Monday, Jan. 21, 2002 / 1:21 p.m.

~Lather, Rinse, Repeat~

It was a weekend. And now it's all over. Two days of wearing the same clothes, two days of not leaving the apartment, two days of only doing what I deemed enjoyable, or necessary. Mostly enjoyable.

But there was some desperate need to connect, and that was not fulfilled. At this point, in retrospect, hindsight, etc., I'm glad. It was a passing fancy, a fleeting desire, desperate or not. It's gone now.

The Golden Globe Awards sucked. Maybe it's just me, maybe I'm beyond it, tired of the Hollywood excess, of normal people being treated with such reverence, and only because they can pretend to be someone else. How odd that is. And how little I now enjoy the "red carpet" portion, the schmoozing, the chit chat, the bullshit. How strange when Kevin Spacey said he was there to "poke some holes in all the pretension", then pointed to someone walking down the very same red carpet. He appeared toasted once on stage. Toasted.

Too much Moet, too much biting of the hand that's feeding him, that's pouring that Moet in his glass. I now find the excesses disgusting, and I used to enjoy it so much. I've changed.

Work is work. I'm back here again, I've spent the morning reading my Entertainment Weekly from the week of Dec 21/28. It was a double issue. Thankfully, this week's is a double issue too, so maybe I can finally catch up. It's very slow. I guess a lot of people have this day as a holiday. We do not.

Cainer's horoscope talks of Aries' strength right now, Mars being in Aries, Mars our ruling planet, Mars, the God of War. Strength. I don't feel it at all, except�I was thinking after I read it that it did take an inordinate amount of strength to get out of bed this morning, to grind the beans, make the coffee, take the shower, wash the hair, get dressed. Immense fortitude. !

I stayed up until around 2:00, I'd guess, watching "Trading Spaces" on TLC. I guess I'm addicted now. I just have to stay up to see the finished product, you know? Can't go to sleep until I see how the room is actually going to look, the expressions on the couple's faces, gauge whether they hate it or love it, finally see what the designer imagined in his/her head. It's fascinating. What an interesting program.

Yeah, I know, it doesn't take much to get me excited! Real easy to please, that's me.

Dammit, I'm bored. Maybe I should've showered on the weekend, put on clean clothes and gone out�somewhere, anywhere, to a movie, to a show, to the grocery store, to Tarzhay to buy winter clothes on sale. But the weekend comes, and to me it's this great opportunity to NOT get dressed, to NOT have to shower, to NOT have to wash my hair, to be dirty, grimy, slovenly, to sit around and watch TV, to hang on the 'net for hours and hours, reading, writing. The weekend is my time to NOT have to get in my car and worry about how it sounds, how much longer it will run at all, to NOT have to deal with all the assholes out there, on the roads, in the stores.

I'm a closet hermit. And what an odd way to put that. As if I live in my closet. I'm not quite that bad. And truthfully (as if any of this has been a lie!), I have my moments wherein I am EXTREMELY social. Wherein I go out and stay out, wherein I love people, truly enjoy being around them�but I think lately, recent experiences have persuaded me to give up on humankind, for a while. It feels healthier to be alone.

Work-related note: I hate it when I ask someone if there is an apartment number included in the address change and the person says, "It's a home". I always, I mean ALWAYS want to stop and say, "Are you saying that an apartment is not a home??? I live in an apartment, the same one for almost 5 years, and you want to tell me that it is not my HOME?!", but I don't say anything. I do, however, pause. I can't help it.

Okay, look, I'm not really a disgusting and slovenly person, but it's true that I didn't bathe from Thursday until today. Ew! I know. How peculiar. No real reason. I wasn't experimenting, not really, I just didn't want to get wet. Reminds me of the French guy I was I love with, the tragicomic disaster of a relationship, the nine month debacle, anyway, yeah, I'd say, "Do you want a shower before you go?" and he'd say, "No" and I'd say, "Why? Are you sure? What's wrong with you, we just had mad, passionate, gooey, sticky sex!" and he'd say, "I don't feel like getting wet".

But he had impeccably clean genitals. I'll say that for the Europeans. They may not like to get wet, but that doesn't mean they are filthy and smelly. Except for the underarm region. Usually.

Hey, how did I get on this topic? Oh, right. So I had a shower this morning, washed my hair, actually lathered, rinsed and repeated (a ploy by the shampoo manufacturers to get you to use more, hence buy more, I know), and it felt great. Kind of like that first shower when you come back from a weekend canoe trip�which reminds me, I should hook up with someone and go canoeing. I love canoeing!

Alright, this is boring, disjointed, but filled with brute strength! I'll upload it at home on my lunch break in a bit, and then everyone can read it, and won't that be fun?! Gee, I hope it doesn't stress anyone out (tee hee, inside guestbook joke).

Oh yeah, lest the world finds me a total slovenly slacker, I did vacuum the entire apartment yesterday and it looks fab! And, and, as if that weren't enough, I did 2 whole loads of laundry! Go me!

*Postcript: Had I washed my hair this weekend I might have cut it all off, as I was fantasizing about doing so, but after my thorough washing of this a.m. I just have to say that it looks FABULOUS, long, curly, beauteous, wouldn't change a thing! Mmm�love me, love me, love! Smooches!

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