kiwifruit's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Waxing Poetic Mind vomit: I love Ed Burns. Ever since I saw �Brother�s McMullen��I love Ed Burns. I thought he was this down to earth, yet cocky, smart, in need of a shower kind of guy�I thought he was a diamond in the rough, the next Woody Allen (only much more attractive). Then, of course, I found out he was a star-fucker and a model dater. Well, you know, give any guy fame and what do you expect? If you have the choice between bedding Christy Turlington and bedding Suzy Schmoe who would you pick? Frankly, it would be Christy all the way for me. But they broke up�didn�t you hear? There may be hope for me yet. If I just had enough brunches at Bubby�s I�m sure I�d run into him. And who knows? Maybe I�d be looking particularly glamorous, or maybe he�d be really hung over and I wouldn�t look half bad�But any-hoo. I just saw �Sidewalks of New York� and say what you may�I loved it. But I�m a sucker for that kind of crap. New York. Love. Sex. Blah Blah Blah. New York. Love. Sex. Blah Blah Blah. (Repeat as many times as necessary or at least for two hours give or take and you�ve got a movie that I�ll love). Still, I love Ed Burns. L. Schreiber eat your heart out. Okay. Back on planet earth. It�s Friday. Which really doesn�t mean a thing when you are unemployed except that maybe your boyfriend will be in a good mood and you�ll actually (gasp!) have a conversation. Plus, for two days I�ll have someone to play with�that is if boyfriend is in a good mood. I am getting used to all this free time. It doesn�t grate on me so hard anymore. I have my own little schedule now and it seems unbelievable to me that I ever got anything done at all when I had an actual job. Then again, there was the shopping�that was nice. But when all I do is go running, go to the gym and write fashion pieces from home in some semblance of pajamas, there is really no need for high fashion. But there are my roots (as in hair folks) and my bikini line (again, as in hair folks) and I cannot give either up. A girl has to draw the line somewhere. (Now how�s that for shallow?) So today, with the promise of more freelance work, and a verbal promise (which is about as meaningful as a handful of steaming shite) from the dotcomedy for work in the near future, I hit the salon for a serious wax and buff. I am now hair free in all the important places and it wasn�t even that painful (I kept promising myself a Crema Lita with chocolate jimmies every time there was a big riiiiipp in my nether regions). Why? Why? Oh why? If men only knew the pain we endured. Feh. They wouldn�t even care. My waxer was even kind enough to perform what felt like a biopsy on this one particularly pesky ingrown hair�what a doll huh? Okay, okay, so it�s not Friday anymore. It�s now Sunday and I have no further words of wisdom to pass on. It�s Sunday. Official day of vegetation. Enjoy. 7:32 p.m. - 2002-06-09 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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