sometimes i am so weird, i get scared.

i just realized i am watching a Kieslowski art house french film and eating mediterranean croutons like it's the done thing on a sunday evening.

jesus.

belated best wishes

i must apologize for missing the birthday salutations. or as we once thought was a good idea, shout-outs.

i spent all of yesterday in the torturous hang-over-at-work mode counting pens. yes, it was stationary inventory day and sara was on a suicidal rampage.

my personal woes aside, i hope bridget had an amazing birthday. full of west coast fun (which in my mind only consists of the snowmountains of cocaine and orgies glorified by johnny depp films).ps - the hollywood gossip is going over like mad. you are a goldmine my darling.

24 is only just around the bend here as well, and i am petrified to be in my mid-20s but sincerely looking forward to another year of mayhem. may yours be spectacular.

dear lauren (and any other naysayers of my bachelordom),

it is a fact universally acknowledged that a young woman in possession of anything resembling sanity must be in want of a sex-partner. i do not attempt to deny this will someday, and for some unforseeable duration, probably take the form of marriage or at the very least, shacking-up.

that said, it will take a lot more than a regualr dosage of austen to woo me into commitment. such romances may have blinded me into believing artsy theatre dweebs were attractive for a time (and no, i didn't have the SAME crush from 8th grade on - i just cant deny anders, caleb, bryce, pat and nathan were pretty much exactly the same boy), but if they haven't converted me yet, it's never going to happen.

if anything, film adaptations of the classics have only given me a fetish for riding boots.

things i want

- to be missed (day two and i still think i want a hypothetical relationship. this might be a record.)
- ben and jerry's brownie-fudge-whatsit
- a candle lit bubble bath
- a massage
- a favourite novel
- a silk robe
- stillettos


if i become any more bridget jones i am going to puke.

confessions of an intimate and ridiculous nature

i have two confessions.

1 - i believe i may yet be able to count myself normal. i (you may say finally) desire intimacy.

an everyday assurance (for as fleetingly as i can probably maintain it) of making someone pancakes and waking up in the quietude of security. of ups and downs, but the same ride til the end.

i crave togetherness.



2 - perhaps the following is a factor in that confession, though i find it less significant than that implies.

today i slept with one of my friends.

shocker i know. he was drunk, i was tired, and after we went to the movies and had pizza.

he was, of course, the one everybody thought i already had shagged and secretly thinks i will probably end up with - like if this was a rob reiner film. but life just isnt like that, and after sex we don't suddenly realize we are entirely different people.

we are both a-emotional and libidinous, what more did we need than pizza? i said i took advantage of him, and he apologized for getting out of hand. we laughed. a lot. we hi-fived when we parted ways in the end, to mark the occasion.

and quite honestly i am entirely apathethic about the act itself. but it also got me thinking, in that dozing post-coital way, that i really do love the afterglow cuddle part. the part i am always so hasty to be out the door before. the part that i fear will swallow me.

and perhaps serendipitously, having that calm intimacy with someone who already knew me, kind of bridged the gap for me. answered the unasked. my point i guess is that simple act of closeness between people who know each other was really nice. better than i thought (and to be honest, better than the sex).

of course not nice enough i'm going to ever believe in platonic napping with said partner again, but nice enough i'd be willing to really truly give it a go with someone i fancy. that just maybe i am not the fridgid bitch i play on tv.

and sadly, that is a major step for me.



so there you go. you have to fuck someone to find out you don't want them. in fact, you may find out you kind of want to stop fucking altogether and consider using phrases like "making love" and "laughing together" (an ancient african euphemism i rather enjoy) from one accidental tryst with a platonic partner.

lesson of the day: to know thyself, fuck thy friends.

only in my world can this be a legitimate train of thought. le sigh.

an excerpt from my last email to jennie:

"i have to go to bed now. i am an old woman. i am a spinster. this is the rest of my life, stretched out before me. an endless series of movie nights in and no man to pet my head during the hot desert cave sex in weird foreign films. this blows. at this point i'd even consider the emotionally unavailable and yet smitten chow yun fat to die in my arms. at least then i'd get to second base."

bite me

it's official. i've had this thing too long. when i can't remember my entries the novelty has officially worn off.

but as i am rather enjoying sputtering on about nothing, i suppose i can continue a while longer. well definately until i get so bored i want to slit my eyeballs, or die of herpes (as my brother constantly reminds me is imminent in a dirty country like this).

anyway, my point was (i do sometimes indulge the urge to make one), i wish i was blessed with enough brevity, or at least a decent enough search engine i could see if i had already written something. because i think i told someone this once, maybe here, i don't remember.

right.

so it's my day off, and after hours of gruelling paperwork, a phd application, and trying to exchange a victorias secret bra online since they don't exist on this godforsaken island, i have fallen into the deep hole of internet maintence* from which i will emerge bleary eyed, confused, stiff and petulant in a few hours.

