7/31/99
I guess it's technically Aug. now (12:34 am) but I haven't gone to bed yet so it's still sat. in my mind (and I don't feel like making a new page at the moment). I'm distressed because I spoke with my sister this morning and was telling her things our dad had said to me on the phone the other night and one was that he asked me if I had a boyfriend. Now, neither of our parents have ever really been into asking personal questions. I don't know if it's because they're not interested or if they're afraid to hear the answers or what. But it's always been that way. I mean, I went out with this guy for a year and a half before I moved, but never felt the need to let my dad in on it (he would've frowned upon it anyway considering that he referred to the new wife of my half-brother as "older" and when pressed as to what he meant by this, he said, "forties" and the brother is late 30's and my boyfriend was late 40's). But I said, "no" and he said, "well, you date people, right?" and I was like, "yeah" even though I don't ever really date anyone, it's usually boyfriends or flings and nothing in between, but I wasn't going to get into that and said, "I'm not getting married anytime soon if that's what you're getting at" and that was the end of subject. It didn't hit me til my sister said, "he thinks you're gay" that maybe he really does think that. We used to always joke how at a family gathering we'd both announce we were gay (and in some versions we'd say we were each other's lovers). I don't know if that's what he honestly thinks, but it is sort of amusing to think your father's convinced you're a dyke. He's so misguided. Once my sister said, "I don't think I'll ever get married" (she did) and he said all concerned "Oh honey, you'll find somebody" as if the idea of not wanting to ever be married was unbelievable to him. Growing up, my mom always pounded into both me and my sister's heads, "Don't ever get married. Live with whoever you want. But don't get married." I don't know how those two ever got together and lasted as long as they did (by the way I talk, people ususally assume I was raised soley by my mother, but both parents were present til I graduated high school. Somehow my father's [lack of] rearing failed to rub off on either my sister or myself). Anyway, my current plan is to become an old maid. Partly out of novelty and semi out of spite. I live alone, I work in a library, I've yet to get a new cat since I've moved here, but that can easily be arranged.
7/30/99
I've been trying to figure out at what moment you become obsessed. If you can put
your finger on the specific point in time where you cross the line from like to
the point of no return. There's just no rhyme or reason to it. At least for me,
there's no controlling when or how an obsession will strike. Like last month
I was trying to force myself to get fixated on someone other than the person
I was currently obsessed with. I tried so hard to make myself get all nervous
and freaked out and curious about the minutest deatils of this other guy's life.
I was praying in my head that he'd start permeating my existence because
sad as it may seem, the only way to rid yourself of an obsession is to replace
it with another one. Some down time would be healthy, but that's just not
how it works. But anyway, I just couldn't get this new potential target to
work for me. Now, I don't know what happened, but it's been a month and I'm out of control crazy
about him. Irrationally so. This is what I wanted, but I can't understand
when and how it hit. I think the formula is: interest+distance=infatuation.
Fun yet safe. There's something very appealing about the vaguely unattainable frought with potential.
It bothers me that I can't control these things, turn them off like a switch. Once all
the elements are there...there's no turning back for me. And if there's a sense that
the fixation is a two-way street (so rare in the world of scaredy-cat stalking)
God have mercy on the poor soul who initially gave me the time of day.
