Yesterday's Entry

My Soap-Operatic Life

"But God has the most fun with artists and writers: he inflames them with the desire to rival his own creations, then douses their overheated ambitions with a cold spray from the garden hose of reality. If they persist, he slams them to the ground and tweaks them on the proboscis for good measure. A fortunate few break free and prosper; the others lament the day they didn't become bank clerks." -Rick Bayan

Not much to say about yesterday, so I'll give you a quickie update:

Aerobics class actually turned out to be good. I was quite surprised. Less moves, more stretching, not too hard, I can live with it. =)

Art class frustrated the hell out of me. Well, it was okay for the first couple of hours, other than getting covered in charcoal, but the second half was quite annoying. We had to draw bikes. Well, not exactly bikes- everything around the bike but the bike (negative space). I've done negative space before, but not the way we had to do it, and it was driving me nuts. You wanna try drawing all the little details between bike spokes? Be my guest, babe. I hit that point where I just didn't give a rat's ass if it sucked, I did very rough crap (who wants to draw detailed tree bark anyway?) hoping to fill up the page so he wouldn't make it into homework too. Ick. Frustrating.

Last night I did a lot of TV watching. Watched my taped Felicity- excellent show. My parents are only a few degrees (like two) away from hers in parental protectiveness/overbearingness. The way her mom flipped out was the way my mom would. Ick, ick, ick.

And as for the RA again . . . mmmmm. So goofy how he was lying that he didn't have a thing for her. Baaad. Plus his inadvertent "So, when do your overbearing parents get here?" Cracked me up for sure. I still say she should go for him. Not like I'm biased here or anything ;) Oh, while I was in the bathroom this afternoon I overheard Chelsea on the phone saying that she was lusting after another RA (a second floor one, I think). Hmmmm, maybe it's contagious. BTW, I love living with sorority girls after rush ended. Pretty signs and brownies all around!

A few links to put here:

Isn't this article on sex in Salon depressing?

"Below is a summation of the basic approaches either as offered by health officials and/or tested out by those who've come before you. Not one of them will be completely acceptable to the lustful, free-loving student. It's sadly a matter of picking the lesser of all evils:

1) Take the risk and accept the possibilities. Carpe diem! Or carpe herpum!

2) Ask your partners about their status and pray they're honest. Suspend disbelief if necessary.

3) Choose to be only with those whom you know well and trust.

4) Get a full STD-oriented medical exam with your partner. Check his or her results.

5) Obsess over the gruesome possibilities, avoid all sexual interactions with others and curse this ruinous fact of life as you sit at home with your porn collection.

6) Take matters into your own hands (not literally -- that was No. 5). If possible, look for anything out of the ordinary on your partner's body, especially in his or her pubic region: blisters, bumps, reddening, swelling of the skin, itchy rash, enlarged lymph nodes in the groin, mites (some are visible to the naked eye) and mucuslike genital discharge (prior to stimulation, of course). You should greet any one of these with something along the lines of, "Hey, I'm just going to get dressed now and go home to masturbate. Thanks for getting me drunk, though."

Sure, those involved in monogamous relationships may secretly praise the existence of these microbes as barometers of cheating. For example, what guy in a two-year relationship can brush off an accusation of unfaithfulness when he's caught feverishly scratching his balls with one hand and applying prescription Kwell to them with the other?

But for the single horndog out there, whatever approach you adopt, know this: Somewhere between having painful warts on your genitals and experiencing the most delicious time of your life is a decision that you're going to have to live with."

"Going on a cruise is a little like being stranded on an island of wannabe hedonists, people doing their damnedest to escape the gritty reality of their daily lives in Kansas, New York, Oregon or Texas. Everyone has the same goal: to step out of reality into the nebulous padded room of their ultimate fantasies. It is a virtual heaven where the crew are the angels. The angels' job is to make your experience airy, care-free and relaxing, to encourage you to behave devilishly, to forget your sorrows and your responsibilities, to appease your every whim. It is a little like being king or queen of your own island where total strangers (the crew, other passengers) are automatically your friends. Where everyone smiles because they too are king or queen. Where you are indulged at every moment. In other words, if you don't like something, just send it back".

