I'm sitting here naked and nervous because all week the property rental folks have been coming by to show my apartment claiming they notified me by phone the day before. The past few times this has simply been untrue, and has resulted in me dashing to my dresser at the sound of keys jangling outside my door. Fortunately, I keep my chain lock on all morning, so nobody can just burst in on my nakedness. You, gentle reader, I invite to burst in on me anytime.
Now the reason for my punishing hangover yesterday was my first ever visit to a strip club. I'll pause for a moment while you check my age and laugh at me. Alright? Good. I was with a good group of people: Alan's from Montreal, where there are liquor shops in preschools and strip joints next to churches, so he was my guide for the evening. It was nice. Really. I was occasionally aroused, sure, but it was in an eerily innocent way, like when you first see a woman's naked body. There was a strange emotional component too, like a first kiss, which felt perfectly natural at the time but now makes me cringe with the thought of my wide-eyed, virginal self sitting there rocking out to AC/DC.
After a night spent drinking shitty but expensive beer from a plastic cup, I couldn't sleep for a couple of hours, so I wrote Voltaire an email. I'm still feeling like a dope about that.
I realized a couple of days ago that I stopped asking things of you, my dear gentle reader. I'm sorry--I never mean to neglect you--I just get distracted sometimes. Last post was a request for music, which was buried in the body of the posting and thus garnered few replies. I have learned my lesson. Today is Friday the 13th, but rather than ask about superstition, I want to know about weird shit you do, little rituals and habits that you perform against better judgment, odd practices that convince you you're crazy. Here's one of mine: I pour into my kettle exactly the amount of water I need for a cup of tea, however, sometimes I pour in a bit too much: that doesn't stop me from pouring every drop of hot water into the cup, which, after the addition of milk, results in a delicate meniscus forming above the rim. I then have to stand around and wait for it to cool down enough for me to bend down to it to drink off the excess before I can move the cup to my desk or the table or wherever I happen to be (which is invariably either the desk or the table). For reasons that are mysterious to me, I'm deeply troubled by the thought of leaving any boiled water in my kettle. Maybe I read something in the manual, but who reads the manual to a kettle? (I do.) This is one of the things I do that tells me I'm crazy. Tell me about one of yours.
Now the reason for my punishing hangover yesterday was my first ever visit to a strip club. I'll pause for a moment while you check my age and laugh at me. Alright? Good. I was with a good group of people: Alan's from Montreal, where there are liquor shops in preschools and strip joints next to churches, so he was my guide for the evening. It was nice. Really. I was occasionally aroused, sure, but it was in an eerily innocent way, like when you first see a woman's naked body. There was a strange emotional component too, like a first kiss, which felt perfectly natural at the time but now makes me cringe with the thought of my wide-eyed, virginal self sitting there rocking out to AC/DC.
After a night spent drinking shitty but expensive beer from a plastic cup, I couldn't sleep for a couple of hours, so I wrote Voltaire an email. I'm still feeling like a dope about that.
I realized a couple of days ago that I stopped asking things of you, my dear gentle reader. I'm sorry--I never mean to neglect you--I just get distracted sometimes. Last post was a request for music, which was buried in the body of the posting and thus garnered few replies. I have learned my lesson. Today is Friday the 13th, but rather than ask about superstition, I want to know about weird shit you do, little rituals and habits that you perform against better judgment, odd practices that convince you you're crazy. Here's one of mine: I pour into my kettle exactly the amount of water I need for a cup of tea, however, sometimes I pour in a bit too much: that doesn't stop me from pouring every drop of hot water into the cup, which, after the addition of milk, results in a delicate meniscus forming above the rim. I then have to stand around and wait for it to cool down enough for me to bend down to it to drink off the excess before I can move the cup to my desk or the table or wherever I happen to be (which is invariably either the desk or the table). For reasons that are mysterious to me, I'm deeply troubled by the thought of leaving any boiled water in my kettle. Maybe I read something in the manual, but who reads the manual to a kettle? (I do.) This is one of the things I do that tells me I'm crazy. Tell me about one of yours.
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[Edited on Jun 16, 2003]