than I was last night and my running into him seems much weirder now. It's not as if I'm always seeing him at the same time and he's not riding the rails, so to speak. He's going somewhere specific, not just hanging out. First it was a sat. around 5 AM, then another sat. around the same time, then on a tues. at 9 AM, and then last night (sun.) at 3 AM. He always finds me and it's hard to explain, but he's not creepy. I was freezing, bummed-out, huddled-up on the staircase of the subway platform, and there he was with take-out Spanish rice and a scale and I wasn't bothered. Oh, I just got a phone call from a friend and was telling her about my sad life and how I think this Benny guy is my guardian angel and she told me I was on crack. I am not. It's true. My seeing him last night was a sign that things will turn out o.k. for me. All is not lost.
2/14/99
Smiths' quote of the day: "And in a darkened underpass I thought, 'Oh God, my chance has come at last.' But then a strange fear gripped me and I just couldn't ask." I'm so happy to have a three day weekend (even if I'm not getting paid for it). I think I'm going to have a mellow stay-at-home Valentine's Day, and I suppose that's alright. Part of me wants to do something very rational and straightforward...but, I don't know if I can muster up the strength or not. Yesterday was good. I got my Smiths singles cd in the mail (I've been going nuts because all my stuff is on vinyl and in storage). Then I went to the crazy thrift store in my neighborhood. It's ten times better than the overpriced faux ones in Manhattan, but it's still not quite up to the par that I'm used to. I bought Kinsey's Sexual Behavior in the Human Male, two paperbacks, Sea Monsters and Monsters of the Sea (I've been building up quite the sea monster collection), a t-shirt with "Flushing Phys Ed" on it and about 20 insane cards. I can't even explain them. Some company called Flavia for kids puts out these cards dealing with "family issues" with these really inept watercolor illustrations and freaky messages (if I could only get my scanner up and running!). Some examples: 1). A badly painted elephant wearing a baseball cap and sitting on a chair, "We know you're angry but let's pleae try to work it out." Inside: "We love you and we really do want to listen--because we can't be happy unless you are." 2). A bicycle pulling a cart with the word BEST on the side, "I love being your dad..." Inside: "and lately I've noticed how much I love being your friend." What is that shit?! I got into an altercation with some P.C. bitch on the subway last night because I took a photo of this guy passed out on the platform with no pants on. Butts are funny, dammit. They are. She can go to hell. Now I'm going to eat some candy and scheme.
2/10/99
Smiths' quote of the day: "Last night I dreamt that somebody loved me." Well, sort of. Recently I've been having all these extremely detailed, lucid dreams. Last night was not like that. The whole thing is vague, but I do know that I was going down an escalator in a mall and I ended up running into Henry Thomas who was doing some theater production and he was being the nicest, sweetest thing. He was wearing green. He was concerned that I hadn't been getting messages that he'd been leaving on my machine (I hadn't gotten them). In real life I'd be suspicious and think that he was lying about calling me, but this was a dream more concerned with mood and feeling than action and the whole situation was wrought with earnestness. You know, how you might wake up and not even remember what you were just dreaming, but be completely scared or happy or whatever. This was all about warmth and niceness. Lord knows why. The peace and calm rapidly dissipated after I got out of bed. On a completely unrelated note--I think I'm turning into one of those Mexican wolf-children you see on "Maury Povich" and "Guinness World Records." Since I've moved here my face has been getting hairier and hairier (and you wonder why I have no photos of myself up here). I got scared a couple weeks ago when I noticed hair on my cheeks by my ears. It's on my chin, and goes from my eyebrows to my hairline. If I look this hellish at 26, I seriously fear middle age. I remember my sister saying something years ago about getting hair on her face after she stopped taking birth control pills. I did stop them this fall ('cause I'm really gung ho on getting knocked-up, you know?), but this is ridiculous. If I'm to ever find love it's going to have to involve a man who is extremely far-sighted (or is it near sighted when they can't see up close?).
2/9/99
Somebody please give me a mood stabilizing drug. All it takes is the wrong glance or the wrong sentence, or the lack of either and I'm completely set off. I feel irked and hopeless at the moment (1:35 AM) . 9
AM this morning, I'm tired, I'm transfering subways, I hear, "Hey, Pretty Eyes." It's that freak who normally catches me in the wee hours. Now he's crossed over into my day-to-day life. I don't like it. Why do the men I hate love me? Why do the ones I love and who know I love them, hate me? Why?
2/7/99
I know it seems like all I talk about is crushes and subways. Other things do occur in my life, like today I did laundry, listened to music, did the dishes, swept, laid in bed and talked on the phone, and made an omelette that looked more like scrambled eggs. It was all very exciting. See? Now you must understand why I resort to subway incidents for entertainment. Last Saturday I was going home on the M and there were these fucked up guys, one of whom kept pacing back and forth through the car. I hate that and assumed he was up to no good. As he passed by me he said, "You've got pretty eyes" and I just did a tiny smirk/grimace. Then he went back and sat with his friend and discussed getting pot and told him what beautiful eyes I have (I don't, and on this particular evening they were bloodshot and covered in smeared mascara). Well, last night I'm riding the M and I'm the only one on the car and this guy walks by me a little too close and says, "Hey, it's pretty eyes" and it's that same nut from last Saturday! I told you they always find me. He gave me this metal butterfly with glittery pink wings so I said, "Thank you." I kept waiting for him to harrass me further, but he sat at the other end of the car and minded his business. We both got off at the same time and he said, "Keep the butterfly." I did keep it. Maybe it'll bring me good luck. I shouldn't put much stock in the talismans of subway freaks, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
2/6/99
I don't know where these people find me, but they do. First, I spent a good portion of my evening feeling all pissy for pointless reasons. It was one of those things where you have enough to drink where either things could get very ugly or very funny. The urge to hit and break things was very strong. Then I became obsessed with the idea that I needed to cry, but I couldn't. Jessica's never seen me cry and I'll try to do it for her benefit, but it never works out. (But earlier that evening I burst into tears while watching "Sabrina the Teenage Witch" alone, so there's just no rhyme or reason as to what will set me off.) I kept staring at this plastic Johnnie Walker sign and tried to conjure up tears, but it wouldn't work. I always ended up laughing instead. I asked the bartender for onions to help me along and he claimed they didn't have any. I decided that if I couldn't be an appropriately maudlin drunk that I should have a rip-roaring good time instead. After that decision, everything became hysterical to me and I couldn't stop busting up. Now, you wouldn't think that being good natured could get you in trouble, but it can. Freaks are attracted to happy-go-lucky people. They feed off of your positive energy. Jessica and I were sitting on a bench waiting for a subway when I saw trouble approaching in the form of a stumbling, muttering hippyish guy with a stocking cap. He sat one seat away from us. I was in a fit of hysterics and he mumbled under his breath, "What are you girls into?" I don't know where it came from, but I screamed, "BABIES!!" He slowly answered, "I'll get you pregnant." Oh yes, that was creepy, alright, but it made me howl. What transpired after that is near impossible to recreate in print. A ton of crazy dialogue followed and the whole time I kept thinking, "This is like some fucked up movie. How would this be written if it were a screenplay?" Afterward, Jessica said, "The whole time I kept thinking that if it were a movie, it would be the hardest scene to cut (she's a video editor)." We were sort of talking amongst ourselves and giggling and this guy kept quietly saying random things like, "do you like pirate radio?" "I know you're laughing at me" and "I'm a failure." I was like, "No, we're laughing with you." Then I asked him if he could cry because I'd been trying all night with no luck, and he was all, "I'm suicidal" and started sobbing, which just made me laugh even more than I already was. He started going on about how he was failure and how he just wanted to make movies and he'd just been kicked out of a bar and he'd had a screening and only three people showed up and would the two of us have sex with him. I don't know if it's too much "Jerry Springer" or "Xena" putting ideas in guys' heads, but this was the third proposition of that nature that we'd gotten in about just as many weeks. Do guys really think that girls have threesomes at the drop of a hat? And even if we did, why would they assume that we'd want to go home with them?! Of course this just made me laugh more and at about this point, this black woman comes over and asks me how to get to the 4. She was clearly not right in the head and during my normal day to day schedule I would've steered clear of her, but I wasn't in a guarded state of mind. She started talking to me and at the same time Jessica was talking to the freak and telling him not to kill himself. All of a sudden she got nasty and started yelling, "you in the blue coat, move over!" This was directed at Jessica. There was an empty space between her and the freak, but the woman wanted to sit next to me and was being really scary about it. Jessica started to move and normally I would just let it slide, but I was all, "No, don't move. You (the woman) can sit in the empty seat" and she did. Now we were all four in a row, me, Jessica, the woman, and the freak. Jessica was still engaged with the freak and the woman kept hitting me (lightly) and saying how tomorrow was her birthday. I asked her how old she was and told her how she looked good for 38. She kept shrieking, "I know! I know!" Then she snapped a bit and decided to pick on the freak.
