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Starshine
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For some reason, this weekend the clouds of depression lifted from me. Maybe it was
forcing myself to go out,
or helping create something great and controversial, or just trying not to think
about the horrible things
that loom in the near future for me, but I don't feel like sleeping in any more.
Today
I got into work on time for the first
time in months. I even got a semi-anonymous love poem in e-mail today. Why is it
that all the good, groovy things seem to happen in one
big clump? I wish they would spread themselves out so I don't feel so damn
miserable at times. For example, on Friday I was reading "Blood and Guts in High
School" and crying so hard that I was unable to stop for almost the entire day. Good
things should definitely happen more often.
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...and spaghettied.
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Now that I think about it, "Hair" was the reason I never managed to kill myself in
high school after a certain human bean broke what little there was of my spirit. I
don't even know why this musical is so wonderful. Its messy storyline encompasses
the absolute freeness of
youth, and all that is funny
and ironic and rebellious and sexy about being free. I love the fact that for weeks
after I see this musical performed live I can taste its taste in my mouth and feel
it snaking freeform through my veins. I really do think that in my past life I was
a flower child; dirty, funky, and elated at life and the prospect of a beautiful
future. It would explain all the unexplainable hope that lies far, far underneath
my dillusionment.
So I guess what I'm trying to say is to fucking look in the paper and find a live
showing of "Hair," because if you don't, you'll just never be able to say "I got life."
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I'm Girl 7
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So I've been getting a lot of prank phone calls lately, and recently I made a big discovery about them. For awhile I was getting messages on my machine from strange men saying "Hi, this is so-and-so, call me back at 555-1212." Last weekend I got a call from some guy saying "Hi, I'm calling about the ad." And then, the next day, I got a call saying "Hi, I'm calling about the massage."
Now, I got to thinking about these calls, and eventually I figured out someone must have placed an ad somewhere with my phone number and/or name. This was pretty clever, or so I thought, except for the fact that I'm more amused by it than anything else. The only problem was finding out where the hell this ad was.
Well, a few days ago I got /another/ call saying "I'm calling about the ad." I asked him where he heard about the ad, and he said the L.A. Weekly, so my friend and I set to work reading all the goddamn stupid personals in the paper. (I asked the guy to tell me what the ad said, but he was so embarrassed that he hung up on me.)Finally, I found my ad. French/Brazilian dancer will give you bubble bath & exotic sensual massage. The name wasn't mine, but the phone number was one off from mine. (Stupid people can't dial when they're masturbating, I guess.) There was an ad right next to it for another French Brazilian dancer with the name "Lisa" and a phone number also, strangely, one off from mine. Coincidence? I don't think so, but I guess we'll never know.
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