jaysaint Getting it all down on paper…

I’ve found a few interesting folks doing random searches on LJ. Today I found a startling teenager. I’m not sure if it’s a boy or a girl. The tone was very girl-ish. But also referenced sex with Tiffany and Amy. So either it’s a gay girl or a girly boy. But the weird thing was that just about every entry, and there were plenty, was either a detailed list of food consumed that day (addressed with a lot of enthusiasm) or a rant against addiction and/or pot smokers. Teenagers are just so bizarre. I guess I was too then.

In my recovery from this hellish week I’ve tried to cover all my entertainment bases. Stacked on my coffee table are:
— Run Lola Run
— 25th Hour
— To Kill a Mockingbird
— The Thorn Birds
— Angels in America
— the first seasons of both The Gilmore Girls and The A-Team
— The Miracle of Life
— Wide Sargasso Sea
I really can’t imagine any eventuality this doesn’t cover

Here’s one fun vignette from my week that Tsalino found funny, so I’ll share it here.
We flew back into NY on the AOL shuttle on Thursday night. It was a flight so rough that at some points I would look out my window and only see ground since we were banking so hard. No good. So I take the shuttle to Teterboro, the little bus to Columbus Circle and then the subway to Chelsea. I finally got to Deanna’s apartment to dogsit and after many attempts to figure out the doors and locks, beginning with the fact that there are no numbers on the apartment doors so I’ve got to try the key in random doors (just waiting for someone to point a gun in my face for trying to break in). Anyway, Deanna’s apartment is over this swank restaurant called Suenos. So I get inside and a 100-pound dog is leaping all over me and I’m carrying bags and a suitcase and I’m tired and queasy from the flight and my sweater itches. So I walk into Deanna’s bedroom, throw down all my stuff and peel off my itchy sweater. I spend the next 15 minutes throwing the ball for the dog, brushing my hair, setting the alarm clock, etc, etc. I’m pacing around the bedroom and then I stop and look out the window, only to see that the restaurant extends way farther back than the apartments, and is glass-walled. So I’m looking down at a distance of about 25 feet right into the dining room. And the diners along the window are all looking back up at me — the topless girl playing with a big dog. We all stared at each other for a long second, and then I just slipped into the bathroom and laughed and laughed. I can’t begin to guess who was more surprised. And how that must have affected their dinner, especially since I must have been visible sometimes but not others, depending on where I was in relation to the two windows.

This is exactly the kind of thing that I do.