7/28/99
I swear I'm a diabetic coma waiting to happen. I'm not even joking. I'm a notorious hypochondriac, but it's not completely without cause. My dad called the other night. I never speak to him and probably haven't in a year or so. I wouldn't say we're estranged, whatever that means exactly, but we never have much to say and he's an odd guy. Sort of like a Mexican Hank Hill who's secretly sentimental (I say that because I can remember watching "Little House on the Prairie" when I was young and catching him with tears welling up in his eyes. Even at the time, it freaked me out a little. His wife looks and acts almost exactly like Peggy Hill, except a little less attractive, if you can imagine. I know it's not nice, but me and my sister have always said she looks like a walking fetus with a perm). Odd, in how he doesn't keep in touch with anyone. Like growing up I knew he had a son somewhere (who I've heard is sort of "slow." I saw a recent photo of him in his late 30's and he has a beard, wears fadoras and trench coats, raises rats and snakes, and lives above some bar that he also works at. About 5 years ago my dad called him on Chistmas Eve and said I had to talk to him and I spazzed out and locked myself in the bathroom like a 2 yr. old. I eventually took the mature route and spoke with him about a sculpture class he was taking since I was in art school and he seemed perfectly fine, but it was kind of scary), but I don't think they even talked until fairly recently. This wasn't some bastard child, he was married to his mother before my mom, but he just didn't contact him for like 20 years. Now he's sort of like that with my and my sister that he's remarried...with children. My dad in a nutshell: while watching "Married With Children" he said all earnestly, "How do they afford such a nice house on a shoe salesman's salary?!" If he thinks the Bundy's have an affluent lifestyle then you can only imagine our childhood home. But anyway, I brought him up because every time I freakin' talk to him another family member on his side has died. It's really insane. LIke I have no hopes of living past 50 with the Garcia track record. Everyone is diabetic, has high blood pressure, and has had at least one heart attack by like 30 (o.k. that's an exaggeration). Out of 9 of his siblings, 4 are dead already. My dad's hardcore diabetic (so was my grandpa on my mom's side so it's a double whammy) and had his first heart attack in '97. It kind of freaks me out, he looks way too old, like twice as old as my mom (who's got a husband in his early 30's, "The Step-dude" as I like to call him, but that's a whole other sick story). When I was a teen it was his brother MIke who died of diabetes (there were vague rumors that he was smoking crack as well and who knows, but they did have rats in their house and visiting this family was always disturbing and all the cousins had 3 kids before they were 20 or so). Then two years ago it was his sister Belia who'd had a million heart attacks and was bedridden and her feet were rotting off and they needed to be amputated, but she wouldn't go to the dr. and she died the next week. These were people in their early 50's, I think, maybe late 40's. The new one is his youngest brother Bobby (44) who recently died of cancer. It's just not good. Not too long ago my dad was all, "your cousin Stephanie went into a coma and died the next day." What the hell?! She was only 15. 15 yr. olds don't just up and go into comas. Another cousin had some tractor fall over and crush his leg and now he's all maimed or something. I don't know if it's bad luck, genetics, lack of money and proper medical attention or what. I've always said that I'm going to drink, smoke, and eat sugar as much as I can now before my lungs, kidneys, and liver give out. Not that I want them to give out. But then, my mom and sister are two of the sturdiest, unsickly people I know (though they never go to the doctor so they could be riddled with all sorts of undiagnosed ailments) so I could have a chance after all.
7/26/99
"The secret to being invisible is noticing the other person first." I don't like quoting well-known people, especially whatever type "icons" like William Burroughs, but I think this quote is really accurate for me. I always pretend to not see people so I don't have to talk with them. These can be people I like, but might not know super well, or even people I do know well. I can't help it. But it feels good to spot them long before they see you and act all nonchalant and maybe making them say hi first. The scary thing is, who's to say that I'm seeing them first. Maybe they're doing the same thing to me. This has been invisibility week. The other night I was thinking about that age-old question about the better superhuman power--being able to fly or being invisible (it's an age-old question to me at least). Then Jessica called me up and said she'd been pondering the same exact thing. We both agreed on invisibility. I think we were both unwittingly pondering the same question since we're both hung-up on stupid guys and wouldn't it be great to snoop? Actually, I think the best superpower, or invention really, would be some sort of thing you could hook up to your brain that would record all your thoughts so you could print them out later. I mean you could be writing novels while doing your crappy job or whatever. It'd be brilliant. But last night on the subway we were all drunk and giddy and I saw this guy out of the corner of my eye and couldn't believe what his shirt said, "Have you ever wondered how it feels to be invisible?" Why yes, I have. I think it was intended as some statement on being a black man in America, but it worked for me. It's always about me, isn't it? O.k. I just decided that I needed to go outside since I've been lying on my bed (I have to differentiate between laying on the bed and in it. Laying in bed sounds lazy and defeated, laying on it is just relaxing and leisurely)
reading (Sherwood Anderson's "Winesburg, Ohio." It's a peculiar book full of vignettes of people's lives in this small town circa 1919. I originally picked it up because it'd been described in this old short story collection using phrases like "buried lives" "muffled desire," and "torment behind drawn blinds." I knew it had to be good.), smoking, and waiting for an unreturned phone call for 3 hours. I was supposed to using this early day off to clean the house, pay bills, and write letters, but I'm just not in the mood. My garbage and recycling is piling up--last week I was scared to throw it out because I was afraid that dead cat would be down there and then last night I came home and there was this HUGE cockroach (but not the hugest I've ever seen--that would've been the one INSIDE my apt. last 4th of July that was the size of a box turtle. I swear it was prehistoric and the memory has been haunting me ever since) outside the main door trying to get in like a family pet and now I'm afraid it's down in the garbage area milling around so I still don't want to go down there. But I felt like I should eat something and I had all the million ingredients for this salad I wanted to make except for basil so I just went to the store and of course they didn't have any and it pissed me off. Then I realized that my shirt was unbuttoned and my skirt was on backwards and this worried me a little. I went to the 99 cent store to get a cheese grater (to make nachos instead) and there were these cool zodiac air fresheners and I thought I pick up a couple for friends (am I generous or what?) and they had every single sign except Virgo and Aquarius (the two I wanted). Bastards.
