Thursday, June 01, 2006

dear diary, the weather is just too nice

When I was 13, a typical entry in my diary looked like this:

Dear Diary,

Today Shannon and I went to the mall. I can’t believe I’m a size 7. We both got really inspired to lose weight and are going on diets tomorrow.

I really love Spanish class. Yesterday John Peetz and I talked a lot about the present tense. He has really nice eyes.

Your friend,

Cheryl

In other words, my diary (and I was always compulsively starting a new one, so my closet at my dad’s house is full of little pink books with five or six pages filled) existed mainly to document goals (because once I lost 10 pounds, wouldn’t I want to look back at the fateful day when my miraculous weight loss began?) and prove that I did, contrary to popular belief, have a life. If I did something fun or if a cute boy talked to me, I wrote it down. Or if a cute girl talked to me, I’d write it down in a way that didn’t acknowledge, even to myself, that I thought she was cute: “Anita subbed my jazz class at Act III tonight. She was a really good teacher and used to be a gymnast and has a really good body. I want to be just like her.”

I like to think that my current diary is much more well adjusted. It’s not the same as my blog, by the way—the diary is much more boring, therapy-esque and, occasionally, R-rated. But you’d have to wade through so much boredom and self-therapy to get to the R-rated parts that it wouldn’t really be worth reading. Anyway, I like to think that now I know life is not just about documenting coolness and professing ambitions.

But when I decided I wanted to blog about this weekend, I couldn’t come up with anything except little nuggets of coolness that felt utterly necessary to document, yet utterly un-profound. Stuff like:

On Saturday Sara and Becky and I ate so many tiny little sandwiches and drank so much tea. I should probably eat less sandwiches.

On Sunday Meehan and AK and I saw this feminist burlesque group called the Miracle Whips. They wore stewardess uniforms and strap-ons. The one girl who emceed was really cute.

On Monday I went to the beach. I hadn’t been in a long time. It was sunny and nice. AK’s friends talked about their friend who used to wear jeans to the beach because he wanted to be a model of Christian modesty.

AK has really nice eyes.

So those are my big revelations. Very eighth grade-esque, except I probably didn’t have much occasion to use the phrase “feminist burlesque” when I was in eighth grade.

It’s June 1 today, and I’ve always been fond of making first-of-the-month resolutions, but even though hanging out in Newport Beach in a swimsuit is not a great way to feel thin, I can’t muster any real goals, weight loss-related or otherwise. I’m just too relaxed. The weather is just too nice.

Okay, so maybe I did make a tiny little secret goal to do some more writing. If I follow the pattern of my youth, I will fail within three days.

Speaking of writing, and specifically writing that I wrote years ago (though only four years ago in this case), I’ll be reading from The Commuters again this weekend:

Rhapsodomancy Reading Series
Featuring Eileen Myles, Cheryl Klein, Ariel Robello and Christopher Russell
Sunday, June 4, 2006
Doors open at 7 p.m., reading begins at 7:15
Good Luck Bar

1514 Hillhurst Ave., Los Angeles
RSVP at rhapsodomancyla@yahoo.com
$3 donation at door; a portion of the proceeds will benefit a nonprofit organization.
There will be a cash bar.
http://rhapsodomancy.typepad.com/.

5 comments:

Schrodinger's Kitten said...

John Peetz is mine. back off, ho.

Cheryl said...

Oh, is that right? Did he ask YOU how to conjugate "comenzar," bitch?

amyrottencore said...

I swear this is true: Probably in the same year that you wrote your diary entry on Anita, I was at Del Amo mall with my mom and my sister Wendy. We were a pretty healthy famliy, in that we only ate junk food in moderation. However, my mom somehow agreed to a box of four Cinnabons to take home. We rode up the escalator and I held onto my box of buttery cinnamoney high-carb tastiness. Then I spotted ANITA stepping onto the escalator that was moving down, which ran alongside our escalator that moved up. I waved all big and dorky to her, as I told my mom and sister that she was the sweetest dance teacher. Suddenly, I dropped my box of Cinnabons in between the two escalators and it was all awkward because all of us gasped. Anita looked genuinely concerned as she helped me retrieve my pastries. Anyway, I want to thank Cheryl for mentioning Anita because it led me to remembering this stupid experience I had at the Del Amo Mall. Cheryl, you're awesome.

Cheryl said...

Wow, I'm so happy that you remember Anita--and that she helped you clean up your Cinnabons. I've always had good taste in women.

Anonymous said...

I just want to say, without having starbuks in the same parking lot as my work I wouldn't be as functional without those shots.