scary woman: "Why don't you leave those girls alone?!"
freak: "mumble, mumble."
woman: "Why don't you leave them alone?!!"
Jessica: "He's not bothering us." (afraid that he was going to kill himself)
Me: "chuckle, guffaw, hoot." (entertained by his torment)
woman: "You need to get some scope! You need some scope, muthafucka!" (I thought this was some crazy slang, as in you need to get some perspective, but then I realized she meant the mouthwash.) "How dare you talk to them."
freak: "How dare you." (quietly)
woman: "How dare you!!"
freak: "What kind of music do you like?"
2/4/99
Sometimes you look back on old things you've done like art, writing, music. I don' t know, whatever mildly creative thing you may do. I'm always horrified and embarassed by how stupid I was. But I've been thinking about the nature of sissies lately and looked back on some stuff I'd written about them (all the way back in good ol' 1995) and was surprised at how gosh darn true it stll rings. No, no, I'm not patting myself on the back or calling myself a genius, but when it comes to those boys I really do know my stuff. That doesn't make me any better of a person. In fact it's downright sad that over three years later I still repeating the same patterns. For a while, I was sort of afraid that I had outgrown my scaredy-catness . It really worried me that I was dealing with guys on a semi-normal level and getting all sorts of confidence. Having an actual boyfriend (who was very un-sissy) for the past couple years really threw me off track. Now, that I don't have that relationship security to contend with or the safety net of my former sweetheart, Henry Thomas, to keep me occupied, I've reverted back to my former glory. And just in time for spring fever to strike--I've always gotten a little out of hand when the weather has turned warm. For no good reason at all, I suddenly feel proud to be a stalker.
2/3/99
I think I need to move to a foreign country. Not because it's so horrible here, in fact today was one of the nicest days I've had in ages, and for no reason other than that it was balmy (in the 50's) and still light when I got off work (maybe I really do have S(easonal) A(ffective) D(isorder). It's because the only guys who seem to like me are ESL's (English as a second language, duh), as I like to affectionately call them. First it was my corner store guy telling me how I was so smiley and sweet. Then it got sort of creepy and I'd have to practically run when I went past the store or he'd come out and chase me down to talk to me. I started buying my cigarettes at this other convenience store down the street and the guy working there never said anything, but I always got a weird hit off of him. So, I started going to that store more and more and then he started trying to make small talk in this strange awkward way and give me scary smiles and now I don't like to go that store either. I was forced to go back to my original store and "my guy" was all hurt and asking, "Miss Camel Light, why don't you like me anymore? I won't talk to you if that's the way you're going to be." It made me feel all guilty. Then I don't know what was going on this evening, but in a half block radius I got whistled at twice and got called, "gorgeous" by a third gentleman (it might've been because I was wearing that horrible Dockers for women office lady skirt that's too short and rides up in the back). I'm not saying that I particularly like such comments, but born and bred Americans won't even give me the time of day. And I also seem to have pretty good luck with the British guys so maybe it's not even about being ESL. It's just about American boys sucking.