Is this food?

Handwritten page of a diary dated June 11, 1997

Yeah, I agreed to go to his house, but I sure was wishing he’d invited me to a restaurant instead. I was starved.

I sat on his patio and waited while he changed his clothes. He brought this dish out and set it on the white metal patio table. I smiled, but I was confused. Was it food? I wasn’t sure. When would he have cooked something? And it wasn’t any food I recognized. And he didn’t bring silverware. And there wasn’t any smell to it. Maybe because we were outside.

I was perplexed, so I


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Published in: on August 31, 2010 at 4:30 am  Leave a Comment  

Step out and wave at the peasants below

Handwritten page of a diary dated March 1, 1999

because I just applied for a job with the FBI. Not an exciting job — BUT I could be sitting behind a desk some day and they could be looking for someone with an unassuming look and pluck me out and send me out in the FIELD. They should. People trust me and tell me things all the time. Sometimes I think, hey you barely even know me — why are you telling me THAT? I know I could find out secrets from an enemy regime. I could bring it DOWN.

Then the peasants will be dancing in the streets and holding my picture. They’ll swarm over the lawn of the palace and refuse to leave until they see me. I’ll be convinced to step out on the balcony of the royal palace and they’ll throw flowers up to me


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Published in: on August 30, 2010 at 4:30 am  Comments (1)  

Through the blinding snow

Handwritten page of a diary dated February 20, 1978

that kind of snow that whips you in the face like a knife — and I had to walk all the way home in it. That’s the first bad news.

The first good news is that when I finally got home a letter had arrived from Danny.

Next bad news: the mailman had left the mailbox open and a bunch of snow had gotten in and the ink had smeared Danny’s letter.

Next good news: one of the sentences I could read clearly was his new phone number.

Next bad news: he wasn’t home when I called.

Next good news: there was an answering machine on that phone.

Next bad news: the answering machine message had the voice of a female (sounded like a fox) so I hung up quickly.

Next good news: Not even 60 seconds later the phone rang and it was him wanting to say he thought he wrote the wrong number in the letter and he wanted to make sure we could talk because he wanted to see me.

Next bad news: he has a broken leg and can’t drive, so if I want to see him I have to drive up to Woodstock.

So now I’m about to get back into my wet coat and wet boots to shovel my car out of a snowdrift.


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Published in: on August 27, 2010 at 4:30 am  Comments (1)  

Glops between the toes

Handwritten page of a diary dated June 29, 1973

don’t know why she was smiling — her feet were COATED with wet muddy sand. I would die if my feet were coated in mud. And Mom LAUGHED. I said you are not letting her get in the car like that are you? Mom said reLAX, she can take two steps over to the water and rinse it off.

I said I’m taking a picture of your feet and you will DIE when you see what it looked like. So I got it developed and showed it to her, but she LIKED it!!! She took the negative and had it made into a poster and she hung it in our room above her bed. Now I have to look at it every day and it gives me a hurling feeling. And I told her if I hurl, I will make sure to aim for HER PILLOW. (She shouldn’t put it past me.)


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Published in: on August 26, 2010 at 4:30 am  Leave a Comment  

Kiss my feet

Handwritten page of a diary dated January 11, 2003

heavy blizzard, so he agreed to go to the Textile Museum with me.

The knitted feet freaked him out! Which led to a discussion, with me learning something new about him. He says he’ll barely even touch one of his own feet, much less anyone else’s.

Weird. I mean 25 percent of the bones in the human body are in the feet. A foot is a solidly engineered wonder.

I wrote a poem and stuck it in his jacket pocket

Roses are red
Violets are blue.
It would be sweet
If you’d kiss my feet.

I think it will be fun to see if he ever calls me back.


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Published in: on August 24, 2010 at 4:30 am  Leave a Comment  

Cover up those bare thighs young lady

Handwritten page of a diary dated March 29, 1946

I said, Mama they’ve specifically asked us to wear bathing suits, but she would not budge.

So I had to show up in a blasted sun dress, not knowing whether they’d still want me to be in the picture. The man with the camera scowled and said it makes no sense for a “dressed-up dame” to be near the pool when she obviously hasn’t jumped in it all day.  I put on all the charm I could and said, Well sir, if you look at the curly hair on the other two girls, it’s obvious they haven’t been in the pool either. He laughed and said You’re right doll. And then he ended up flirting with me more than with the other two girls. Mama would die if she knew I had lunch with a 35-year-old man from New York City … but it’s her own fault.


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Published in: on August 23, 2010 at 4:30 am  Leave a Comment  

Meet me by the giant purple head

Handwritten page of a diary dated August 10, 2010

A note just arrived in the mail:
“Violets are blue,
Roses are red.
Meet me in the park
by the big purple head.

I’ll be there to greet you
Today at three.
The guy with the cane —
that’ll be me.”

A secret admirer? I have to go. Right?


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Published in: on August 20, 2010 at 8:48 am  Leave a Comment  

Step inside my harem tent

Handwritten page of a diary dated April 10, 2002

he recommended a shop. He thought it would have the lamp I wanted. At first I thought he had steered me wrong. I hated them all. Too much stained glass (dull colors are worse than no colors at all).

But then I saw it — the brass lantern lamp that will look PERFECT in my harem room. The people who are draping the fabric on the ceiling were stalled because they needed to see what the hanging lamps will look like. Now the lamps are on the way. All I have left to find are giant velvet floor pillows … and five or six women who will agree to wear the belly dancer outfits I bought.


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Published in: on August 19, 2010 at 4:30 am  Comments (2)  

Addicted to love

Handwritten page of a diary dated Nov. 1, 1995

‘you like to think that you’re immune to the stuff
oh yeah
closer to the truth to say you can’t get enough
you know you’re gonna have to face it you’re addicted to love’

When I first saw that video I kinda thought I could someday look like those girls. Then tonight I hadn’t even dressed up like this on purpose but we were getting ready to go clubbing and Jessica said I should gather up my clone sisters and go find Robert Palmer.

Believe me I wish I could. Robert Palmer is way older than me, but as long as he’s younger than my dad, I don’t care. And he wears a tie, unlike all the lowlife boyfriends I’ve kicked to the curb. I read a magazine article that said he had an affair with Princess Diana. She’s too fragile. He needs a woman like me who’s not gonna break.


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Published in: on August 18, 2010 at 4:30 am  Comments (2)  

Hanging brains

Handwritten page of a diary dated October 16, 1982

brought us to this design expo. We were supposed to stop in front of each part for 10 minutes and really stare and stare and clear your mind and stare again. Then we were supposed to write what we SAW and how it made us FEEL.

I had a terrible time doing this and I’m afraid she won’t like my answers one little bit. For this one section I tried as hard as I could but all I could write was this:

No matter if I stared at this for 1 minute or 60 minutes I will SEE the same thing here. The yellow things look like hanging brains lit up from their insides. The white things look like swings from a swingset and cottonballs have been glued on them. Not the good round kind of cotton balls you buy in a bag – these were the messy kind of cottonballs you pull out from a huge bottle of aspirin. The way this makes me FEEL is very very confused.


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Published in: on August 17, 2010 at 4:30 am  Comments (1)