03 April 2003 - 6:28 p.m.

My hair's in rollers, my toes are painted, and I just gave one of my dresses a makeover because I'm going to pour wine after the English department reading tonight, and I am going to do it looking as much like Lisa Fremont as possible.

For reference, she's the one on the right.

How ironic, then, to have read this about myself in Capnargon's crazy-ass blog last night:

I wonder if she misses those days when we had class together. We should go to Dil's house, pour wine, and chat for a few hours. That would be awesome, like good ol times.

Or this, today, from Tinsel:So at this point, I have received, in one evening, offers of wine, intellectual compliments from peers, personal compliments from teachers, and tons of English exposure, and I was feeling so totally in love with nothing in particular, I figured all I needed was a beautiful dress, and I could be jpellecchia. (Yo, I hope she takes that the right way!)

Oh, but I did. I wouldn't have hacked apart one of my finest Eons finds in Edith Head fashion if I had no desire to preserve my girly-girl reputation.

Also ironic is the fact that I am even dressed at all, after what felt like an entire day of trying to convince myself and others that lovely is NOT the one thing I can do, an endeavor in and of itself, given that I was decked out in a gigham sundress seventeen sizes to small for me.

When is a sexy tablecloth also a writer? How is a raven like a writing desk? Yesterday someone told me I looked so perfect she was afraid to touch me, because I might break.

Sorry if I sound whiny, but I'm just bored of that shit. There are so few people here who actually think to comment on my latest chapter or story or essay before they trot out some cliche about my impressive grooming. Fuck that shit.

********

It is now 1:35 am. I am in a considerably better mood than before.

And I think that's because, in this world we're just beginning to understand the miracle of living. Maybe I was afraid before. I'm not afraid any more.

It's funny how you can get to what feels like the absolute depths of something, i.e. life, and, when you least expect it, someone comes along and offers you anti-gravity shoes.

The best part about what I just wrote is that it's not a cute metaphor for something else, it's what actually happened tonight.

I wish I remembered the name of the poet who read tonight, since he was a very cool guy. We shared a few Becketesque moments.

"Where are you from?"

"Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania."

"Ahh. Gerald Stern."

"Yes! Gerald Stern!"

"Yes."

"Gerald Stern."

And, appropriately enough, a discussion of horking wove itself into a discussion of Vertigo.

Things pick the funniest times to converge.

What I'm wearing: Black top, white chiffon skirt with black embroidery

What I'm reading: Heaven is a Place on Earth

What I'm doing after this: Calling Gus and waking him up.