I think I would like to live solely on Frosties from Wendy’s. That and peanut butter and banana on toast. With ice cold skim milk. Or a Frostie.
Oh wait. I like Chili Con Queso from Los Banditos here in town too, although I’m deathly allergic to it. That’s me. Allergy bad ass living on the edge.
I watched MTV’s Goth Sex expose last night. In it, there was a marine biologist or some other perfectly respectable career toting man who had his teeth sharpened like fangs and went by the name “Batman”. And I’m thinking his was not the “Na na na na na na na na Batman!” Biff Boom Zowie Adam West kind of Batman either. But I’m willing to believe he had a tool belt of some kind. And probably a cape. He liked to bite into his lover and then had this weird mantra “when you give me your pain it is beautiful”. It made me want to break every one of my Cure CDs. What is more, most of the songs from the B-roll were songs from one of my favorite mix CDs. Almost precisely in the same order, too. I think I’m just sad. And even sadder still was that I watched the second episode of whatever Hell-Sex-MTV-Show-It-Was and found that I wanted to go shopping very badly with the male prostitute. We have the same taste, he and I. I’m not sure what that says about me, though. He looked a bit like Beck, only prettier and with far more denial.
But the weird thing about the Goth Sex was that one of the Goths had six rings pierced into his back. I just don’t understand it. I mean, why go through life imitating a Mead Spiral-Bound notebook? Perhaps he wanted to wear some lovely ribbons through those rings. It’s boggling my little sheltered mind what they might be used for. Perhaps he wanted to make sure that he never lost his keys.
Mmmm… sushi. I also couldn’t live without a little tuna roll and wasabi. But I wouldn’t want to live on that. And I can’t imagine that a Frostie would go well with sushi. For that one needs Diet Coke or some lovely plum wine.
I’m back at work today. They can’t figure out how to keep the temperature of my office from fluctuating less than 20 degrees. At this moment, it is 40 degrees outside and the air conditioning is running. I’m wearing my leather sheerling coat at my desk, over a vest and a turtleneck. I hate to be a whiner but I really feel like trembling dramatically and stating “Excuse me! I have pneumonia!” but then my Midwestern sensibility kicks in and I straighten up my shivering spine, stick out my wavering chin, and suck it up like a good little repressed girl. You have to remember that I live in a society where wearing designer clothes means that you’re “show-offish” and going to therapy means that you’re “off in the head”. You suck it up and don’t complain. And if that means that you finish playing three volleyball games after dislocating your serving arm at the shoulder and relocating it yourself, well, then you’ll do it and you’ll like it. And when you drive yourself to the hospital in tears afterwards, the doctor will clap you on your back and call you a tough little jock and it will be perhaps the proudest moment in your life.
Not that I would know from personal experience or anything.
It’s a sad, sad day though. In my cubicle, I have a very lovely black and white calendar of New York, all 1940’s images, and my very favorite image is March, which is a picture of the inside of Grand Central Station, with long luminous fingers of light filtering through the crescent windows. And the commuters who are touched by the light are blurry, as if they had been imbued with a certain sense of urgency by, whereas the other people are stationary. It’s lovely and wonderful and it makes me happy to look at it, with all of those overcoats and hats and women in stockings that you just know must have veiny black seams up the backs. It reminds me of a cathedral in England I visited, where all of the stained glass had been blown away by WWII bombs and replaced with clear glass. It’s truly a wonderful photo. And today, I must change the calendar (since I have been sick since the beginning of April). April’s photo is the Brooklyn Bridge circa 1940, looking into Manhattan.
On the plus side, the birds are singing, the sun is shining, almost all of the snow is gone, my tulips and crocus’ are burgeoning up through the ground, and I haven’t coughed up any internal organs yet. It’s going to be a good month.
