13:51 - Friday, Mar. 25, 2005
it's pretty odd, this obsession
It's pretty odd, this (society's) obsession with skinny girls (which, thankfully, seems to be passing and giving way to more realistic softer snugglier bodies [which, unthankfully, is coming at the time when I am really skinny]). What people are loving is the lack of body, the air pockets around protruding hipbones, the space where tummy would be, the vertical line of air between the thighs where, if one were heavier, they would be touching (in my family, this space is known, lovingly as 'she has a square crotch').
When you love a skinny girl you love what isn't there, what she doesn't have. You love something that is not her, but could be, and if it was, you wouldn't love it anymore. Does that seem backwards to anyone else? Aren't you supposed to be excited when the girl you love takes off her clothes, and isn't it because then you get to see her skin? Not empty air? If people got excited about seeing empty air there would be no need for lovers. Men and women would seek and thirst for a deserted field, mountaintop, forest. Where no one could see them strip naked and make love to nothing at all.
Maybe someone could explain this to me. Not that I need an explanation. I gravitate towards skinny people as well. Culture is a fairly strong force, and can push people into doing and thinking things that, when you look at them as objectively as possible, are pretty stupid/ridiculous/harmful. Bones are still there, under as many layers of fat as you put on. Skinny shape lies within a fat shape. With the fat shape, you can have both. But with the skinny shape, you only have one, empty air, less body to touch and look at. I truly cannot make sense of it. I need to take voluptuous lovers and discover. Discover something like my culture has to be wrong and my logic has to be right.
17:46 - Thursday, Mar. 24, 2005
some spring break
I've just been clicking and clicking the add entry button idly on and off for the last three days to see if it was ever going to let me update, and now that it has, I've realized I have nothing to say. Except that I know why the clinical depression rate has skyrocketed: it's because everyone in America (and similarly overdeveloped nations) is too
overstimulated; we're too spoiled and jaded by everything around us and
unimpressed by things, and the second we're not being entertained or bowled
over or having a life-changing experience, we feel cheated, and worthless, and
unfulfilled. The only remedy for that, really, is removal from
overstimulation. Until things start getting exciting again. I wish the world
had a power-off switch. Weekly mandatory power outages so that families are
required to light candles and entertain themselves with stories or board games
or listening to thunderstorms or other things of that ilk.
Back to primatology studying. Some spring break.
16:08 - Monday, Mar. 21, 2005
it won't be hard
My favorite thing in the world: hot water. I an incensed when a place I'm living doesn't have near-unlimited hot water that I can stand under for as long as it takes to sloooooowly shampoo and condition my hair, wash my face, and wash my body (sometimes at least a half an hour). I am not wasteful with heat, gasoline, electricity, etc., but I am damned if I'm going to be cold for all 24 hours of the day instead of just 23 and a half, that extra half hour being a gift from God where I can finally be some semblance of warm and cozy; where I don't have goosebumps and my nipples won't stick out embarrassingly and I don't have to wear a down coat even when I'm indoors. I wonder if there's a health problem linked to this, but even if there is, even IT can't follow me into the shower and ruin my awesome hot-water heaven-on-earth.
Hmm, I sound religious in this post. I'm not. Don't worry. I just love hot water more than God, whom I don't even believe in - that's a lot of love, and maybe a complete misuse of the who/whom dichotomy. And the term 'dichotomy', too. Oops.
I'm working on a long self-indulgent family-angst oriented post for this diary that I know is wrong to put in the public eye. (Public eye meaning the three of you or so who still read this.) I probably will put it in the public eye anyway. I'm irreverent lately, mostly because it's the only emotion I can force upon myself that doesn't resist me. I am also in Chicago once again, which turns me, in turn, hysterical, ecstatic, paranoid, and slothlike. Expect an entry from one each of these moods. Try to guess which! (It won't be hard.)
22:43 - Saturday, Mar. 19, 2005
I was driving out of the parking garage at 10:30 with droves of drunk 30- and
40- year olds stumbling around the entrance, hooting and creaking. The woman
manning the pay booth flashed a white warning/greeting to me with her teeth
and I opened my window, handed her my ticket.
She said, 'Helloo.'
and I said, 'Hi.'
and she said, "You are scared of me?"
and I said, "No, I'm not scared of you, why?"
and she said, "Eh?"
and I said "Uh?"
and she said "Eh?"
and I said "Uh?"
and she said, "Are you scared of me?"
and I said, "No."
and she said, "OK, your bill is one thousand dollars."
and I said, "....."
and she said, "Now you are scared of me?"
and I said, "Yes."
and she tore up my ticket, and opened the gate, and waved me through.
20:06 - Saturday, Mar. 12, 2005
there is a bad reason for this update
I had a super-dramatic week from hell, but I'm better now. I also know what it's like to eat chili dogs with the stomach flu: something I've always wanted to know. And to watch my bank account fluctuate wildly with no idea of what the outcome may be. And to not go to any of my classes on a full-loaded day because if anyone had talked to me or asked me how I was I would have cried for about three hours. And to not study at all for a test, one of those tests that's so ridiculously complicated and long and obscure that to study would hardly put a dent in it, so why try? And so on. My hands are shaking. It's because I have a fever. I'm missing important keys and having to go back and fix them. The only reason I'm updating this is because it's been too long... that's a bad reason.
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