3/31/99
I think I'm dying. I've been sick for the past eight days with who knows what. Pneumonia? Pleurisy? Lung Cancer? All I know is that I can't breathe and I can't stop coughing and it's really starting to suck. If there's never another entry after this one, then you'll know I've kicked the bucket. I hope not, though, because I was getting excited about starting a new month.
3/28/99
I have been smartly avoiding any stalker talk lately. Trying to purge my obsession out of my system, you know? I thought it had worked. But it was clearly just a version of the ol' out of sight out of mind. After I poured my heart out to the object of my desire in feb. he spazzed out and ignored me and our mutual friends for almost a month. I decided he was an immature prick and that this should serve as a lesson and that I wouldn't do this type of thing anymore (how many times have I told myself that?) and that we were an ill-suited match from day one and that I always knew that deep down, but I just couldn't help myself. Fine. I was and still am bitter. I don't like people who sweep unpleasantness under the rug. Even if it's the harsher route, I'd much rather have someone tell me flat out that they're not interested in me than to have them act like nothing ever happened. To a stalker that's not saying no. Things need to be spelled out explicitly for obsessors. We thrive on that 1% chance that things will turn in our favor. The only cure is finding a new target (and believe me I've been looking). So yes, I thought I was over this chapter in my life. At least I was saying as much. But Friday I relapsed and made a fool of myself as only a scaredy-cat stalker can. I ended up going to all these parties (some stupid Blur party and one for "The Mod Squad") with friends and next thing you know I'm at a bar and practically molesting my supposedly former stalkee. I don't know what came over me. It was horrible. I was drunk, my head literally on the bar, and my hands kept reaching out and playing with this poor guy's hair and yanking on his shirt. At one point I pushed him up against the wall. It was sort of funny because he wasn't really reacting (I feed on disinterest). I mean he should've been saying, "get away from me" or "knock it off" but his remedy was to hand me an almond and say, "it's brain food." That kind of cracks me up now that I think about it. I even smacked him full on the face and he just kind of humored me and said, "Are you trying to break my nose?" The pinnacle of humiliation came when the bartender (who has some weird thing for me) said to him, "This is a pretty girl. Can't you see she likes you?" and started going on about how he was trying to pick me up a couple weeks ago and I said, "no, I love somebody else" (I did say that, though I've been adamantly denying it ever since) and how my stalkee should just take me home, but he's probably scared that I'd tear him to shreds. My God! Why do these things happen to me? That was so wrong. He had to have been unconfortable. Lord knows I was. And I think he trying to be nice and normalize things because he walked me to the subway like in the pre-confession days and did the hug/cheek kiss thing. Maybe that's supposed to appease me? I want this obsession out of my system. It's getting scary and unpredictable. I thought it was over and under control and yet my mania still managed to seep out. It's always so weird with these fixations because I don't really know what I want or what I'm trying to acheive. I don't want to be like this guy's girlfriend. That would never work. I don't even necessarily want to sleep with him. That seems almost absurd. I think I would be completely satisfied if I could simply get him to kiss me. I know that sounds demented. Wasting months (almost 4 and half now) trying to get someone to make out with you?! Maybe I'm lying to myself. It's even more psycho because I know that he told his best friend, "she knows I'm not attracted to her." Would that not put a stop to the average person's pursuit? To me, that just added fuel to the fire because I don't know. I want him to tell me so. That's really what it comes down to--a battle of wills. This is the ugly post-stalking phase in all its glory. Everyone is all happy that me and this guy are speaking and being pleasant to each other again and that now everything is fine and dandy and we can all go out and do things together just like before. But it's not like that. The sheer fact that I just spent who knows how many minutes writing this (when I was supposed to be writing this test thing for a job that I really really want and now it's almost 1 am and I have to go to bed) proves that it's not a done deal in my mind. I'm still a bit crazed, I'm afraid.
3/24/99
Do you know what's annoying and shouldn't be? Everywhere you go, the cashier holds your bill up to the light to make sure it's not fake. I don't know if this is a n.y. only thing, but I've never seen people so it with such dedication. I can understand it with $100 bills, but $20s seems a bit paranoid. And scrutinizing $5s is freakin' ridiculous. I was at this bar that charges exhorbitant prices for drinks and they still would eye $5 bills. I mean, they could afford to get stiffed on a five. Today at Barnes and Noble the cashier couldn't see whatever it is they look for (is it a metal strip? a watermark?) and got all freaked out and had to get his manager. I just don't like being in such a paranoid and suspicious atmosphere. I guess I could move to the country, but I shouldn't have to. I want to believe that people aren't all rotten. Maybe I was a retard, but in Portland I never even locked my apt. or my car and never gave it a second thought and it's not like crime never happened--I mean, I got held up and robbed by knifepoint in Portland and I've never felt unsafe here even once. It just irks me that no one trusts anyone. Maybe I'm a hippy at heart.
