I’ve been busy. Moving, and all. Despite the whole unemployed status, my days have been pretty full.

For one thing, I’ve discovered that I have a tendency to experience strangely intimate moments in the restrooms of Bay Area dive bars.

The first time I came here, I overheard a conversation in the ladies’ room, among a group of women trying to comfort a their mountainously tall friend about her boyfriend’s recent incarceration.

Second time, I went to a show with Dean. In the bathroom, while waiting for a stall, I was in line with a couple of women lamenting the tolls of aging. They were sharing a joint, and asked me if I wanted a hit. I declined, and one of them laughed and hugged me, before including me in their conversation. I think I got a swat on the ass before continuing into the stall to pee, once it made itself available.

Last week, I made use of my remaining days with my moving van to drive to San Jose to visit Dean at his last night as DJ at yet another dive bar. It was fun to hang out with Dean and a bunch of his old friends, and I’m really glad I went.

While in the bathroom, I noticed a bit of graffiti I found particularly interesting, and later went into the stall with my notebook to copy it down.

The bathroom had only one stall, so while I was copying, a woman busted in to pee, and told me that I could stay and finish copying, as long as it didn’t bother me. “Hell,” I said, “If it doesn’t bother you, it doesn’t bother me.”

She chatted while she peed, and when she was done, she gave me a big hug and yelled, “Oh, my GOD! You’re HAIR is so kewt! And I LOVE your nosering! It’s so kewt!”

When she opened the door to the stall, a friend of hers was waiting outside. I was still copying, because I am an *artiste.* She said to her friend about me, “Oh, it’s cool. I was just talking to her. We’re friends, now!” So, the second women came in to pee. She complimented me on my ring, which I let her hold while she sat on the can. She, also, hugged me before she left the stall.

The graffiti I was copying was as follows:

Now, was that worth me having to watch two strangers pee while making friendly conversation?

Okay, I don’t really know how to answer that.

I also don’t know how to answer Heathur’s question. What’s a girl to do?

Anyway, other than that, I’ve been steadily seeking employment, and slowly unpacking. Both attempts have been met with varying degrees of success.

I’ve been hanging out with my roommates, who are wonderful. One of them is an old friend, and we’ve been spending a lot of time catching up and cracking horrible jokes. With the others, particularly my friend’s boyfriend, I have established a dynamic wherein we make fun of each other like siblings. My every spastic move seems to frustrate him, which amuses the hell out of me. And then he tackles me with a very painful shoulder massage, or uses an empty squirt bottle to blow dry air in my ear. We’re very grown up, here.

Oh, and a friend of Dean’s taught me how to blow fireballs. It involves spit-spraying lamp oil onto a burning match stick, and, while it’s really easy, I don’t recommend you try it at home. Surprisingly, I didn’t injure myself or anyone else with my fire-breathing, but I did dribble some oil down the front of my shirt. I have the stains to prove it.

ALSO! I managed to drive across half the country without anything breaking. Then, when I finally unpacked, I stepped on my glasses and snapped the frames in half.

Who’s surprised?

No one?

Me neither.

Luckily, my housemate (the one who makes fun of me all the time) heard my desperate cussing, and handily crazy-glued my glasses together. He refrained from teasing me about it, because I was so freaking upset. All is now well.

I have my own little room, with my own little outdoor porch. My house is beautiful, as is my neighborhood and the surrounding areas. I think I like it here. The weather’s gorgeous. It’s hot in the daylight, but it’s not the humid heat that follows me into the house and nests in my hair, like vermin. The heat sneaks up on me, so that I don’t notice it until the brass buttons on my jeans are burning my flesh.

Nighttime is rather difficult, though. At night, I can see my breath. The darkness is oppressive, and I hate to go to sleep. I stay up later than the rest of my housemates, and I know that even if I had a job to awake for in the morning, this would still be the case. The chill and stillness make me aware of a loneliness that has been with me so long that I have come to accept it as a part of my personality. I don’t like that at all.

All that aside, there’s plenty to like.

~ Last Five Entries ~

The Forks Have Spoken - 09.10.05

This meme's for the balcony, and the next meme's for the floor ... - 09.08.05

Arm-in-Arm Down Burgundy - 09.05.05

Motivated! - 08.25.05

Moths, and Relative Nonsense - 08.18.05

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BUY JEN'S BOOK! BUY IT! DO IT!

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BUY DEAN'S BOOK, TOO! YOU KNOW YOU WANNA! SERIOUSLY.

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