7/25/99
Well, I had a birthday party last night. My theme was um, urine. The idea was that everyone was supposed to wear Depends adult diapers and soil themselves throughout the evening. (This idea stems from an escapade with my friend Kristin back in '94. We thought it would be incredibly fun to wear Depends and go have dinner at The Yankee Pot Roast. This is a desolate, colonial-themed, family restaurant off of a highway on the outskirts of Portland. We ordered a huge pot roast dinner with all the trimmings and drank water and coffee galore in preparation for the big moment. Well, pissing yourself in public proved harder than we'd anticipated. No matter what we did it just wasn't working. After ordering our millionth cup of coffee of the evening, our perky, bonnet-clad waitress remarked, "You two have been drinking so much coffee, it's a wonder you haven't had to go to the bathroom yet!" That was rich. Eventually we coaxed our urinary tracts into action and all was good. Oddly, later that night on our way to rent "Charlie and The Chocolate Factory" Kristin dropped a bombshell and told me she'd had a big crush on me for the past 6 months. I had no idea, as she'd been the go-between with me and my stalkee at the time. I would've never been able to do the same if I were in her shoes. I'll never know how much the peeing together prompted this confession. Urinating in unison can do strange things to friendships.) The only participants ended up being me and two friends, but it was alright. Everyone else was happy enough enjoying the experience vicariously It was a combo party with a friend, Daryl. His theme was appropriately enough, poop. Jane made two cakes one shaped and decorated like a Depends box and one like a giant turd filled with candy corn, it was pretty grotesque, but tasty. Of course I received some foul themed presents like an enema, ex-lax, and a creepy plastic guy from Spencers gifts (I didn't even know those stores still existed, but I guess anything's possible in New Jersey) called, "Bub L. Breezer" with his pants down that blows bubbles out of his ass. Classy. I also got a furry leopard print bag, lots of make-up, Built to Spill's "Keep It Like a Secret," and a demented book, "The Guide To Getting It On" with chapters titled things like, "The Zen of Finger Fucking" and "Rectal Aerobics." It's not a bad book, it's the illustrations that make it creepy. My favorite has to be a couple humping with the woman on top...HOLDING A BABY. I'm just not sure how I feel about that. Well, I was treated to an appearance from the former crush. I didn't invite him. It was done without my knowledge ("Krista, don't get mad, but I invited James."), but I would've been offended if he didn't show. 44 days since I'd last seen him during our "this needs to stop" talk. I was the picture of good behavior. I honestly have no animosity towards him (and I hold grudges for years normally), whether anyone believes that or not. The worst thing I said was that if I saw his car I'd trash it (I mean he was talking about how it had a Johns Hopkins sticker, a Columbia sticker, and a Fugazi one--come on! That's just asking to be tormented). I didn't feel crushy, my heart didn't hurt, and I didn't have an overwhelming desire to molest him. It's miraculous, this transformation. I decided that peeing in front of him would purge the obsession from my system. Maybe it worked. A cleansing process. Being 27 is going to be about rationality, I think. I asked him what he thought 27 was about and he said career and school. I wanted to hear love and happiness, but I am starting school in the spring (he didn't know that) so maybe that's o.k. I've always been much more concerned with love than careers though. Somehow we started talking about malt liquor and I got him to go to the bar and ask for a Zima (I've never had one--it just seemed like a perfect, gross accompaniment to the festivities). That cracked me up (they didn't have it of course). Later he excused himself and came back with a paper bag with two Zimas. I don't know...that redeemed him a bit in my eyes. Anyone who'd run to the store just to humor my malt liquor whim, is a good egg. I was going to say something disturbing about my feelings on the nature of this former crush, but forget it.
