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Friday, Nov. 15, 2002 / 11:46 a.m. ~Of Sexual Souvenirs, Garbage Disposals, and Moby Whispering In My Ear~ I�m taking a little break from Moby right now. I�m on the next to last song on �Play� (hey, Mark, the �penultimate� song), �The Sky Is Broken�, and, well, it makes me want sex, bad. Now. With Moby. Just so happens it�s also on my outgoing message on my home answering machine, has been for months now, the �Speak to me, baby, put your mouth next to mine� part. Unnnnnhhhhhh� he just sounds SO fucking sexy on that song. SO. Let out a large sigh right about there. There is cold air coming out of the vents here at work. When it�s in the 40s outside, um, I don�t get it. I pulled on my Arena jacket and now I�m too warm. Speaking of this jacket, oh my god, it just popped in my head, just as I wrote that, that �speaking of this jacket�� I think it�s tomorrow, I think so, two years ago tomorrow I got this jacket. From the one night stand. I wore it last Saturday, when I was with Sandy and Skipper, and the boys. Well, all of them are boys to me, all men are, but anyway, someone asked about the jacket, I think Skipper. I told him the acquisition of the jacket was a long and sordid story, and that in even the most regrettable relationships one still comes away with something when it�s all over. He laughed, and Sandy�s ears perked up. I think both were curious, but it sort of fell flat from there. There were actual boys around and we didn�t talk about anything too personal that day, even though I confessed I had planned to bed Moby when I met him last Summer� The boys got a big kick out of that. In their 11 year old not quite understanding sex yet way. Then we walked toward the Arena, after eating, last Saturday, and asked what was going on inside � some Disney On Ice thing � and I forgot completely I was wearing a staff jacket. I wonder if I�d been a good enough bullshitter if I could�ve gotten us in for free. I�m not a bullshitter, good, bad, or otherwise. Two years ago tomorrow. Wow. One crazy night. Not a bad night, not at all, and hey, I have a souvenir. Actually, I took pictures of him that night, and one is posted in an online photo album, no description, just his name. I thought he was very attractive, beautiful even. Young, smooth skinned, totally enticing, intriguing, someone I unfortunately actually wanted to know. I was so na�ve. I wear this jacket all the time, really, and I�m way past thinking about any grand meaning behind it. It�s just a fookin� jacket. It�s warm as hell, it�s a wind breaker, which is nice, and yeah, it has the Arena�s logo on it, some other lettering on the back, and occasionally people ask me if I work there. That�s the best part about it, wondering if others are wondering, or assuming, more than there is. I am writing in two journals now, so it�s hard to remember what�s where. I suppose it�s all a bit narcissistic and redundant, but I enjoy the outlets. I wrote in the other last night about Sandy, how I told him I�m not going this weekend, I won�t go on the road trip to the demonstration, though I know it�s important, worthwhile, potentially fun even, but I need time to have a real weekend this weekend. Unlike last. He responded that he understands completely. And I believe him. And then he said we should go to a movie sometime. (all of a sudden I don�t know if sometime is one word or two�) Thinking about it more, just to remember, not analyze, he didn�t ask if I�d like to, he said �let�s�. Okay. He has certain qualities that draw me to him, they did before, to the point that I was a bit put off, that I backed off. And he has a great house. Two great dogs. A great kid. Great. We�ll see, that�s all, we�ll see. I�ve just called the apartments, again. I feel they left me hanging. A note saying the garbage disposal needs to be replaced, then nothing. So, what? Is my apartment just open now? Come and go as you please? Is someone coming back? Or what?? Someone named �Amanda� answered. Jesus, another new person??? She�s supposed to call me back. It�s not like I normally would leave dirty underwear crotch-side up on the living room floor, or my pipe on the kitchen counter, little container of marijuana beside it, or my journal sitting on my desk for anyone to read (wait, I DO do that!), but I don�t want people coming in and out at their whim. Let me fucking know, is that too much to ask? Don�t just leave some open-ended note behind. �Kay? �Kay. Jesus. Penelope said that the other day, here at work. �Jesus�. And I said, �What does HE have to do with it?�, and she said, �Everything�. Indeed. �Amanda� just called me back. Good service, I�m impressed. She says I�m getting the new garbage disposal today. Now I can stress about that. Some dude in my kitchen, hissing at N and G. Oh, N and G hissing at HIM. Or not. I can�t wait to go home for lunch, catch him in the act, under my sink, all my under-sink-crap all strewn about. Whee!!! Messy job, replacing a garbage disposal, plumbing in general. Eew!!! You should see the goosh that lives in the old, broken disposal. Or maybe you shouldn�t!!! Oh god, remember the time I wrote about reaching my hand in there and clearing away some of it, to wash it down the drain??!! No? Oh, it was really gross. It would take someone like Stephen King to describe it adequately. He�s good at that kind of thing. Alright, I have real work to do here. It�s 11:09 a.m., cubicle time. Cost of the War in Iraq
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