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Thursday, Jun. 13, 2002 / 8:03 p.m. ~I Reserve the Right to Change My Mind Many Times Between Now and Then~ ***Hey!!! This is really funny! I wrote the following earlier today at work, but I just checked my email and got this from Jon: I really enjoyed the whole movie adventure: parking and walking and treats and the Carousel scene and the cool night air. Thank you for inviting me and providing. I am unsure about romantic progress between us, and to me that amounts to a desire not to proceed. The only certainty I have is of physical desire/attraction. It is perhaps an overly cautious nature, but I prefer a wider certainty than that. I hope this makes some sense, and that you aren't insulted. I'd be happy to spend time together again, which may lead to greater understanding. If this is an unpleasant idea to you, I most certainly understand. What are you feelings on all of this? Aw, wasn't that sweet? You should read what I wrote back!!! Oh wow. I was so fucking pissed off. It really makes the following entry very ironic, very funny now!!!! Whee!!!!!!!!!! Oh, I'm never going out with another man again. Yeah. Men = Ass. Here's what I wrote from work:******** People keep posting about Moby's sex life on the message boards at his web site. Apparently someone posted she'd had sex with him and he was rude to her afterwards? I'm not sure, but Moby was emailed the post and commented on it in his journal. His point was if you're going to make up stories about him, at least leave his character intact. He says he makes it a point to be nice to everyone. So, he'd never fuck a groupie and tell her to go away, or "fuck off". Now there is a flurry on the boards. "I didn't have sex with Moby: a confession", "I'd never have sex with Moby", etc. It's all very silly. Someone even wrote that Moby seems to be insinuating he's longing to have sex, in his journal from Australia, but that surely he is getting a good bit, of sex. That he no doubt has sex with hundreds of groupies, sycophants, etc. Then someone else wrote that Moby is not like that at all, he certainly only has deep and meaningful sex with someone he loves, rather than with groupies and anonymous strangers. So� I wrote something like, "I really hope that's not the case, or maybe Moby could consider deep and meaningful sex with groupies, because I plan to shag him after his show." I'm so silly. I even included a winking smiley emoticon to indicate I'm not too serious - but we all know I'm terribly serious. As a heart attack. As serious as serious can be. Shag. I like that word. I used to always try to get a shag haircut in the 70s, but they never worked on me. My hair is too curly, too unruly to 'shag'. The Moby message boards have proven quite useful actually. I found out from a thread yesterday that Moby solo show tickets in my town are on pre-sale, and last night I wasted MUCH time trying to buy one from Ticketbastard.com, but the fucking site gives a person 5 whole minutes to complete a purchase and it takes my piddly computer maybe 10 minutes to go from function to function since they added all their bells and whistles several months ago. I can't believe I used to buy all my hockey tickets through their site. Those were the days, eh? Now that everyone is presumed to have broadband, DSL, cable, etc., etc., and etc., there is no tolerance for the old dialup holdouts like myself. Nothing is designed for us anymore. Being online is a frustrating struggle to keep up. I bought my ticket from work, on my break, using the one Interweb-accessible PC. It took about 5 minutes from log in to confirmation. Ahhhhhhh� Yeah, I'm going to see MOBY IN CONCERT!!!!! And shag him after the show. Re: the Party this Saturday. It occurred to me last night that I don't have to go. Eureka! Imagine that. Imagine me simply not going. I don't need to see Jon and James. It's their party after all. I'm under no obligation to ever see them again. I've never been clear on my Art Project for the Party, and I'm tired of thinking about it, worrying about it. What's the point? Jon told me Skipper won't be going, he'll be in Chicago, so I won't know anyone there besides Jon, and he'll be playing host, flirting with any women who show up, etc. James will be playing host, trying to act like he does in fact remember me, and apologizing for ignoring my emails. I'd be standing around drinking beer, getting stoned and wondering with whom I should be flirting. And if no one looks interesting, it will just be a lot of standing around. Boring. I reserve the right to change my mind many times between now and Saturday evening. Many times. I'll go. Sure, what the hell?! No way am I going to humiliate myself. I wrote way too much to Jon, and look where that got me. And James? I asked the guy out and he fucking ignored me. He tells Jon he dropped the ball by not seizing the moment right away. Pish posh. But Alanis Morrisette plays for free, outdoors, Friday night, and Branford is going. So is the rest of the city, ages 14 to 45, perhaps. Okay, she's not for everyone, but a free show, outdoors, downtown, tends to draw a CROWD. I'm considering going. Not for the crowd, but for the "happening". Besides, I could take my camera because I have this "Art Project" I'm considering doing for the Party I'm not going to. But I reserve the right to change my mind about any and ALL of this, MANY times. Yes, I do. The air outside is horrible today. It's hard to breathe. Heavy, thick, hot, way too hot. Oppressive, majorly so. I dread going back out in it to go home. Sure, I'll just stay here at work, spend the night. No, scratch that. The Stanley Cup game is on tonight, and I desperately (well, maybe not desperately) want Carolina to overcome, to pull it out, to whip it out, or to WIN, yeah, that's the ticket. 2:42 p.m., cubicle time, warm from going out at lunch, still warm, listening to Walkman between phone calls, CD is "Futurhythms", excellent. My tattoos are still peeling. It's annoying. That is all. Cost of the War in Iraq
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