3/21/99
Well, it's spring now and I'm waiting for wonderful things to happen. I think they will. Yesterday I was mooning over this guy on the subway. A mousey boy. I keep picking out the same types over and over and they're so wrong for me. I'm always seeing these plain guys with jean jackets over hooded sweatshirts and they're always with girlfriends and the weird thing is that I resemble these girls. Like the same hair style, color, clothing choices, etc It's strange. So how do they get these guys? Why do I not get the cute mousey boys? It was pointed out to me last night that I'm "high-maintenance" and that I scare the shit out of little sweet indie boys and that's just so unfair. I mean, I agree. I'm way too loud and aggressive for the types I'm attracted to. But I don't want to hang out with noisy, loutish guys so I'm screwed. There has to be at least one meekish, tiny guy out in the world who enjoys the company of surly, mouthy girls. There just has to. Oh, but there's this sandy-haired mousey boy I've seen around a couple times (my friend says he looks like Gerard Depardieu which is just insane since Gerard is like a 300 pound oaf and completely not attractive). Last night I was complaining about the guy on the subway with the girlfriend who looked like me and then out of nowhere appeared the tiny version of Gerard Depardieu (who also has a girlfriend who looks like me), right on the sidewalk in front of us. I took this as a sign from God that things will go my way (not with him--just in general). He's my new good luck charm.
3/16/99
I've said it before and I'll say it again: I love ebay! Today I got one of my favorite asian cookbooks, The Terrific Pacific Cookbook (I never said I liked the name) in hardback for only $3.75 plus $2.50 book rate shipping. I'd been wanting it, but the paperback is like $19.95 and I'm a miser. It rarely takes more than ten bucks to put a smile on my face. It gets you to thinking about what the owners of these auctioned items are like. Like this cookbook owner was some guy in Nebraska who uses the name, "omahacowboy." All his other autions were for model train cars and Julia Childs books (like 20 of them) and he used "Howdy" in his e-mail to me. I like to imagine some good-natured fella who collects trains and enjoys whipping up a plate of pad thai every now and then. But maybe his wife just left him and he's getting rid of her cookbooks or maybe his son died and those were his model trains. That wouldn't be pleasant. Oh, and my mom sent me a box with tapes and clothes that I haven't seen in eons and my old Smiths shirt was in there and that just made me even happier. There's just so much evil that I could be dwelling on at the moment, but with Duran Duran cassettes now in my posession, how can I be angry?
3/11/99
I've been having all these extremely vivid dreams lately and you know how sometimes during the day you'll start remembering pieces? Well, today I started having this scene come to me and then I realized that it wasn't a part of a dream, but an incident that occurred on tues. night and that I'd completely blocked out and forgotten about. A lot of events led up to my being drunk in a subway station at 1 am, but that's not the point. I wasn't familiar with Hassidic Jews before I moved here and I still don't know a whole lot about them, but they definitely keep to themselves and I always get disdainful vibes from them. Not directed at me in particular, but in general. I know the men do their thing and the women do theirs and the couples I see act weird with each other. It's funny because last week I noticed on "Politically Incorrect" and that annoying late night show with Jay Leno that they were mentioning that new book Kosher Sex that's supposed to be some marriage manual on how to obey all the religious laws (there's a bunch of stuff about women being "unclean") and still have a hot sex life. But anyway, I was leaning against this post and this Hassidic Jewish guy kept looking at me and then he came over and asked in a heavy accent if I was Jewish and I said no and thought that would be that, but he wouldn't leave me alone and kept asking me questions. I can't really remember what he was saying. That's why it seems like a dream. When you just have a feeling and remember the general atmosphere and characters, but not concrete details. I was telling him that I wasn't from here and he wanted to know if I was married and how old I was and was surprised because he thought I was younger (what's up with that lately? I guess I shouldn't be offended. I'd rather be mistaken for 21 than like 35 [nothing against 35 yr. olds]). I can't put my finger on what was creepy about the exchange, but it made me really nervous. Like he shouldn't have been talking to me and he shouldn't have been there and maybe I was just drunk, but I kept waiting for him to do something lewd. Maybe it was because he was standing way too close or the look in his eyes. I'm not sure, but it wasn't me being paranoid. I know when someone's up to no good. I was thinking, "oh my god, he's totally going to try and get me to go somewhere with him and do something dirty and I don't want to." The subway finally came and I got on a different car and that was the end of that. Yesterday I woke up very, very sorry for staying out and drinking too much and didn't go to work, but then I went out again last night anyway. Now I'm just tired and a tiny bit disturbed by this guy.
