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2001-05-28 / 5:00 p.m. ~Dinner with Julia Child~
Before I woke up today I was dreaming I was having dinner with Julia Child, in her kitchen, at a long wooden table. It was roast chicken, one of her specialties, and for some reason my plate kept sliding on the table, as if we were on board a ship or something. I kept having to grab it, keep it in place. The breast meat was so moist, and we went on and on about this recipe, or she did. I think I had a whole chicken on my plate and it was taking me a while to eat it. There was some kind of cornbread stuffing, I think. She began to clear the table and all I had left was my plate, which kept sliding, even my cloth placemat was removed. I hadn't even gotten to the dark meat yet. I told her I'd heard some report about her being one of the last great chefs still living, or something. Details are hazy. I shaved my legs yesterday. First time in maybe a year. How barbaric, dragging a razor blade, however ensconced in pretty packaging, along with two other blades, for the extra triple action whatever, across my entire leg, both legs, one at a time, scraping off the hairs, all those crevices, all those nooks and crannies. Why? So I can wear shorts in public without scaring small children. And, well, first day or so it's kinda sexy, even just for me, all by myself. Already, the day after, it itches here and there, and my legs are dry despite all the lotion I used. I need to use some kind of oil or something. It will start to grow out, the hair, I can already feel it, and I am going to have to decide if I want to keep doing it, the shaving thing. Part of me has always wanted to be like the women I see in the advertising photos, like the women in the fashion magazines, always wanted to be Barbie, but the rebel in me always wanted to be the hippie at Woodstock, naked, free, long hair flowing, hair where it's meant to be, all over if necessary. I'm a walking, living, breathing, dichotomy. A mystery wrapped in an enigma. Memorial Day. I watched "From Here to Eternity" last night, for the first time, and it was so much more than a masculinely stunning Burt Lancaster rolling around on the sand with a rather butch-looking Deborah Kerr, it was about men, standing by their convictions, men, falling in love, but needing more, men, killing to save themselves, their pride, men, in all their weaknesses, their glories, their insecurities, trying to figure out what it means to be men......and the equally confused women who love them. It was timeless, yet dated, it was an amazing film, really. And Burt Lancaster was HOT, did I say that? HOT, HOT, HOT, from that full head of wild hair, and those broad shoulders, to that tight little ass!!! Mraow!! It's laundry day, time to go, I think. Oh, I gave the TV sportscaster, the one who responded to my Personal ad, my phone number!!!! I can't believe it, he's the only one I have given it to. What does this mean? Do I trust him because I can see him on TV tonight? He wants us to go have a drink. I think, okay, why not? I like him. I only worry he won't like me, not once he sees me in person, more than a photo, and sees up close how different we are, even though I did shave my legs, not that he shaves his, but well, that I am not like the women he's used to. Cost of the War in Iraq
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