7/24/99
Four hours of work and twelve hours of hanging out is not a bad way to spend a friday. Yesterday I got off at 1, went to a barbecue with coworkers and and ate a bunch of crap and drank a lot of beer, then went to Prospect Park around 9 to see Luna play a free show, then ended up back in Williamsburg for some art space party thing. I'd never seen cockroaches til I moved here, but then I'd never seen fireflies either and they're nice so I guess you've got to take the good with the bad.
7/22/99
I've been waking up with a start at 6:15 am for the past couple mornings.
My alarm doesn't go off til 7:15 so I can't figure it out. I'd written a bunch of crap to put here, but it's on my computer at home and presently I'm at work and it was just
ramble anyway. About how it's nice to be reading again (I don't know, being in a library all day will do that to you) and what a good short story collection, "Because They Wanted To" by Mary Gaitskill is.
I originally picked it up because not so long ago when I asked a bad egg of a boy why he'd kissed me
and other various things if he wasn't interested, his reply was, "because I wanted to." What kind of dumbass, childish response is that?! But anyway, books are good and I think I'm a closet art fag and have been reading thin, glossy, expensive magazines like "Blind Spot Photography" ($14 for the damn thing). I like acting like I don't give a toss about art, but I got sucked into an interview with Richard Prince (I don't know how familiar you are with him, but he's sort of quintessential 80's n.y. and did things with images of Marlboro cowboys and cocktail napkin humor. More recently, he's been doing these straightforward, non-jokey, photos of lone/abandoned basketball hoops. They're nice. Oh, this is amusing to me-I was just looking on the internet for images of his and came up with this Duran Duran site advertising John Taylor's album, "AutoDidact"-I guess he's got a song called, "Ode to Richard Prince") But anyway, it was interesting to me because I guess he now lives in upstate n.y. and was talking about how slow and quiet it is and how he goes to bed early and watches prime time TV and and I've been the biggest hermit lately so this seemed comforting to me, but then this is a man approaching 50, who did the gross Manhattan thing for years and I'm in my 20's and already ready for retirement. It doesn't seem quite right. But what if you bypassed all the angsty, finding yourself crap that youngsters get wrapped up in and hit your "golden years" 30 years early? Maybe by the time you were in your 50's, the most incredible things would be happening. Or not.
7/20/99
The things you can learn in women's magazines is nothing short of enlightening. Today in "Ladies' Home Journal" I learned how to get a bird out of the house if it flys (or is that flies? I'm spacey at the moment) in your window, the safe and correct way to cut a bagel, and all about the new trend towards "heavy" actresses. You know, fatties like Drew Barrymore, Christina Ricci, Kate Winslet, and Cybill Shepherd and that blonde from "Third Rock From the Sun." Jennifer Lopez says, "I'm happy being a size 8." And shouldn't that make us all happy? My own enlightening summer observation: No one seems to wear bras in N.Y. It's a fact.
