I am...a New Yorker

[Previous entry: "Jumping in the Puddles"]

Wednesday, October 16, 2002
Having More Fun?

Coffee...as I couldn't stay awake this morning. Now that it's cold again and the heat still doesn't work in my room, I wake up over and over during the night.

Om Yoga, but oversleeping and not using it yet. Crap!

Jump the Shark is now a book. Amazing how people have parlayed web celeb status.

"Citizen Burns" on The Simpsons. It's no wonder I love that show -- they paid twisted homage to Citizen Kane, Al Hirschfeld's comics, the Friar's Roast, and Planet of the Apes.

A bobby pin as I entered my room. I don't use bobby pins. I suspected staff was coming into my room, but now I know for sure. Now I have to worry about my laptop and other posessions. It's just about the last straw for me.

I thought it was a pain to commute from a similar place in Brooklyn, but there was none of this bullshit, the staff wasn't surly and you could come and go without the feeling that the entire staff knew your business.

In the thus-far mild Noreaster.

Rain all morning and wind gusting through the city's canyons. I laid in bed an extra 20 minutes, dreading a serious drenching.

Surprised at my own hair.

I am...always surprised at how shocked people are when I change my hair color. I've done it so often over the last 6 or 7 years that it's not a much bigger deal than buying a new outfit. Having shaved my head over 7 years ago, I very much lost my attachment to hair and to looking good (as opposed to merely presentable, which I do make an effort at).

It was no different yesterday, from the moment I took off my hat:

It's actually quite reddish, as red dye is the hardest to lift. I started the roots much sooner, so my natural black hair bleached lighter than the red.

I love this look in my eyes. I wasn't feeling all "come hither," but nonetheless.

It's the moley side of my face. I don't know why there aren't any on the left side.

Is it just me, or do I look stoned in this photo? Oddly enough, I hadn't smoked a bit -- but this reminds me of the goofy-happy-mellow look I get when I do . Also, this photo is a perfect example of how I look like I'm wearing make-up, but I'm not.

This is what my hair is like after I blow dry it. It has all the body of a Lucky Troll.

And the final product. Note the '70s lamp/table combo. Behind the blue mug (from The Journey), is a nightlight reading "Radioactive." I bought a "Bio Hazard" one for Fang at the same place in Ithaca. Really wanted one of their big hand chairs, but imagine that on Greyhound.

It's actually just a step toward red, which is my favorite color on me, but I wasn't finding a red that bleached or coated my natural black sufficiently. I'll be back to auburn or something next week, if I don't shave the whole cultural genocide off before then.

. . .

I shared a good laugh with Cute Guy at work. We were talking about apartment hunting and he asked where I was living now. I told him the West Village.

"Oh, yeah, you wanna get out of there, fast! That's the worst neighborhood in the city."

I explained about the high rent, the early meal hours, the surly staff and men getting past security.

"You don't want the men in that neighborhood getting in."

"Heavens no!" I replied. "They'd redecorate the place and bring up the property value!"

Sometimes, I think this is the way to go. When I don't care I can keep it light, avoid them as much as possible and just enjoy their pretty faces. My conversations with Nerd Boy were so deep and interesting, I find myself missing that sort of stimulation even 4 months later. I gravitated toward him, as if pulled by some unseen force. I never got that attached back when I only liked men for their looks.

Please, no more posted comments that I avoid anything difficult -- that's just too ironic for words. I don't mind difficult if there is a point to it. But there was no point in letting Nerd Boy into my world, when he refused to do the same. So, even if I bend my rule to just emotional celibacy, I'm still better off.

In another fit of irony, the last of the men I was dating told me I go out of my way to prove I'm tough and don't need anyone, thus no one will ever love me. Just because HE annoyed the fuck out of me, whined about his ex and turned everything I said into an insult about him ("I can't make it, I've got plans with a friend." "Oh, so I'm not a friend?!" and so on) -- doesn't mean I'm a cold fish. He was offended that I wouldn't meet him at 3 a.m. or ride in his car on the first date. Uh, it's not about YOU, it's about having common-fucking sense.

He was dishonest (omitted many important facts...such as a soon-to-be ex-wife and a child) with me from the beginning, then when he fessed up said he didn't want anything "heavy." So why would I allow myself to get deeply involved with him? My only stupid move was to keep going out with him, despite all the strikes, because he kept telling me what a nice guy he was and how nice guys can't catch a break. Like they tell writers -- show, don't tell.

This is why I don't get it when what I had with Nerd Boy has no status, but I could at least say that guy and I were dating. We shared dinners and movies, but very little else. Sometimes I think I shall never grok this world.

[Next entry: "Painting"]
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