Celebratng...
Nothng at all, it was a down knda day. To say I'm n a funk is puttng it mildly, I have to fnalize my plan and put it nto action or I'll never be satisfied. Photographng...
Nothng lately, but I picked up 8 rolls on Friday -- 4.5 from New Orleans, 1.5 from New York and 1 that I somehow never developed from my year n Southern California. Now I still have a couple of the disposable cameras I bought for my birthday and I'll be caught up. Watchng...
Too much T.V. I keep rememberng that lne about it beng the opiate of the masses, and it only just occured to me that opiates don't merely keep you from reactng, they are downers. Dreamng...
That I went to a Paul McCartney concert or appearance with my mom. She scooted over to some empty seats nearer to center stage and the next thng I know, he was a few feet from her. She sidled up and kissed him -- full on tongue! Eatng...
Not so much, my uterus has gone back nto hibernation. Missng...
Everyone. If I didn't live n a residence full of women where we eat meals together, I would not have seen anyone I know for 2 weeks, snce before the Greek's mom came to town. Givng...
Myself a facial. it felt so delicious and my skn was dewey and smooth afterward.
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 declarative, not merely decorative. I'm begnnng to assume it's too much to ask for someone to appreciate my mnd and my body. Yes, it's still botherng me. I'm sick of well-meanng friends dismissng my feelngs for someone whose mnd enchanted me merely because we never went to a movie or whatever is the prescribed defnition of a date. I fell for that back before I ever dated. After the Year of a Million Dates (1996, as I recall), however, no mas. Dates are meanngless and most of the typical date activities preclude actually gettng to know the other person. I'll take our walks through the park over dnner and a movie any day. I miss you so dreadfully, dear boy. . . . I've noticed a pattern n my life snce the Year of a Million Dates, before which there were few if any dates and so no pattern could be determned. There's the brilliant, sensitive, but shy and unsure (and previously wounded, usually) man who engages my mnd. He usually, to my delight, even appreciates my ntelligence, sense of humor and competance. He is generally too wounded, dense, afraid to lose the friendship, or convnced I couldn't possibly be nterested n him. Often he complans that women don't like him because he doesn't have enough money, as if that makes any difference. (I'm not lookng for a sugar daddy, got that? There's no such thng as a free lunch.) Although none of this is expressed until I am at least 500 miles away, I take it as another rejection. Stupidly, I reman friends with all of them and watch as they fall, one by one, nto the clutches of one manipulative shrew after another. I can see how that's preferable to an honest relationship with someone who actually, you know, likes you just the way you are. The other side of the con is the one who sees only my body and perhaps my face. They tell me how beautiful I am, how nice I look, what gorgeous eyes I have, blah, blah, blah. I know I am supposed to fnd all that flatterng, but compliments on shallow features I don't have much control over are empty and utterly devoid of meanng. Do you like me? Moreover, they are almost always accompanied by disrespect, if not outright disdan for my mnd. At the very least they nterrupt me, frequently. More often, they outright tell me not to talk. Worst are the ones who tell me my ideas are silly or some version of the opnion that women should be seen and not heard. These sort of men also have very strong ideas, grounded firmly n the mythical 1950s, of what is appropriate for a woman to do, say, thnk and wear. I suspect this type thnks he is a gentleman. He's prone to openng doors, pickng up the tab and otherwise followng The Rules. However, they seem to thnk that money is a substitute for respect. They soon learn how mistaken they are. I'd rather go Dutch than be treated like a small, dim-witted child. It doesn't matter if I'm not lookng for anyone, because this is the knd of man who won't leave me alone. They don't hesitate to nterrupt when I'm readng or writng, because surely I'd much rather be talkng to them. The men I adore are all readers, if not also writers, and so I can only assume they'd understand how vital readng and writng are to me. Are these the only options? Surely there is somethng besides ignored or abused. I thought I was breakng that pattern just recently, but I was wrong. For once, the latter personality type was actually smart as well and so I missed the other signs for a while. I thought I'd fnally broken the pattern and started somethng new and different. He recognizes me as ntelligent, but I fear that he sees me, primarily, as a (potential) fuck hole and not a lot more. Maybe I'm just beng paranoid. I'm tryng to give him a chance. Maybe he's exactly what I've been waitng for. I'm tired of beng told if I just lost weight, wore make-up, grew my hair, wore more femnne clothes, etc. that I'd have no problem attractng a man. Nevermnd that this is completely counter to the rest of nature and that men should be vyng for us. The fact is, I've never had a problem with men beng attracted to me, physically. One friend went so far as to say I should be grateful that I'm pretty and that once someone was n love with my body, my mnd would be a bonus. My mnd isn't a bonus, it is, n fact, the whole pont. . . . 
I had not remembered takng this photo with Cute Tim n New Orleans. As you may be able to tell by my rosey cheeks, I'm drunk off my ass, as was he when he picked me up n Reverend Zombie's. The liquor was oozng from his pores and I smelled him before he even talked to me. I blew him off at first, and repeatedly. But n the end I happily relented, thnkng I might as well go for cute, because smart is just a lot of trouble and heartache. Actually, Tim was both. He was also fun, charmng, positive, and enthusiastic. And a great kisser. I probably should've fucked him, too. Sometimes I thnk that's the most honest thng n the end -- a modern, safe-sex version of Erica Jong's zipless fuck. It was straight to the pont, frustrationless, and free of all the senseless games and drama. If the idealist n me can give up the senseless dream of fndng an equal who would appreciate me and I them, perhaps I could fnally embrace a lifestyle of fun and no regrets. This photo is currently the desktop background on my computer. I like it mostly because it's of me havng fun, a quality that has been n short supply for most of my life.
[Next entry: "A Geek Among Geeks"]
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