7/18/99
Wow. I woke up at 8:30 this morning. It's amazing what going to bed at a reasonable hour can do to a person. I managed to clean the house, do dishes, go grocery shopping, eat a bagel and drink coffee all before 11:00. If this becomes a habit, I'm going to have to find some creative things to amuse me--idle hands are the devil's playground. When I came back from the store I noticed a dead black cat about a foot from my front steps. This really bothered me. I don't think I've seen a dead animal (other than that one mouse being devoured by a pack of rats on the subway tracks some time ago) here yet. The only pets you really see are dogs on leashes, never cats out and about. It bothered me because it made me remember that last night I heard awful howling and screeching and assumed it was cats fighting. I hope that this cat was hit by a car and not mauled. Not that I wanted it to be hit by a car. Seeing the cat also triggered vague dreams from last night, but I can't recall any specific cat ones though I know there must've been one from the feeling I got. I can just remember bits and pieces of pointless dreams like telling someone that of all the talk shows, Sally Jessy has the worst makeovers (it's true), and that I was on the A train trying to go to The Rockaways (I checked my map this morning and was surprised to see that the A train actually does go to The Rockaways--I didn't know that I even knew that), and how I was in an apt. with my mom and there were a ton of different things cooking on stoves (mostly things involving chicken and rice) and I had to keep stirring them, and I was outside to buy a VCR and I was looking at one sitting on a cardboard box trying to decide if it was one I wanted. Not very exciting dreams. I emailed and left a message for two different people to call me long distance because I was feeling chatty and sundays are cheaper and neither called me back and that irked me a bit. But it was o.k. I tried to teach myself how to do tables and image maps for webpages and realized I'm retarded. I can not grasp that stuff, which is really frustrating. It's like when I was in high school and always got straight A's in everything (even PE, for christ's sake) except math where I always got a C+. But it didn't stop me from taking 5 years of high school math and getting college credit for calculus (which ended up being a pointless waste since I went to art school and they didn't even require math). So, I'm going to figure out that damn HTML if it kills me. I mean 10 yr. olds have flashy webpages--what gives? Then I made a BLT with a bunch of fresh basil, which was damn tasty. Later I broiled a bunch of eggplant and made pizza using more basil (I'm on a big basil kick at the moment) and a bunch of plum tomatoes. Frying bacon and broiling eggplant seems pretty stupid when it's so hot out, but I figure if you're already sweaty and heat stroked as can be then you might as well go with it. I took the TV out of my bedroom and put it back in the living room so I won't be so lazy and tempted to watch it (there's a bed in the room, but no furniture in the living room), yet that didn't stop me from watching that silly Michael Keaton, Long Duck Dong comedy about American auto workers vs. those workaholic Japanese, "Gung Ho." I'd totally forgotten about that movie for the obvious reasons. I also went wild at the 99 cent store and bought these demented "Fun-Time Stickers" which are all holographic and have pictures of aspirin, a bottle of cough syrup being poured onto a spoon, a water bottle, a plant with a Get Well card stuck in its foliage, a guy with a thermometer in his mouth, and one of those bags filled with ice you're supposed to put on your head that you only see in cartoons. I also got this tote bag with a silkscreened flamingo wearing a top hat and writing that says, "Smile With Style" and has the address of some orthodontist in McComb, MS named Dween S. Muse. Hmm, and these candies made by Necco that are like those conversation hearts, but are mini floppy disks with crazy messages on them like, "email me" and "cyber punk." I couldn't resist, but where the hell do they find this stuff? Last month I found these "PrestoMagix" Dyno-Mutt rub off sticker activity books from 1978, a "Free to Be You and Me" book, and a Ghostbusters cartoon sticker album (but it was the "fake" Ghostbusters version, the one with a gorilla in a fedora who helped the guys out. Do you remember how they had two different Ghostbusters cartoons out at once? The other one based more strictly on the movie was "The REAL Ghostbusters"). Oh, and I bought more make-up (Revlon's "body gleamer" with a bunch of nice pastel glitter in it). Please get me a hobby quick (or make people return my phone calls).
