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Wednesday, Mar. 02, 2005 / 8:23 p.m. ~The New "Amazing Race" is Fantastic, By the Way!~ So, it's only been a week since I got the latest repairs on my car done, er, performed?, and the main reason I took it to this new guy, this mechanic who is so well trusted by people I trust, has resurfaced. The reason has resurfaced. The NOISE from hell. We drove around in it after work, the car making the NOISE from hell, and he finally heard it, really heard it, and as it turns out, he hadn't before! Dang. He's puzzled, and that can't be good. He says, "That's weird" when he hears it, and he fiddles and tinkers and we go out in it again, and he says the same thing, and I say, "Hey, listen to THAT sound, that's different, but I like it better than the other one", and we're almost laughing about it all. But really, when I leave and make it home, once again, and the engine sounds fine, but then I take my foot off the gas and it makes that sound again, yes, yes, that NOISE from hell, well, it sounds worse and worse and worse. I take it back in tomorrow. And he'd better figure it out. Or else. Or else I have no idea what I'll do. My horoscope for tomorrow (by Cainer, natch), says I should reserve my frugality for a cost that can be reduced, my words not his, but that I should protect my investment. And fuck me to tears if he is not absolutely correct. I've poured too much money into this vehicle, just to try to keep it starting, stopping and running in between, to cease the funding now. And my birthday, soon and upcoming (gifts and cards are welcome - please contact me for mailing address, or I'll gladly accept 'e-cards', thank you), in early April, unfortunately means little to me besides OH MY GOD I'VE GOT TO PASS EMISSIONS SO I CAN RENEW MY TAG!, and holy shit, I am so old it's not funny. I'm old and ugly and no man will ever want to fuck me again, and I'll never have children, and did I ever want to?, and I'm going to die alone and old and lonely, or kill myself before that, god only knows, but it's depressing, the aging thing. But, I looked in the mirror a little while ago, thinking about one night stands and zipless fucks, and my very palpable and real sexual frustration, about as frustrating as this damned car which is falling apart, or seems to be anyway, and I liked the way I looked. I looked very fuckable, sort of pretty, and striking, for lack of a better word, and not at all in my mid 40s. I was pleased, and I took it all back, every rotten thing I've said about myself, but then it's just me, and really all my validation should come only from me, just me, but it would be so nice to be desired right about now, sincerely and really desired, by someone else. By someone who must have no idea how old I am. I was reading through my other online journal (shout out!) on the weekend, and yes I was incredibly bored and lonely, it's true, and came upon an entry in which I'd noted going out to get a drink before a movie intown, and sitting at the bar, at my favorite little bistro actually, and the gent next to me setting down his book and ordering up a beer and striking up a convo with me. And how we turned to the subject of company/employer sponsored health insurance, and how I've not had it at this current job, not the entire seven years, and after his initial gasp of shock, he offered, "Well, you don't really need it until you're in your in your 40s", at which point I replied, "Hah! I am 43!", and watched his jaw fall to the floor. I loved it. I really did. Men have no idea, unless maybe we're out in the bright sun? Or maybe not even then. I know, because I've been in my body the entire time, and because I know what to look for, which little lines in my face, and the outright wrinkles in my neck, and the wattle-wannabe, and the jowls, I shall have full fledged jowls as I age, and just the way things hang differently now. Still, I'm hot. And so modest. Though I call myself an old hag, I am still turned on when I peel off my clothes in front of a mirror. Which reminds me of the ex, a long time ago, and how I could never undress in front of him without being assaulted. I miss those days, now, in retrospect. Being so desired by someone should have been everything I wanted. But I want it now, and then I only wanted him to start on my neck instead of always grabbing my crotch. We're never satisfied, are we, or is it just me? I just want a new car, please, a Prius, I think, new, brand new, with a CD player, and air conditioning, and really good gas mileage and low emissions, and a fantastic reliability rating. And I want to have really good sex with someone I'll never need to see again. Someone who will wish every day he could see me. But I'd ignore him and hope he goes away, because I think I'm through with men, except to sex them. I do so miss the sex. And now, as 'the kids' like to say, 'Le sigh'. Cost of the War in Iraq
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