« Riot grandmas »
2004-01-28 · 7:47 p.m.

My eighteenth birthday went by in a haze of sobrieity.

* I can't decide if I want 1950s-French-Riviera or butch-jungle-combat to be my spring look. I have searched far and wide for some nice khaki cargo pants (especially ones with the chevron front button pockets), but so far it's all for nought. The French Riviera, on the other hand, is out in force and actually (sort of) affordable, since I have about $74 coming to me (mysterious, no?). I think the floral-print slip dresses and embroidered mint-green cardigans might look cute with my current frightening mohawk.

* If I were ever to take part in an intergalactic war, I'd like my offical army rank to be something like Chess Master No. Not that I'm any good at chess. Actually all I know about it is that you have to be very, very eccentric to become any good at it. What I do know is that "The Luzhin Defence," starring John Turturro and the somewhat pocket-faced Emily Watson (her giant forehead seems to be folding up on and engulfing the miniscule face part of her head), really excels at giving you, the viewer, all the orgasm-face shots you demand. Orgasm-face, in movies, are like the female director's/viewer's version of a cum shot in a porno, I think. Not that John Turturro's orgasm face is anything to sneeze at.

* Everybody I know is turning into a grandma, myself included. I think it's awesome. Yesterday I roasted a chicken, made brownies from scratch, started crocheting a hat and made some progress on a scarf I'm knitting for my father (who is constantly complaining about his cold neck). I want to join one of those groups of spry elderly types who mall-walk and ballroom dance. Maybe I'll dye my hair white like Andy Warhol. Being geriatric is so much the cool thing to do.

* A neighbor who lives down the road complained to my mother that our dog runs in his yard and eats his garbage in the middle of the night. First of all, is that really such a bad thing? My dog is just cutting down on the amount of biodegradible wastes that would otherwise fill up a landmine and wind up destroying the planet. But my mother decided that we have to keep the dog in at night now, so he stands at the door staring at me accusingly far into the early morning hours. The other night he scratched at my door for an hour, trying to force me to pity him and put him outside to eat more garbage. It almost worked. Who doesn't want to eat garbage now and again?

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