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Saturday, Feb. 26, 2005 / 1:37 p.m. ~Moving, the Oscars, Bonding, Shaving, Just a Chock Full Entry~ I've been hearing noises downstairs. Earlier it was a drill and some pounding. And I've seen the windows wide open, like it's being aired. I can't figure if people have already come in and replaced carpeting and cleaned, or if they're just starting, or if it's all ready and someone is moving in. I try to remember when my last neighbor moved out, and I can't, but I'm thinking it's been vacant for a year. And, I think this, how ironic it's going to be if I renew my lease and some asshole with a booming stereo moves in and makes my life a living hell. For a year. Hard to believe just a few weeks ago I was actually considering moving to Florida. I mean seriously, seriously considering moving to south Florida. I must have temporarily lost my mind. I fantasize about getting rid of so much of what I own now, so many childhood things, so much inherited furniture, and buying my own things, sort of plain and simple, Pottery Barn-ish, or Amish-ish, knotty pine, or maybe antiques, like one of those big beds with the huge wooden headboard, the kind they made in the Victorian era. I've seen those at the big flea market they have here once a month. Of course antiques smell. They have odors left by the previous owners, used smells, just used. And I have no money. I paid off my credit card again, and I wonder if I already wrote that, but no, I just did it yesterday. I paid over the phone, using the routing number for my checking account, something that makes me feel a bit 'insecure', technologically speaking, but couldn't be any worse than paying by credit card over the 'web, yeah? Anyway, paid off, PAID OFF. Each month I do it, and how is it I do? I don't make that much money, I have no savings, but I put all I have into that checking account, and I suppose I always have a good bit just sitting there. I should put it somewhere where it might earn interest, but then I wouldn't have ready access. Boring. Still, that was a big deal, and now I'm fairly sort of kind of 'broke' for a bit, hence no Victorian era fancy schmancy big wooden headboard bed frame. No new mattresses, I'll stick with lumps, and no Pottery Barn-ish or Amish-ish furniture, that's just a dream, one of those 'when my ship comes in', or 'when I win the lottery' kind of dreams. Which, by the way, no, I did not win again, last night. Dammit. I do not understand. Other people win, $5,000, $150,000, millions, why can't I? Now it's quiet, no drilling, no banging, no sounds at all. Even Miles Davis stopped playing long ago. I read in Moby's journal that he's no longer obsessed with politics. And I quote: I kept thinking about the driver of the cab, wondering how he or she felt about Mo' eating his dinner in the back seat, wondering if Mo' offered up some of his grub, if the smell was making the driver salivate, or what. And how I'm no longer obsessed either. With politics. I hardly pay any attention anymore. Every day there's another bombing, more people are killed, more soldiers battle it out with 'insurgents', and Bush says something really stupid, or passes some insane bill designed to ruin our lives, and yesterday I started spouting off about my taxes, and how my severance check won't be as huge as it sounds because of taxes, and how it pisses me off the government is still taking my money, but they're trying to screw me out of getting any of it back, and they're eliminating all social programs, and so where is my hard earned money going anyway?, and I found people absolutely and rather startlingly hoping I'd simply go away. Not obsessed though. It's way past that point. I'm usually thinking about the Tofu Curry I've ordered four times in the past month and how it tastes different every time and why did they decide to suddenly make it really hot, like too hot to eat, like it burns my tongue and makes me cough, and it's now like torture, really, to eat it? I have three more days to consider giving notice to my apartment complex management. I looked out the window toward the office a little while ago, and thought, well, I could move, but where would I go? New Mexico? Intown? Where? Another apartment someplace else? Should I? Three more days. Then it's another year. And if someone new is moving in downstairs, let's hope it's someone very quiet, maybe someone who's never there. Meanwhile, yes, yesterday was amazing. A lot happened. So much happened. I'm very calm now. And I have plans to go to a movie in a bit, a movie I really don't want to see, as it turns out, but I want to bond with this person who shall be accompanying me, so I think it's a good thing. We need to do this, to be together in this situation. And then? Independent Spirit Awards on tonight, could be fun, and Oscars tomorrow, and I always at least have it on, whether I sit and stare at it or not. I hate acceptance speeches, I just like the clothes and the glamour. When I was a little girl, I wanted to be different things, different people, a hippie, a Playboy bunny, and a movie star, to name a few. Later, it was a photojournalist for National Geographic, but early on, a star. I grew up watching movies and TV, and the Oscars were so glamourous, so fantastic, so beyond anything real in my existence. One year, my mother said a friend of hers was nominated for something, and he was going to get us tickets and we were going to go, and I wanted to wear an outfit of my sister's, I planned it, and I was afraid it wouldn't fit, because I was a gangly girl, with long legs, and my sister was short. Time rolled around, closer and closer, and my mom said we weren't going to go after all, and my disappointment was a palpable thing. But I still watch, and I've been reading Morgan Spurlock's blog (the creator of "Super Size Me"), as he is going to the Oscars for his first time, and I think I'd feel just as he does, like a kid in a candy store, like someone fulfilling a dream, except I'd be so nervous and I'd probably sweat a lot and have cold clammy hands, and my face would be red, and I'd feel so ugly around all those beautiful people. Must do some 'chores', I suppose, as there are 'chores' to be 'done'. And I won't even mention how I stayed up 'til about 4:00 this morning looking at porn online. But yeah, and it's amazing how much there is. I saved some movie clips to my hard drive - really arousing stuff. Oh, and women who shave their pubic hair and then have red bumps all over? Really unappealing. I'd rather see the hair. Especially on the men. Men with shaved genitals look really weird. Where did this obsession with body hair removal originate, and please, god, when will it end? That is all. Cost of the War in Iraq
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