elegantwaste's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- fatang. Does it get any better than the Naked Chef cooking for Jamiroquai? No, no, kids. It does not. I want to be Jaime Oliver when I grow up. Or just be his buddy, so he could cook for me. Woo. [An aside: I want to write in this journal; I want to be unafraid of the construction of an audience; I want to be at the same time aware of that audience, whether it exists or not. I just want to write.] As one of the recently single, I've gotten plenty of advice. 'Put yourself out there; network.' 'Go clubbing.' 'If you have a good hard fuck, you'll stop thinking about the ex when you think about sex, and you'll get over everything.' 'Don't cry.' Having a drinkin' and bitchin' session with another of the recently single was nice and cathartic. And y'know, some sex would be nice, as it usually is. And I do kind of want to go out dancing, but that's because I want to feel a part of something. I want to get out. Today, I went to the art gallery. Now, this is my own lesson learned from the relationship - I have to become more assertive, and I have to take charge of my own relationships. Fine. I can't be the laid-back, wait for them to come to me chicky, cause, they probably won't. I have to take a chance. The art gallery wasn't any of those things, by the way, but it was a fun time. And I had the fleeting idea that, since the exhibit is Carr, O'Keefe, and Kahlo, three female-empowering artists, there might be some cute girls there that I could saunter up to and casually ask if they thought the canvas had erotic undertones. There weren't, really. Tourists with knee-length khaki shorts and lines from their checked-in cameras on the backs of their necks. A tour group of old ladies who live in the same building. A couple kids in wheelchairs being pushed around. A group of Latino boys giggling over the word 'bisexual' on one of the Kahlo signs. The usual. Right now, by the way, I am waiting for ice to freeze. It takes longer than one might think. So, instead of picking up hot girls (which was not of course my reason for going) I looked at the art. I can't go to art galleries with people, because they either get really impatient with me staring at the works - you remember Ferris Bueller's day off, with Cameron staring at the Seurat painting? me. - or they want to 'discuss' the works with big fancy schmancy words. I won't even discuss movies right after them. It bothers me. Maybe I'm slow, and need time to think about it, but I think I just need to contextualize things before I can analyze them, and it's hard to contextualize something when it's right in front of you. So now I want to watch Ferris Bueller. So, yeah. I have it twice on VHS, for some reason that I no longer remember. And it's always the ending that gives me trouble - so, end! fatang! 10:14 p.m. - 2002-07-08 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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