*generally taken to mean checking up on favourite websites, sorting old bookmarks, and various other weird timewasting routines that crop up every few months when left to my own devices at the keyboard before i even realize i am doing them.

and anyway, i came across this
the best first chapter of a novel ever. a shit book actually, but an amazing opening. and funny only because it's true.

barbie's S&M torture island consisted of hanging scantily dressed "handheld sexpots" (especially the hawaiian one) by their hair out my dresser drawers and on my ceiling fan and biting off or maulling those rubbery little toes completely designed to fit the small child tongue like a pacifier, until she assented to something terrible with the ugly Ken.

i don't know why i am confessing this.

mostly because i hate reality bites. mutliation and sex games are my only refuge from bullshit 90s ennui. go figure.

useless information about my day thus far

so i totally probably have the best minimum wage job ever.

i had to call carmen sandiego (the company, not the sexy (in a 90s cartoon way) monument-criminal in red trench sadly. thank god the rockapella tune has been far far from my thoughts ...til now. oh shit.) to see about shipping abroad for a desperate middle school teacher landed with american geography last minute this term.

lord help her. we all hated it even if we were from there. that would have been like Iwasko trying to sell the provinces of India as interesting. mutiny is inevitable.

but mostly i had a clean out day where i gave kids (and by kids i mean anyone under 80, especially anyone cute, who i deemed worthy of narnia swag) stickers, posters, bags and other various publicity shit i really don't need clogging up my life. the birthday 5 year old who almost cried at the spot balloon wins.

so yeah.

now i am de"smart"ed (as phil so eloquently called my new sexy-librarian look. he is retarded.) and debating kareoke tonight. shall i slip back down that path to grungy college tease? does it matter than hot sebastian is going?

ps, is it relevant i haven't had a real meal for 3 days since i refuse to shop for groceries?
pps, which is more important - the malnutrition or the fact i may now be able to pull off the skin-tight marilyn monroe pencil skirt at work?

choices choices.

reasons to love the new year:

1. even numbered years are always better
2. best buy has short lines
3. banana republic clearance sale
4. quote of the day:

Girl #1: We only fucked for like 2 minutes.
Girl #2: Why?
Girl #1: He has ADD.
Girl #2: Is that, like, when the person has more than one personality?
Girl #1: No, I wish. Role playing would be a lot easier.

--Hunter College North-West bridge

overheardinnewyork is amazing.

5. oh, and asofterworld is the best it's been in weeks.

we are off to a good start when mythbusters and dune are in my near future.

new year, same v

it's an hour until new year.

all day i have been considering what this means and for the first time asking myself if i care.

and i have come to the conclusion, no i really really don't.

the last week i spent with the family and rejuvinating my soul (as only slurpees, fallow farmland, and tivo can) and last night was a college reunion of mass proportions (tequila, pool, and over priced bottles of miller light - and there's nothing like cheetos at the travelodge to round out an evening).

i don't need anymore nostalgia or reminding me what is good and what matters. if you're doing it right, that's everyday, not an end of year celebration.

so i've been watching a marathon dvd session on shelly duvall's faerie tale theatre, a formative piece of my childhood, and glad to not be out in the quiet desperation and forced revelry this day usually entails.

probably other people really enjoy it. i hope so. i can't imagine bothering every year unless it actually was a grand night out. but when 2 of the last three years ended in massive tears and a hangover, i'd rather just take my dog for a walk, thanks just the same.

and no, this isn't sour grapes. i figure i'm lucky things are so good i can appreciate it all without a holiday excuse. i don't need new year to celebrate.

so tonight being ice cream and xbox golf with my dad is okay by me. better than okay. i can't think of a better way to ring in the new year.

...well, unless of course i was getting hot dirty sex, but i've got the rest of the year for that. today can be for the simpler pleasures.

so happy new year. enjoy it anyway you see fit.