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Wednesday, Jul. 17, 2002 / 1:18 p.m. ~Look at Me, all Unhappy and Negative! I Can't Let That Go/Soft-Shelled Even?!~ My clothes are casual, but are they 'business'? I 'mean' business, I am all business, but you can't tell by looking at me. I'm casual bordering on sloppy. I'm clean, but my clothes are dirty. My body is hot. Feel my skin. Do I have a fever? Elevated body temp. Ye olde elevated body temp. Pre. It's coming. Once again the uterus contracts and sheds. Once again an egg is not fertilized. I know I'm never going to have children. Never going to bear children. My body will never be pregnant, my genes will never be passed along to another human. Unless of course I'm cloned. Ba dump bump. Lulu just came in and said Good Morning to specific people. I'm not one of them. Fine. I just sat and smiled as I kept writing. Ew, gawd, it's her three year wedding anniversary. I want to puke. Jonathan Cainer says again that someone is experiencing poetic justice. I'm to keep going along as I know, doing what is right, but there is poetic justice abounding, so he says. I've yet to see it. I like the concept of poetic justice. It's like Karma. I wanted to write, I had sentences falling out of my brain, but now the clique has started their chit chat, all about Lulu's anniversary, where she's going out to dinner, these are her friends (She's getting her eyebrows done, her hair, etc.), and she probably can't wait to come to work each day to see and talk to her friends. But I have to sit and listen to it. Right, Jon, look how negative and unhappy I am. What an idiot. Brows. Pedicures. A hotel. A dinner. I'm not jealous, I'm not envious, it's nothing I want. It disgusts me. What do I want? I want to sleep late every day, I want to work on my computer, I want to learn to use my digital camera, I want to write, I want to be a better writer, I want to write a book, I don't want to be with a man, not now. Later that day� Maybe the poetic justice is my own. My Walkman's batteries are dead. I'm trying to get into my book though, A Mind of Its Own - A Cultural History of the Penis, but it's awfully difficult. It's starting at the beginning. Of recorded history anyway. Egyptian gods and goddesses, Abraham making a covenant with 'god', etc. I was thinking, how do we know Abe really talked to god? He was alone in his tent or whatever, and some 'voice' told him to cut off his foreskin and worship one god. He ran outside bleeding and everyone fucking believed him! Hell, nowadays the dude would be taken to Bellevue, pronto! So yeah, it's hard to read, it requires full concentration, no mind meanderings, no drifting off into anything other than the subject at hand. Maybe later - I'll stick to EW for now. There's a very funny caricature in this week's issue, "Hot Summer Rumors - All Completely Without Merit!" - including a drawing of Smokey Bear being led away by two cops: "Beloved icon Smokey Bear emerges as a suspect behind the latest forest fire", and remaining members of the Beatles and the Who: "The remaining members of the Beatles and the Who will join forces, tour as the "Who-tles". Okay, maybe you had to be there. The drawings are very funny. I laughed. I also laughed last night, heartily, LOUDLY, guffaws of laughter, and I wondered what my downstairs neighbor would think (me being the conscientious upstairs neighbor), but then decided I didn't care. Why? Did you see David Letterman cooking soft-shelled crabs with Mario Batali on his show last night?! Dave stuffed one down his pants. No lie! It was so funny I couldn't stand it. Again, maybe you had to be there. It was SO unexpected! I'm used to him taking the second bottle of alcohol, wine, liqueur, or olive oil, whatever is in a bottle, and drinking from it, that's an old trick. He does it every single time. But a crab down his pants? Soft-shelled?? And then Robin Williams shows up to taste it, the finished product, commenting on how Dave has crabs, etc. Williams, dressed in a skin tight lycra bicyclist outfit, unitard kind of thing, helmet, etc. Too strange. Mario Fucking Batali. Man, you have to be a good sport to do a cooking segment on Dave's show. I heard myself laughing and was shocked. I have this really loud laugh sometimes. And I was in my bedroom, you know, so yeah, I was thinking, Oh, I hope she's already asleep downstairs, I hope she knows I have a TV in my bedroom (Hah! Like she thinks of me when she's shouting at her boyfriend!). I am so fucking considerate sometimes it's ridiculous. My mom raised me good. See? I write good too. I got kind of slammed on the Moby boards. Someone called me "hun". They only do that if they're trying to put you down. Tee hee. Right, so much good and juicy entertainment news: Julia Roberts has wed a hunky camera dude, Sharon Osbourne has colon cancer! (had?!), Valerie and Eddie split, after 21 years!!!, Rod Steiger died, and so did John Frankenheimer! Life goes on, eh? People die, marriages fail, others begin, hey, celebs are just like REAL people!! Imagine that� It's almost time for me to brave the heat to go home for lunch. And I'm already hot, what with the elevated body temp and all. I overheard Quincey say that Listerine has been diagnosed with FLU! And I swear, this was all I could think: Oh my god, I hope she didn't give it to ME! I am horrible, and after I said how considerate I am, I know, I know. Hey, it's Listerine, we have a historeeeeeeeee. Oh yeah. Besides, I'm feeling flu-sy. It could just be the dreaded PMS thingie, but it could be I'm getting sick too. Don't ever tell a hypochondriac that the person who normally sits behind her is out with the flu! So no one 'told' me, it's impossible not to hear every word said in this department. Home, soon, via heat and traffic, cars and trucks, wheeeee!!! Cost of the War in Iraq
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