The Displeasure is Mine
There are a few things in life that I despise doing. Two jump to my mind immediately: grocery shopping and laundry. I realized on Friday -- actually I was reminded -- that shopping for bras is another one.
Why, why must bras have lace on them? Flowers. Fucking designs? Jesus. Give me a bra. A plain one. That's it. And then I have to shop with these chicks who are buying them. That's not comfortable. Excuse me while I walk into the dressing room. Stop looking at me. "Hello? Yeah, I'm trying it on now. Meet me down here. I think I might want to get this size." I don't want to hear this while I'm in the dressing room. Get off the phone, try your shit on without including me in the decision, and get out.
I went back out after getting my size to begin my desperate search for one without lace or a pattern of some kind. I was then joined in this area with two other women, one of whom was on a search for her own undergarment: a thong. "Oh my god, why do these things have ducks on them? I don't want a thong with ducks on them. I'm offended."
And she should be. She went on in this tone about the fact that men don't have ducks on their undergarments. "I'm offended," she said again. Yeah, and so am I. So just shut up and get your thong. Having just been in the men's department for my FTL boxer briefs, I recalled the underwear and realized that, no, they didn't have ducks donning their delicates. Oh well. It's gonna come off eventually anyway, one way or another.
The week hiatus I've taken from writing wasn't intentional. I just felt I didn't have anything to write about. But I actually did. I was constructing sentence after sentence in my head about Whoopi's SlimFast controversy, the Republican National Convention being just a few blocks from my job, Bill Cosby's rant about the state of blacks today.
I gathered articles, developed my arguments, and planned on writing. I just didn't. Whoopi was nailed for expressing herself. Free speech. Something this country is predicated on. Poor Bushwack. Deal, dude. Get some balls. Whoopi kicks ass, as do the other celebrities who used a forum to express their political views at a fundraiser for the "presumptive" Democratic president.
Kerry's camp responded perfectly to Bush's complaints. Unseal your secrets. I'm gonna go watch Tully. Hopefully get back into a writing mood. Actually, the other night, I decided just to start some writing. I decided to start with my first visit back to California after moving to New York. That damn New Year's Eve when I met who I now refer to as Winter Girl. I got kind of bored with the story, but when I turned the lights off, the words just came out. And I got out about seven pages. Three thousand words in one sitting.
Too bad I'm not doing anything with it. I just wanted to get going. No, I think I'm going to have to whip this diddy out chronologically. We'll see what happens. Perhaps fictionalize it. Combine characters, although not girls. So many stories. Way too much time. And then there is all that other stuff.
I opened a journal that spanned two or so years. I never should have one journal for that long and I hope to never let it happen again. But I couldn't believe some of the stuff I was reading. Much of the stuff that plagues me today about identity stuff came out five years ago in this journal. Some of it I marked so I can use it. Even descriptions I had about girls, one in particular, blew me away. I don't know what happened back then to me that prevented me from doing anything with it. Maybe that was the stagnance to which I refer in the stupid "About Me" section. But it was definitely there. And then I moved here and it seemed all my worlds collided and exploded. And that is what I'm negotiating now. This re-building of sorts. It's fucking hard. But whatever. So I'm gonna go watch Tully. Julianne Nicholson. Hotty. Later.