3/8/99
I orginally said that New York is all about TH (Tommy Hilfiger) but I've changed my mind. It's now all about NF, The North Face. Are these jackets everywhere? I donÕt remember seeing them before I moved here. They're puffy, down-filled and have a white half arc, rainbow-like logo on the left. How do these trends start? How do people know that they're supposed to stop wearing Tommy and start wearing North Face? This is a pressing question.
3/7/99
Part of me feels like I shouldn't talk about other people here because privacy seems like a big deal to so many people about others doesn't seem like much of an offense. I read way too, but I would tell anybody anything about myself so mentioning innocent details much into coincidences, but I can't help it. I just had the weirdest freak out over nothing big. I've totally dropped out of the whole zine loop, like sending them out to people and stores, corresponding, etc., but I got a request for some back issues from Pistil Books in Seattle so I made a note of it on my computer. I hadn't even looked into my distributors/stores file for like a year. The store at the top of the list was Atomic Books in Baltimore and the the contact name, Sarah, caught my eye. It all clicked. One of the last conversations I had with my most most recent obsession (who hasn't talked to me in exactly 3 Sundays) was about ex's and he never used a name and it's a little odd because this was the last girlfriend he's had and I calculated this to be at least four years ago and he said that over Christmas she told him she still loved him and I was thinking, "Why are you telling me this?" He never talks much about personal things (and now he doesn't talk at all), but since then, his friend mentioned this ex as "Sarah" and then I remembered him saying how he'd gone to Atomic Books over the holidays and that his ex worked there and it all came together and I felt all sick and jittery for no reason. It's just weird to think that for like the past three years I've had some random girl's name on my computer and that now I'm all crazy (well, I'm rapidly losing interest) about an old boyfriend of hers.
3/5/99
I'm starting to scare myself a bit. Just yesterday I was cracking up thinking about how shifty I've become at work. I mean, this American Baby job is so not me and if I think about it too much I'll just start to cry and the only way I've been able to cope is to adopt a version of the if you can't beat them, join them mentality. I've drawn on reserves I never knew existed. It's difficult spending 40 hours a week with people you have nothing in common with. I'll never get these past three months of my life back. I sit like a mouse in my cubicle all day, I don't speak a word to anyone and when I do I'm uncharacteristically soft-spoken and polite, and I've started to dress fairly drab and wear low-key make up. I'm wasting away. A while ago I decided it would be fun to create a false persona. Not that anyone ever talks to me, but just in case. This persona revolved around my being engaged to a decent looking white-collar guy (he proposed to me over Christmas) having a pet dog and being in the process of buying a house in New Jersey. I was going to plaster my cubicle (which is dead bare) with dog and husband pictures, and maybe a Cathy calendar and a Far Side mug filled with pens and pencils, and possibly some Monet water lily prints. So, instead of being my usual anti-social, scowly self, whenever I talk to my boss I act all warm and genuine and compliment her on something like her new haircut or the "Bug's Life" magnets in her office. This false flattering and chit-chatting about The Gap and Banana Republic and St. Patrick's Day parades makes me feel deviant, more deviant than the foulest of sexual acts ever could. I used to play this sweet, polite role at temp jobs, but I never lasted more than a couple weeks so it was easy. This is starting to get taxing. I'm a horrible mealy-mouth and not being able to make fun of people behind their backs or look at kiddy porn on the internet with co-workers in the manner that I'm accustomed to, is starting to get to me. It's only a matter of time before I snap. Today I really started getting scared that maybe I don't know who I am anymore or that I'm playing my role too well. The new media dept. consists solely of me and my supervisor. They hired a new girl who's in marketing so my boss took the two of us out to lunch and it was the first time I'd been out socially with either of them and it just warped me. My boss, as it turns out is recently married and buying a house in...NEW JERSEY! I don't think she's more than a couple years older than me, but I think she thinks I'm younger (most people do--obviously due to my flagrant immaturity). She was asking what we were doing this weekend and I was like, "going out with friends" (yeah, and then humping a bunch of teenagers) and mentioned a couple bars I go to. She was going to meet the family of her mom's boyfriend. She assumed this guy's family would be "nice and normal, you know, like us." I don't know why that made me freeze. It's not that I think I'm all wild and radical and so cool 'cause I'm not, but I'm nothing like her either. The new girl was going out to dinner with her boyfriend and then to someplace called The Art Bar, which is "A really nice comfortable place. There's no weirdoes there. It's for people like us." That phrase again. So, I've become an "us"? I was just playing along, joking to make keep my sanity while dealing with cervixes and diapers all day and I'm thrilled that I'm so convincing. But maybe I'm not convincing at all. I do live in Queens and work at a baby magazine I shop at Lerners and I watch Must See TV and why would I think I'm any different or better than them. Like I said, I'm really starting to scare myself.
