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Saturday, Sept. 14, 2002 / 5:45 p.m. ~But They're So Danged Old, Right?~ Okay, someone did an MSN search for "penis removal" and found my diary. Why was someone searching for "penis removal"? That's kind of weird, I think. Oh, speaking of, I'm not getting so many emails for penis enlargement anymore, now it's breast enhancement. Why is it breast 'enhancement' and penis 'enlargement'? Why not breast enlargement? At least someone has figured out I'm a woman. I guess. I checked my Hotmail yesterday at work, figuring it takes less time to delete all the spam on the T1 connection than here at home (this 56K modem tends to connect at 26,400 bps religiously), and there were about 200 emails, but less about my penis than about my breasts. I only keep that account for sentimental reasons. I should one day just let it go. Speaking of penises, I'm almost through with the 'penis book', but I've put it down because I'm about 3 issues behind in my Entertainment Weeklys. I just finished one, except for the last three pages, yesterday at work, but I know the new one must be in my mailbox already. So, alas, I must finish the penises, but soon. All the upheaval at work has prevented me from reading as much as normal. And now I turn my back to the new boy in favor of reading, knowing if I don't look at him he won't talk my ears off, but that's not nice, not friendly and I know it. I'm sorry, "new boy". I have reading to do. But then again, it sucks that I pick up the EW, read a sentence or two, and the fucking phone rings, I help the person on the phone, pick up the EW and it happens again. Fucking call center. I'd read here, I'd go and sit on the sofa and read away, but there's a computer and a TV and cats and stuff, and it's too hard to just sit and be so idle as to read a book or a mag. The free time I have to spend here on the PC, to write email letters to my online pals, or read diaries, or recaps (BB3 will be all over soon though), is so precious to me, so to take away from that to be alone and with book, I don't know. It's a tossup. If I had more time, if I had the life I want, the life of leisure. Which made me think of money and wealth, which made me think of Mick Jagger and his seven children by four different women, and how set for life those kids must be, but I don't know, but then I'm thinking about the little Yahoo! news story I just read about how Keith is upset that Mick accepted the knightood thing when he is such a 'bad boy' of rock and roll, etc., and etc., and Charlie Watts thinks Keith should've been knighted too, but Keith says he would have told them where to put their bloody medal, but then I think of how old these guys are and they are going on a 40th anniversary tour...... And they will play the 'Ted', the Ted Turner Field, next month, and should I try to go? I mean, holy moly, me at a Stadium show? Seeing the Stones? We should all have canes and bottles of Milk of Magnesia or something. I'm suddenly considering. I read there are tickets left. Of course there are. Did I mention they are old? 58? 60? Please. What if Mick is running around and has a heart attack or something? I mean, I know he's healthy, I know he practices yoga and he lifts weights and he still has a beautiful body, and he is still beautiful in general, if wrinkled, but hey, I mean, wasn't rock and roll intended for rebellious youth? I'm conflicted. I was writing to Branford (hey, visit him, will ya?, sign his guestbook, show him some love, he writes a good diary, he's interesting, he's a man about town!) last night, besides sharing a limerick or two, to tell him how old I feel, how I don't feel right going out to clubs anymore, ogling the young men, because they will see how old I am and I will feel foolish. You do realize that is what happened the last time I had sex, right? Two years ago in November? It was a young man, and he was into me, I into him, and he had no idea how old I was, and I foolishly told him, and see, no young guy is going to want anything resembling a 'relationship' with a woman my age. I can't have kids, I'm too old, I'm washed up. I'm good for a roll in the hay, in the dark, but that's about it. I'm serious. But Mick, on the other hand, I'll just bet he still will have groupies lining up to blow him on this tour. I'll just bet Jerri will be around somewhere fighting them off with a big stick too! Oh, is it Jerri or Jerry? I should go to Ticketmaster dot com to check on ticket prices. That would be cool. Once in my life, to see the Stones live. At a fucking Stadium, in fucking October. What if it's cold? Why is it a Stadium show? Why are they so greedy? Do they think they can fill it? This is 2002, don't they know that? They're all around 60, don't they know that? Oh man, the more I write about it the more I want to go, isn't that insane? I am so rambling. The coffee is really kicking in, can you tell? I slept 'til about 3:30 this afternoon. I was SO tired. I went to bed around 4:00, but still, that's late. And I had so many dreams. One was with Moby, and he was an asshole. He was trying to recruit groupies to sleep with, someone to just sleep with, naked, no sex, and he kept overlooking me in favor of these blonde bimbos. Somehow I think they were all mistrustful and I ended up staying with him, and in the morning he went on and on about having to leave, he was putting on a suit and tie, and I was thinking he had a court date for some reason, he had hair too, and I was thinking the bald thing was a cap, not his real bald head. He kept telling me no one really knows him, and I realized he is not the kind and compassionate man who writes in that online journal, he is a total dick. He told me I had to leave, but I should write in his little guestbook near the front door, and he had several, all brimming with notes from various women who'd spent the night, to sleep, naked, not have sex. I wrote over what someone else had written, and I was writing what a dick he is. He called me later at home to ask me about what I'd written, and it turned out that was a big deal, he never called anyone later, I'd really gotten to him, pointed out who he is...... I'd challenged him. And I dreamed more than that, lots of dreams, and got up between them, changing tampons (my most frequent Google hit, by the way, "changing tampons" - knock yourselves out, people!!!), peeing, back to sleep, back to dreaming. The big park in town, and the residents all around, enjoying a beautiful day, me driving in, wishing I lived there too. What was that about? I awoke to a driving rain, slashing into my windows, pine needles all brown and dead flying everywhere, high, high winds, rain, rain, rain, and I was looking forward to a storm, but I caught the tail end. Watched a bit of "Ghengis Blues", the docu about the 'throat singer' on tour, but I didn't get it, missed the beginning, so here I am. I'm still very tired. I want to lie down. I really can't see me accomplishing anything today, and I've already checked the list of movies coming on and there isn't shit worth watching. Not until later anyway. "BB3" will be on in a couple hours, but that's it. Hey, now this would be a good time to read, yes? We'll see. I keep looking at my ankle, below the butterfly, and trying to figure out what belongs there if anything. Do I really want a tattoo there? I'm conflicted. I need to shave my legs, I guess, really put some thought into this, the Convention will be here before I know it, and I'll feel badly if Raya designs something and I've changed my mind. Enough thinking aloud, I'm signing off of this one. Cost of the War in Iraq
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