Thursday, August 11, 2005
Sorry about not writing and all. I've been housesitting and the computer over there is shite. That, and life is just too much fun to be sitting indoors typing away on these beautiful dying days of summer. I haven't been writing much of anything lately for the same reason. I did write some prose-without-a-plot for the last open mike, but since no one who reads this scarcely-updated page has been clamouring, or even expressing a deeply bored passing interest in reading it, I won't bother posting it.
In other news, beautiful girls seem to be a wonderful seasonal phenomenomenomenon, like cherries. They come out in August and they're disarmingly gorgeous. I suppose that beautiful women have always been around, and I know that I've always noticed them, but now it is a whole new world of voyerism for me. They don't even have to do anything even remotely suggestive for me to be completely transfixed. Fortunately, I am pretty good at playing it cool. This woman was walking in front of me today and she had this lovely long wavy black hair. She kept putting it up in a ponytail and then taking it down again, and it just fell down her back like a waterfall. She must have done this three or four times, and every time she did it I felt like someone had reached down and untied my shoelaces - I was completely unravelled. Grrr. 98.9% of them are probably straight, too. But they're so lovely that it takes my breath away, and I thought that was a tired old cliche.
I was supposed to bus out to Kylie's Suburban Hellhole this morning to see her, but she has decided to become a bit of a recluse, and this apparently involves not calling me to set up our meeting. Grr. I wasted half the day by getting up early, waiting to hear from her, then going back to sleep until 1:00 pm, when I woke up because the dude from the comic book shop called to tell me that issues 4-5 of N.Y.X., aka best comic book on earth, had come in for me. I went to pick it up and got some coffee on the way.
I got an email from Kylie after I woke up from my nap / attempt to go back to sleep telling me that she had decided to pursue her new hermit lifestyle for a while. I was okay with this, though a bit frustrated (what else is new, right?) because she didn't pick up the phone and actually call me to cancel. Whatever. She is completely under my skin, and thus I can't be mad at her for very long.
But I'm not going to be clingy, either. I met a girl online called Sarah recently and I rather like her. I have friends, I have family, and my human companionship needs are fulfilled, at least on a platonic level. I would like to get laid, but I can't deal with men at the moment, and women are totally uncharted territory. I am all up for exploring the sexual equivalent of Antarctica, but I've heard it's a bit cold and unpredictable, and one can never tell if the pemmican will run out halfway through the expedition.
Suffice it to say that I am clueless when I comes to having sex with girls. I'm sure I can figure it out, but I need someone who is patient and not scary. This is much more difficult than you'd think. Gay girls tend to think I am a big faker, and bi girls are often just as clueless as I am. Or else they have boyfriends. Argh.
I fixed my hair, finally. Gone are the bleached faded purpley streaks. I cut it about two inches, put in some layers, and streaked it with gold. I'm going to try and take advantage of Blogger's unprecedented bandwidth generosity and upload a picture or two. Oh look, there it is. Niiice.
The tap in the bath at my housesitting abode has started leaking hot water (only hot, never cold) to the point where I can't even have a five minute shower because the hot water tank is constantly drained. It's at times like these that I wish I had a boyfriend. Or some DIY skillz. I can't even find the water source to shut it off. What a fucking retard I am.
I gotta go deal with that. A plumber will charge ludicrous amounts of money to do something ridiculously simple like put in a new washer. But what choice do I have, really? Fuuuck.
I got a new cell phone cause the old one died. Apple thinks the new one, a compact little flip phone with insanely high-tech voice recording capabilities, is ugly. I don't give a shit. The High Holy Nome proclaims: "Thou shalt use neither thy phone nor thy small dog as fashion accessories."
I'm reading a great book for teens about religious fundamentalism. It's called The Book of Fred, by Abby Bardi, and it's brilliant.
They're supposed to promote me to bookseller in the fall. This is exactly what I wanted.
So. Much. News. So. Little. Time.