From My Journal, August 1998

There was a boy in my life who I loved desperately.

we had a really good day yesterday. he sat and listened to music while i read dickens. it was a beautiful afternoon with a partial eclipse.

things are getting so much better. it's so fun hanging out with him -- and he pisses me off frequently enough to remind me that he is not the one. once he told me that i could call him every morning at 8 to say, "you're an asshole," and we'd still be friends.

that's funny, but pretty comforting.

And there was a girl.

i just don't even know where to start. she is so incredible. such a bad ass. she amazes me. inspires me. gives me such confidence. it's weird to think that we've been friends for such a short time. but we've been friends the entire time. better than people I've known for 20 years. when i say forever with her, i mean it. she's fascinating, brilliant, talented, she drives a truck, she's an artist who likes synthetic fabrics, she's stunning and real.

And I was a mess.

strong? i don't think so. i don't feel so. sad? i don't know. i feel it sometimes. but not really. loved? yeah. by a lot of people. but not really. alone? more than i should be considering all the people around me. but what do i do? where do i go? who do i really have? i don't want this place and i don't want these things and i don't want to be with these people and i don't want to be alone and ....

That one went on for an entire page. And it included a poem.

dog hair on my shirt -- symbol of my weakness
alone and mad in my room -- symbol of my weakness
tear stains in my book -- symbol of my weakness
big ass in my pants -
broken heart in my chest -
brand nubian in my cd player -
broken radio in my car -
symbols of my weakness

Obviously, I was a wreck. Also obviously, I was not a poet.

I've officially been living in New York City for ten years as of August 30. I'm still not a poet, but I did move past the "being a wreck" phase. (I hope.)

I think the most significant change from then to now is the fact that I'm not "almost 30" anymore. I'm almost 40.

It's good though. I like myself a lot better these days. My life is so much better. My apartment. My friends. My love life. My job. My attitude in general. I think it's just part of growing up and I've gotten to this phase of things.

You know. I think that's what the 30's are about. It's like, the 20's are the time to figure out who you are. Mainly by fucking up a LOT and hopefully learning from those mistakes ... eventually. The 30's are the time to learn to accept the fact that you are who you are, and to get adjusted to the shock.

My feeling is that my 40's will be about finally embracing that person.

And her fuck-ups.

Holy Shit Storm.

Do you guys remember this?

PHILADELPHIA - Just days before "Southern Decadence," an annual homosexual celebration attracting tens of thousands of people to the French Quarter section of New Orleans, Hurricane Katrina destroys the city.

"Southern Decadence" has a history of filling the French Quarter section of the city with drunken homosexuals engaging in sex acts in the public streets and bars. Last year, a local pastor sent video footage of sex acts being performed in front of police to the mayor, city council, and the media. City officials simply ignored the footage and continued to welcome and praise the weeklong celebration as being an "exciting event." However, Hurricane Katrina has put an end to the annual celebration of sin.

This was the unbelievable consensus among my people -- the Baptists.

Yes. Those people who believe Jesus has a vested interest in college sports, also believed that He, his Dad and the Ghost, made a direct hit on New Orleans back in 2005 to punish them for tolerating the gays coming to parade through the French Quarter.

Though, I have to admit that the irony of the method of destruction was kind of clever.

The gays were going to New Orleans to get fucked up on hurricanes , not by hurricanes.Flash forward to this week and the long awaited coming out gala for Sarah Palin.

(Who?)

And, what happens? Gustav crashes the party and the Republican elders are called to ... New Orleans. People. God has spoken. The radical, looney-tune sect of Christianity have been set straight (har har) by their Lord and Saviour. Not only did Gustav fuck up the Republican National Convention. It had ideal timing for the gays and their New Orleans celebration.

You're Invited!

The other day Flea and I were in a little gourmet/organic market trying to kill time before our burger joint let us in for lunch. We're poking around at the various grains and hippie vegetables when I come across a little fabric thing with a cute cowboy hat/stars and stripes motif. It's a P.I.M.P.

As I'm checking out the other styles, the granola loving vegan at the counter announces, "Those are GREAT! I absolutely love them."

"Them" ... the "P.I.M.P."'s, as it were ... are reusable feminine hygiene pads. P.I.M.P. stands for "Party in my Pants."

Ewwww. Reusable? Pads?Ok. I get the whole organic, love the Earth, stop global warming thing. But answer this for me: Say you're on your period. You're at, oh, the mall. It's time for a new party in your pants. What do you do with the old party? Do you clean it there at the communal sink? Do you swish it in the toilet water and wrap it in seat covers?

I was checking out the Party in my Pants website and it's actually a cute site. Nothing like you'd expect from creepy people who refer to their menstruation as their "moon cycle".

If you're in the comfort of your own patchouli-scented abode, fine. Well, kind of fine. You're still rinsing menstrual blood from a flannel happy face print pad. I can think of few things more hideous than this.

I can think of one thing more hideous. And it came in the form of a "Hot Tip" on the P.I.M.P. pamphlet.

Anybody up for a salad?