A good warm sleep

Handwritten page of a diary dated December 20, 1978

now that popular music has officially gone right straight down the toilet. I had the radio on all evening and I was turning the dial every two seconds but the only decent song I heard was Baker Street. And I haven’t had any kind of love life for a good six months.

Good thing I have finally saved enough to buy something that will make life worth living again — I’ve been wanting a waterbed since last winter when I was dating Steve. Honestly sex on his bed wasn’t that great. (It’s like someone said, “It’s like playing handball against the drapes.”) But man was that bed warm! Like when you come in from a blizzard there is nothing that warms you up faster than getting into a heated waterbed. Who needs Steve?

I almost didn’t buy the one I bought because it’s round and I haven’t figured out how I’m going to find sheets for it, BUT:

1. The price was right,

2. Waterbeds will last forever, plus they’re only going to get more popular until long after I’m dead,

3. AND really, truly, I do look good on it.


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Published in: on July 21, 2019 at 2:42 am  Comments (1)  

Vintage selfies


Handwritten page of a diary dated November 3, 1978

… because when I was 12 and starting to get interested in music, she bought me a new Doors album and we both learned the words to “L.A. Woman.” We sang it (LOUD) when I got to stay overnight at her apartment, which was as often as I could finagle since she was my cool aunt and not my boring mom.

Then she got married to a guy and moved to Milwaukee with him. I barely saw her for seven years.

SHOCKINGLY last weekend she showed up and asked Mom if she could crash in the guest room a while. I thought “Oh, this could be fun” which proved to be wrong the minute I knocked on her door and she was playing a tape of “Dancing Queen” by Abba! What happened to her great musical taste? And she has part of her hair feathered like Farrah Fawcett-Majors. So uncool.

And speaking of uncool, she takes pictures of herself in the mirror. Constantly. OK, not constantly, but at least once a day!!!!! What a huge waste of time. She admitted she’s spending a lot of money on getting film developed, but she doesn’t care. It’s hard to even imagine someone taking so many pictures of themSELVES!!!!


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Handwritten page of a diary dated January 5, 1978

…  first time I’ve learned something from a New Year’s Eve party.

I was having a conversation with J.P. (he still can’t believe I never gave in and went to see his new favorite movie GREASE) and I got tired of him yammering about it but luckily we were right by the snack table. I thought wow — pretzels are amazing. I need to buy some pretzels and eat them all the time. And I did. And now it’s what? three days later and I’m already tired of them. So that’s when I deduced that you can feel pretty ho-hum about stuff if you have it all the time. I have the perfect name for this theory because at that party I heard the whole new Steely Dan Album, and my favorite song on it was conveniently called Pretzelogic, a perfect name for my theory about pretzels (and other things in life that you like but you get on a regular basis.) J.P. said he would never feel that way about sex … or movies he likes (he got a new Betamax for Xmas and he said sooner or later Grease will get released on tape and he will watch it every day of his life after that). I’m almost sure his chances of getting that movie on tape are better than the chances of him having sex every day of his life).


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Published in: on March 2, 2013 at 10:55 pm  Leave a Comment  

Flower child

flower child

Handwritten page of a diary dated June 8, 1998

…  trying to decide whether to go to the reunion because I know they’ll play songs from when we were in high school, and it has been my lifelong goal to never hear the Bee Gees sing ’Stayin’ Alive’ ever ever ever again.

But I keep thinking about Alan McConnell. We went to school together for three years and we were the only ones who didn’t buy into disco. It seemed like we were both trying to keep the peace and love thing alive even though it was flat dead by then. And I always wondered why we weren’t friends (or more). EVERY time I’d see him in the hall, we’d look at each other and I could feel something connecting us, like a red hot live wire of electricity. But I only saw him once outside of school. I was supposed to collect unusual leaves for an art project and I practically bumped into him in the middle of Thompson Park. It was the first time we talked and I still have no idea why it was the ONLY time we talked, since it was the single best conversation I’d had in the first 18 years of my life and it lasted four straight hours and then we planned to meet back there the next Saturday but he didn’t show.

I saw his name is on the list of people who have signed up to go to the reunion so I practically HAVE to go because now I’m not afraid to ask him why we never talked again after that one day. And I WILL find out — even if it means I have to hear ‘Whether you’re a brother or whether you’re a mother you’re stayin alive, stayin alive. Ah ah ah ah stayin aliiiiiiiiive.’


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Published in: on February 4, 2013 at 3:38 pm  Leave a Comment