Excerpted from the book "A Collection of Personal Ads From Alternative Newspapers," by Skippy Williams and Zohre Crumpton, 1996, Simon and Schuster.

Bitter, unsuccessful middle aged loser wallowing in an unending sea of inert, drooping loneliness looking for 24 year old needy leech-like hanger-on to abuse with dull stories, tired sex and Herb Alpert albums.

Me -- trying to sleep on the bus station bench, pleading with you to give me a cigarette; you --choking on my odor, tripping over your purse trying to get away; at the last moment, our eyes meeting. Yours were blue. Can I have a dollar?

Imp and angel. Disembodied head in jar, 24, seeks pixie goddess to fiddle with while Rome burns. You bring marshmallows. No. I make joke. You like laugh? I like comebacks and confessions. Send photo of someone else.

I am spitting kitty. Ftt Fttttttt. I am angry bear. Grrrrr. I am large watermelon seed stuck in your nose. Zermmmmmmmmmm. I am small biting spider in your underwear. Yub yub yub. No mimes.

Three toed mango peeler searching for wicked lesbian infielder. Like screaming and marking territory with urine? Let's make banana enchiladas together in my bathtub. You bring the salsa.

Mongoloid spastic underwear model with extra limb (you guess where?) in search of bottlenosed dolphin and extra prickly cactus juice. Soup is good food.

I like eating mayonnaise and peanut butter sandwiches in the rain, watching Barney Miller reruns, peeing on birds in the park and licking strangers on the subway; you eat beets raw, have climbed Kilimanjaro, and sweat freely and often. Must wear size five shoes.

Timber! Falling downward is the lumber of my love. You grind your axe of passion into my endangered headlands. Don't make me into a bureau. I want to be lots and lots of toothpicks.

Small lumpy squid monkey seeks healthy woman with no identifyingscars, any age. Must have all limbs. Recommend appreciation of high-pitched, screeching noises. Must like being bored and lonely. Must not touch the squids, EVER.

There is a little place in the jumbled sock drawer of my heart where you match up all the pairs, throw out the ones with holes in them, and buy me some of those neat dressy ones with the weird black and red geometrical designs on them.

Mmmm Pez! Rabid Wonder Woman fan looking for someone in satin tights, fighting for our rights and the old red, white 'n blue. You look like Linda Carter? Big plus. Know all words to theme song? Marry me.

Sanctimonious mordacious raconteur seeking same for hijinks and hiballs. SJM 27 wants to look someone in the eye so don't be tall. Or, if you can't help it, enjoy laying down. Wanna swim upstream?

Remember that summer you spent with your parents in Hawaii and how mad you were that they made you go? And how you were hopelessly bored until you saw the most gorgeous man you'd ever encountered strolling down the beach looking at you, skillfully removing your skimpy bikini with his piercing eyes? And how you spent the last month imagining him taking you in every possible way, masturbating feverishly day and night, wishing he would reappear, but he never did because you were 15 and he would have gone to jail? That was me, and you just turned 18.

Angry, simple-minded, balding, partially blind ex-circus flipper boy with a passion for covering lovers in sour cream and gravy seeks exotic, heavily tattooed piercing fanatic, preferably hairy, either sex, for whippings, bizarre sex and fashion consulting. No freaks.

Or from the LA Free Press...circa the early '70s:

AC/DC, bi, S&M, B&D, French & Greek culture, TV, water sports, leather, rubber, animal lover. No freaks please.

Links to other sites on the Web

Graphic Station (aerobics man, Kilroy)

Adulation can be sent to the address below.

© 1997 jdrutherford@ucdavis.edu

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