3/2/99
I just saw a cute guy on the subway and that shouldn't be so remarkable, but I never see cute guys on my subway. The M, that is. If you are not a Polish or Puerto Rican family member then you just don't ride the M and you certainly don't get off at my stop. I mean family members like you're elderly, or a young couple with babies, or teenage and haven't moved away yet. Single 20-ish types who don't wear Tommy Hilfiger and/or gold chains just don't exist in my neighborhood. I couldn't help but notice a sandy-haired, WASPy boy with a bookbag who was actually writing in a journal. I've never once seen someone writing who wasn't doing a word search. I don't know why I care, but I'm tired of looking at people reading the bible (I read somewhere that Oregon had the lowest church attendance of all 50 state and never belived it. It could be true because I'm just not used to seeing so many people reading the good book on public transportation) and the occasional Danielle Steele novel. So, anyway, I was just interested in trying to figure this guy out. I should've followed him off the subway, but instead I passed him and then slowed down my pace to force him to catch up to me. But after a block he disappeared. I have no idea where he went. I don't know why I'm so fixated on this. I wouldn't have given him a second glance in Manhattan, but out here he's an anomaly. I think I need a hobby.
3/1/99
Oh, a whole new month and I don't even know where to begin. I think that I'm supposed to be feeling disturbed and dirty, but I'm not. I don't know how things happen sometimes. Fri. night me and my friend Jane decided to stop in at a little bar in Brooklyn to top things off. It's sort of a divey place that sometimes is full of regulars and sometimes filled with hipsters. As they closed, the old guy behind the bar said, "There's a band from Liverpool tomorrow night. You girls should come." We decided that we should. With a name like "The What" it would have to be amusing, and besides, they could be cute. Sat. the crowd was pretty ugly (I mean that literally) like guys with gold chains and thick necks and a sprinkling of middle aged women (not that middle aged women are ugly by default). Some horrible Grateful Dead-esque band was playing an endless set. But there did appear to be a cluster of young cute types. We figured they must be our little visitors from England. Once they started playing, I decided that the very young looking bass player with rosy cheeks was for me and suggested that we "befriend" them. Well, we didn't even have to try because they came and sat at our table after the show. It was very funny. It was "my guy's" birthday and he'd just turned a wordly 18. Could I be any more pleased? So, I'll spare you the sordidness, but yes, we went back to some apt. with these youngsters and it was all good. But here's where I think I'm supposed to be scarred. This was no one-on-one situation. "My guy" (whose name is Anthony, as I later discovered) was not the only one involved. A few of his mates were a part of the er, action. (oh, I just got a phone call this very moment from Jane. She gave "her guy" her business card and I guess he actually called her at work today and wants to get together again. I don't think that's what she has in mind. You give some boys an inch and they take a yard.) So anyway, it was all very entertaining and an interesting diversion from my usual sullen, sissy-filled Saturdays and I think whims are good every now and then. The most disturbing part of the night was my thinking that it seemed like a good idea to walk home (it was warm out, I was drunk [and not exactly sure where the subway was]). Well, at 7:30 AM, and an hour and a half later, I was cursing my stupidity. Obviously, I made it home in the end, but walking through desolate industrial areas and over railroad tracks was the sketchiest part of the entire evening (morning). Februrary was a disaster and I blame it on the rotten weather. It looks like March could shape up into quite a month. Bring on the spring fever, I say.
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