j u s t a l i t t l e g i r l l i v i n g i n a b i g g i r l w o r l d




Dirty Little Secrets:
Sordid Past
Current Abominations
Vices
Enabler




Make Me Love You:
Public, Part One
Public, Part Two
Private



<< regress : degenerate >>


Thrusday November 8 2001 - 5:56 p.m.

Prepare yourself. I'm making up for the lost days with a whole loooooong-ass entry. Come on, stick around. There's some good stuff in with the crap.

___________________________

I lost my diamond earring. I think it was when I was dancing. It's not a real diamond, yes I am that tacky, but in your ear no one can tell the difference and it looked fine, fine, fine on me anyway.

I didn't want the hole to close up - losing an earring hole so soon after losing the nose ring would be just too much for me - so I dug around until I could find an earring to replace it with.

Yes, like Louise, I too never change my earrings. I've just got too damn many of them holes, okay?

I don't keep many spare earrings around the house, except my gold ones that are worth something that I never wear any more because I don't wear gold jewelry, so all I could find was one of my studs, you know, that they actually pierced my ear with. Just a plain silver ball.

So I went to put it in my ear. Ouch. Owie.

Cause my stud was much larger than my fake diamond had been.

I haven't had my ears pierced in a while, a few years back I about finished up, so I had forgotten how much it sorta stings. Particularly in the cartilage, babies.

(But not as much as the nose did, no way uh uh never never never.)

(But I didn't cry. I didn't even complain. Cause I'm tough.)

So the entire point here is that my ear is all red and throbby. And it makes brushing my hair painful.

Thank you.

___________________________

State Street has got to be the most obnoxious street in all of Utah, and it just happens to be the street that I work on.

(Sorry, the street on which I work.)

Our office is split into two, one area in the front and one in the back of a building, and we used to be able to get from one area to the other by going through this little hallway, but then the owners of the building leased the little hallway to another company.

(Yes, they leased a little hallway. Well, I suppose it's more like a little annex, really, but still.)

So, now to get from one office to the other we have to go outside, around the building, and in the front door. It's actually okay because it gets me outside for a few minutes, and helps to ensure that Secretary Spread (get your minds out of the gutter) will take at least a couple more years before it sets in.

But.

I simply cannot get from one office to the other without hearing "Wooo!" or a horn honk, or some other similarly annoying or disturbing outburst from the cars going past.

Several times.

Here's the thing. I certainly don't think I'm ugly, but I also don't really see myself as the sort of person, when seen walking down the sidewalk, that would inspire someone to slow, honk, gesticulate, and go wooooo.

Although we are not always the best judges of these things, when it comes to ourselves, but still. I don't get it. Is it that I am moving? Is it that I'm female?

I've been told that the area in which we work is sort of...seedy. I wasn't aware of this. In Utah, seedy looks just like...normal town.

But, apparently there are prostitutes round about our offices, when the sun goes down. So perhaps, perhaps they think I'm a lady of the evening.

Still that doesn't make much sense, because, well, I'm a little bit too clean to be mistaken for a prostitute, at least I think so, personally. And besides, I'm usually dressed for the office. How many prostitutes walk up the sidewalk clutching a stack of legal size folders, dressed as His Gal Friday?

I've only actually seen perhaps a handful of actual prostitutes in my life (do the ones in Taxi Driver count?), but I'd venture to say the answer to that question is not too many. Maybe the odd one or two, who perhaps specialize in a fetish sort of thing, but even then I'd think they'd be cruising a leeeetle bit slower, and maybe they'd at least be showing some leg.

Certainly, if you follow me a low rate of speed, with your window down, crooning "Woooooo...woooooOOOOoooo...wooo," like some sort of messed up bird mating call, and I don't respond, you can take that as I don't want your attention and most likely you're only annoying/scaring the shit out of me, thank you.

Of course, maybe he was some sort of tourist or someone new to the country that only spoke Woo. In that case, maybe he was only trying to get directions. He probably all cursed me in Woo as soon as he drove off.

[I had made a John Woo joke here, but decided it was unnecessary, far too long, and also not very funny, so I removed it. You don't have to thank me.]

___________________________

Cocoa Krispies are luscious.

___________________________

I have a new hat.

___________________________

That's it. I'm spent. As the Australians always say,

piss off.

No, really.

Here goes.

Ciao.

-Mlle R







Ich vermisse mich. Ich vermisse mein Haar.



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