Lonely, lovely? Let me talk international trade...

Crap day. Some jerk musician followed me around as I was searching for legit employment. Yeah, buddy, I recognize you and I think all of yer bands suck. [Cry, o DC, for your dying scene, cry unto Ian MacKaye and blessed blessed HR, let the sobs of your hardcore kids berefit of places to pit-dance be heard, cry unto the Almighty Rock, o DC.] He got me sorbet, variety rasberry, and told me that "we need to find you a job" as I prattled nervously about the Boy and my deep commitment to not being picked up by squicky guitarists with bad teeth and tried to back away politely, because I have met him before and didn't want to be mean. I eventually broke free in Meridian Hill Park and ran to the Boy's place for the hiding like skittish little squirrels (my totem mammal, by the by). The Boy snuggled me and fed me beer and pizza and didn't mock me for not just kicking this pillock in the ballocks and screaming. I wanted to, but I get nervous in social situations, huh. I really feel kinda sorry for him because he is so obviously lonely and so obv. wants a piece of the J, but cmon! A girl shouldn't have to dart out into traffic, screeching "Laters!" to escape advances. That's a bit much.

And I'm still unemployed. Anyone looking for a dilettant? I can scrub showers and talk Spinoza.

On the plus side, the pictures of Junichiro Koizumi at Graceland wearing Elvis' sunglasses will provide fantasy fodder for a long time. I love state visits, and this is the coolest to happen in a long time, although I wish I'd known about Koizumi greeting JapAms on the White House grounds. I could've sung Love Me or Trying to Get to You at him from the crowd. A girl can dream and he IS single...

Koizumi is the foxiest of the world leaders by a long shot. Although if we're willing to take it to a slightly less VIP stage, the New Zealand ambassador, whose name I've forgotten, is devastatingly charming. And that Minister of Culture over in Finland... Who needs to ogle worn-out celebrities, tarnished by a million dirty dreams, when one can desire politicians and be the only one besides their underlings to notice them at all?

I've lived in this town too long.

Treat me this way?

Oh, uterus. Oh, uterus, why do you treat me this way? For serious, you can go away without breaking my heart. Cause I hate you. We'd be better apart, you and I, especially now that my gyno want to poke at you so much. Poke at you "non-invasively", sure, but knocking me out to make incisions IN MY NAVEL and then filling me with nitrous oxicide to swell my abdomen so's you can PUT CAMERAS INTO MY UTERUS and if necessary cauterize irregular tissue sounds damn well invasive enough. It's called a laparoscopy, which is kind of a pretty name, but still... is this necessary? So I have painful periods. But I do not have incisions in my navel. (Can you imagine how much those are going to itch as they heal?) Seems fair. I mean, this might not even help the pain and it's so icky that it causes me to curl up into a little protective bite-y mewling ball. Stay away, I'll so take off a finger! It didn't help that I'd been reading both Jane Magazine and rereading Catch-22 beforehand in the waiting room, making me rightfully paranoid and afraid that my shoes aren't fashionable enough.

And my gynocologist, the man who delivered me and my younger siblings, the man who is still my Mum's gyno, was shocked by my tattoo, piercings, sex life, and refusal to be put back on the Pill. (I hate the Pill. I'm most likely infertile so it just makes me hormonal and lazy and sick and unable to tell who I'm attracted to. Last time I was on it, I started dating The Lawyer. True story!) Ack. So the piercings and tattoo might be a bit much, but it's not like I came in with harness marks or wax burns or a impacted vagina or a brand on my bum saying "Property of XXXX [names witheld to protect the innocent. P.S., on a side note, if you want you can have my bum for advertising purposes if you are willing to pay for my schooling and a trip for 4 to Venice]". What does he expect? I told him that I always use condoms, attempt to limit the number of sexual partners (to err is human...), and that I try to avoid orgasm because I've heard that sexual gratification can unbalance a woman's humors. I wanted to ask how much rough sex you can have before it becomes a health issue, but maybe he wouldn't have found that funny. And then he gave me what felt like an unnecessarily rough pap smear. Perfidious!

Next life, I am so being a man.

The only true ____

Read Lolita last week. Gee, books are pretty sometimes. I was already crushing on Nabokov after King, Queen, Knave but this was amazing. And the cover had some blurb along the lines of "the only true love story of our century" which is one of my new favorite formulas. "The only true microwave dinner of our century", "the only true love story ever found in People magazine", "the only true post-punk marachi band of our century", ect. But unflippantly, it is gorgeous- sick twisty obsessive gorgeous, but still.

Unfortunately, I know have a tendency to leer at faunlets on the Metro now, wondering if flesh that is innocent by virtue (only?) of its newness to this soiled sphere tastes the sweeter. Will restrain self, promise. Besides, I don't really think I have a thing for the young uns cause their hygiene tends to be ghastly. So maybe no on the 'sweeter' question. Fine, whatever.

In more lit related news, I saw M. for the first time in 10? months today. We talked about life: my failed engagement, his finding his one true love, my eye ulcer, his finding his one true love, my schooling, how he will look for books for me if I come to meet his one true love (why? To give'r the J seal of approval?). I kinda want to become a spinster right now, with the cats and the baking and the candy-colored row house and the Tag Team Tuesdays. Even if I find a one true love (maybe I can bogart M.'s?) I hope I can still talk about other things. And I know that seems really hypocritical with as much yammering as I've been doing about the Boy, but still. Sorry, world, for being besotted. Only a month more though.

I kept on telling myself that blogs are for people who have interesting lives. Or at least interesting thoughts. I have neither, but due to outside pressures I now at least have a blog. This ought to last for a couple really painfully boring weeks.

So into the fray!

Went to New York with the Boy this weekend so he could see friends and so I could see (in his words) "a real city". I always feel that I ought to resent comments like that because DC is an amazing city so I do. I resent comments like that lots. Anyway, I think part of it was to get rid of these impressions that I have that said Boy is a) much older than I am, because he has a real job and things and b) that he spends all of his time smoking and drinking and listening to Captain Sensible. a) was a success, b) just got reinforced. Strongly reinforced. That may be why I like him. But spending time with his friends reminded me of the Us Plus, but with mimosas not gin and less baking, ie. university roustabouts with too much booze and spare time. They are also hipper than we are. Hence the mimosas and other substances. Sparkling wine is too expensive in Canada to mess with that kinda noise though. But New York was amazing, even though we stayed away from the tourist sites (we didn't go above 14th except a brief jaunt into Astoria for Greek food) and we stayed, for us, remarkably chaste (staying on couches in cramped apartments, the monthly rent of which is as much as I pay for half a semester of school and which have no noiseproofing and very few walls).

And now I need to figure out how to explain to him that I have purposefully alienated almost all of my high school friends and my "s-scene" friends because they are/ were BAD BAD BAD for me, so if he wants to meet the people I hang out with he needs to hit Halifax. Maybe I can just get away with introducing him to S. and M. multiple times, wearing funny wigs and assuming different accents each time. But I wish he could meet BBeast and Adiz and Mikezor and N. Zed and W. and Sh. and J. and everyone else. And I really like referring to people by initals cause it makes me feel like novels about minor royalty so get used to it. Plus I really wish I had a nickname. That people called me and all, not just one I call myself in my head. And that isn't "my little buttercup" or JSpot (I accidentially typed JSot, which may be more apt. Apter? Anyways it fits.). Is that too specific? Or demanding?