17 February 2002 - 10:07 p.m.

Tonight I am listening to several Beatles albums in chronological order, and missing Harvey so bad I can taste it. Or maybe that's last night's whisky and goldschlager still stinging at the back of my throat. Oy.

Yes, there was more debauchery last night. More of the ex trying to convince me to cheat on the boyfriend. More of the boyfriend getting jealous and wanting to go alpha-male on some flirtatious ass. More boys love me. Remember how I said all the boys love me? That is no longer an exaggeration. All the boys, including many I don't know and a few girls, now love me. The reasons for this may become more clear when I post a pic of me in my costume. So, yeah, I guess I'm a sex symbol now. This comes with its own set of problems, not the least of which is that people only got to salivate over me for two days. Sigh. More of Public Enemy No. 1 (thank you) getting drunk, flashing people, groping her significant other on the dance floor, and trying to make me feel guilty for not particularly liking her. And more finding out that she still trashes me loudly and often behind my back, whenever she gets a chance. Blech.

I don't know what is up with the people I know. But what I do know: the song "Girl" on Rubber Soul is kind of interesting because the refrain just consists of the world "gir-rrr-rrll" and this long, sharp intake of air that sounds either like a desperate drag on a cigarette/joint, or a completely distraught deep breath. I don't even have to breathe along with the song to feel it in my lungs.

If I press my lips together hard, I can taste the whiskey sour I had last night. If I concentrate, I can see things that I didn't see, but was a part of. What's funny about life is that when all the big, important details start to become surreal and unbelievable, the small things take on the presence of an elephant tap dancing on your forehead.

What I'm wearing:

What I'm reading:

What I'm doing after this: