Lola Rock n Rolla, from Group in The Vagina Monologues.
Me out, was this email:
"Just because she's young enough to be my daughter, does that make me a bad guy for putting my dick in her ass?"
What is wrong with the world? I only opened it because it said it was from "Jerry" and I thought there was a chance it was my uncle.
"His sensitivity begins with Arthur and ends with Miller."
-Israeli woman in my building, on the playright's marriage to Marilyn Monroe
The tonic for your pain is chronic.
Not so much, it's been pleasant -- warm, but not insanely so.
A woman on the rooftop garden at the Met describing what she found when she "Googled" herself. This was particularly funny because I've been using it as a euphemism for masturbation.
How I detest seeing people use power to get beauty and vice versa. I need to figure out another paradigm.
The Sun Also Rises, because I never read much Hemingway.
The Vagina Monologues on HBO. Ya'll know I love me some Eve Ensler.
"I'm Getting Breast Implants" episode of True Life on VHI. Women say I just don't get it because I have big boobs. Yet these women all have breasts to begin with and are only going up a cup size. That hardly seems worth $5,700 and the physical hazards.
Tadpoling, but it brought back Nerd Boy memories. There I was on a date with someone else and it's just no substitute.
A documentary on Van Gogh. I have always loved his work, so it seemed a natural choice. Next up are videos about Keith Haring and the Louvre. You know, I never did see that commercial with Emmanuelle Lewis talking about going to the Louvre online.
resting at home, nursing myself during that first, painful, tired day of my period. I planned to stay in bed with a good book, but mostly I slept. The awful heat in the Empire used to do that to me, but usually I'm not so worn out here, because of the moisture.
At any rate, it was a thoroughly lazy day, followed by a fairly productive week. I woke up yesterday, shortly before the power went out. I didn't know what to think because they've been saying on the news that terrorists could hack into our infrastructure and turn off the power, water, etc. Way to give 'em ideas! Anyway, I rolled over and kept checking the time, too lazy to get up. I kept hearing more and more sirens, so I went to turn on the news around 1 pm and realized the power was out.
I tried to call someone else in the building to find out if it was just me or the entire building, but the phone was out. Since I'm behind in the rent, I had no idea if this was just me or something bigger. Finally, I got dressed and discovered the hallways dimly lit by only the emergency lights and exit signs. I didn't realize the elevators are also connected to the generator, so I went down the 12 flights to the dining room.
One of the women I often sit next to, my next door neighbor, in fact, had a walk man and was holding court, passing on the news to everyone seated around her.
With that mystery solved, I went to a cafe nearby to have a salad. Their power was out, as it was throughout the Village. However, the salad and water were still reasonably cool. I just sat in the back, figuring the giant windows covering the front walls would make it unbearable with no air conditioning. I was right. I watched in amusement as people kept trying to find and use the bathroom in the dark. Everyone asked if I was OK, as I had my back to the front of the restaurant. To me, it was perfect. I had just enough of the light and none of the heat.
Although the salad was incredible -- spinach, gorganzola, pears, pistachios and grapes -- I was hungry and needed meat. I stopped for shish-kebob at a cart on 14th Street. It came complete with barbecue sauce and a hunk of bread. Ya gotta love New York! I took the bus up to 86th and Riverside, then walked to Broadway and caught the crosstown bus to the Met.
It's my second home recently. There is just so much to see and do; I'm making up for lost time. I never went to any of the museums in the 5 years since I first visited New York. Next time, I need to go to another museum, perhaps the Guggenheim or the Museum of Natural History.
I checked out the Impressionist exhibit, the New York photo exhibit, some gorgeous pastels, beautiful oil paintings, the rooftop garden and bits of the Frank Lloyd Wright and the rest of the American Wing as I raced through between return sit downs in the American Wing courtyard and the Temple of Dendur. There is so much yet to see. Going on a Saturday was great because the museum is open until 8:45, so I had almost 4 hours and didn't have to rush at all. I sat and stared at the paintings, sculpture, patios, and the temple. It's extraordinary that place.. . .
Afterward, I took the bus down to the East Village. I was craving Pancakes ala Budapest at Kiev. I should've put that together with my kebob craving to realize my period was coming. All day I was hungry and only meat would do. They were also kind enough to let me charge my cell phone. It went dead just as I received a call. Due to the blackout, I hadn't had a chance to charge it. I was expecting a call from my mom when she made it in from the airport.
It's funny, sometimes I can't walk 2 blocks, but last night I walked from 2nd Avenue and 7th, to 6th Avenue and 8th like it was nothing. That's a mile and I wasn't in great walking shoes, either. It's all a matter of mood, I suppose. Today I'm surprised I left my building at all and only did to satisfy my chocolate craving.. . .
I am...astonished at the responses to my personals ad. I did meet one nice guy the week before last and am corresponding with a few people I really like, though all our schedules are nuts over the next few weeks.
This instant message regarding my personals ad is the weirdest of all, which is saying a lot:
"I will bend you over my knee and spank your big fat wobbly bare arse"
My response was, "Nope, if you tried to hit me, I would beat the shit out of you."
Then there was this winner:
I'd like to get to know you as well. I love freethinking love and want to see if you would like to cum to my place to REALLY get to know each other.
I replied that I prefer people who can spell the word "come" and who don't expect me to deliver hot sex on a platter to their homes. That's what call girls are for.
If nothing else, it's good material.
[Next entry: "Job Hunting?"]
[Index] [archives] [bio] [Wish List]