7/17/99
Ooh, I feel like crap. Crap. I need to shape up. Portrait of an unhealthy, unproductive Friday: Get up at 7:15, eat a piece of pumpernickel toast with salmon cream cheese, drink 2 cups of iced coffee, smoke 2 cigarettes, work from 9-12 (i.e. goof off on the internet), get sent home due to the heat, eat a tuna sandwich and smoke more. 2 PM: Buy a pack of cigarettes and meet co-workers for drinks at Teddy's in Williamsburg, order a Woodpecker Cider and the bartender assumes I'm a cider connoisseur (I rarely drink cider) so he gives me an additional glass of a new brand they're trying out (Original Sin) to get my opinion. I pick off of other's nachos, drink 2 margaritas ($2 happy hour special), then get another margarita since it's on the house. 6 PM: Get a rodeo burger and medium fries at Burger King, go to bed. 9 PM: Decide to get ready to out, smoke more, drink 2 vodka and orange juices (I guess that's a Screwdriver?). 11 PM: Meet friends at Sophie's, drink a whiskey sour, get harassed by a disgusting, doughy man from Bensonhurst who spits when he talks and won't stop pressing his leg against mine and who won't get the hint no matter how much I ignore him. 12 AM: Bar on A, 2 whiskey sours, subjected to lots of melodrama due to a friend's obsession showing up with an ugly, manly date. 2 AM: Buy another pack of cigarettes and a 99 cent bag of Cracker Jacks, go to Boxcar Lounge and order a Japan Cocktail (sake and plum wine), feel very sick and decide to go home. 3:11AM: Sit for an eternity on a subway platform eating my Cracker Jacks (the stupid prize was a comical basketball sticker with a joke on the back, Q. What do basketball players and babies have in common? A. They both dribble). 4 AM: Go to bed. Today11:30 AM: Get woken up by a phone call telling me about that JFK Jr. being lost at sea (that'll teach me to answer my phone). That was really a waste of 24 hours. It's now 4:23 PM, what have I done? Not much. I managed to take a shower and decided I needed some aspirin, but I had no cash on me (obviously I blew it all yesterday), went to the ATM and was excited to see I had over $1,000 in my account (that's the first time this year), went to Rite Aid and got a little nuts with the make-up (they had that Galactic Green eye shadow I was ranting about the other day. But I didn't stop there--I also bought "Punched-up Pink" [pearly, intense reddish-pink] and "Grey Matters" [a shiny light grey/dark grey duo]--I really need to resolve this mania with cosmetics), but who cares--it pepped me up a bit. I got home and found 2 packages from England. Mail is always good. One was a bunch of photos from my sister's visit here. Of course they were jam-packed with my ex-crush (who've I've not seen or spoken to in exactly 37 days--yes, I keep track of these things) and it didn't even bother me. The other package was a tape from my English email friend and it's funny because a few months ago I was talking with my friend Jessica about how we never get nice gifts from guys, boyfriends, whatever. We were lamenting that the kind of guys we like are the mix tape type. But you know, I'm perfectly content receiving my cassette, which must say something. (Side A: Looper "Up a Tree." Side B: A bunch of good late 80's/early 90's indie crap like The Vaselines, Huggy Bear, My Bloody Valentine, and Felt.) Eek. I really like this guy. I don't know if I've ever admitted that yet, it makes me a little nervous, and he's been talking about how much he wants to move here and I don't know if it's because he's enamored with N.Y. or...um, something else. So, I've spent my afternoon lying in bed, listening to music, drinking lots of water, eating carrots and debating whether or not I should go out again tonight or have a quiet night in.
10:45: Well, I'm sticking around the apt. tonight. It's fine, but it must be the worst night for TV. If I have to see more news story on JFK Jr. or watch one more sobbing New Yorker those leaving flowers on the steps of his Tribeca loft, I'm going to vomit. Why won't they just say that he's DEAD?!! There must be some real news that is getting neglected because of him. Just for the record, I love mix tapes (don't want to offend anyone who's ever made me one). I only meant how lame it is for someone you're in a relationship with to think they can give you one in lieu of a "real" present for like your birthday or Valentine's Day, etc. Jeez, I need to get out of the house if this is the sort of thing that's consuming my thoughts.
7/16/99
HOT: Weird Al's new look. Yeah, I know he's parodying Ewan McGregor, but still, I like it. I've always been sort a closet Weird Al fan, but I'm ashamed no longer.
HOT: Ooh, I've always though Paul Reubens was something else. Pee Wee Herman was damn sexy. Now I'm pleased to see him as that flatulent Mystery Man, "The Spleen."
NOT: Well, Lance Kerwin is looking fine enough in this old photo, but he's gone all bad on me. Lance starred in such 70's staples as "The Boy Who Drank Too Much" (Scott Baio was the drunk, though), "The Loneliest Runner" (as a young bedwetting Michael Landon), and "The Amazing Cosmic Awareness of Duffy Moon" (with my personal 70's fave, Ike Eisenmann). Last week I turned on the TV at 4 am and there he was being profiled on "Extra." It seems that he's had some serious drug problems over the years and recently found God and started a rehab center in Hawaii. There he was, bald with a goatee, in shorts and a Hawaiian print shirt, talking in the freakiest gravelly/whiny stoner voice ever. Sad. So sad.
7/14/99
ELF SEEKS PRINCESS
Once upon a time a princess had an elf & the elf was a minion & her dearest friend. He wiped her tears & cleaned her castle. The end.
