13/10/2001 - 4:43 p.m.

Dragons and love.

Man, I'm such a sap. I'm crying over Puff the Magic Dragon. I love that song, and for all of you that claim it's a drug song, it's not and the dragon's father told me so! (Well, told my dad.) My parents went to a Peter Paul and Mary concert back in the 70's or something. They performed the song and Peter Yarrow explained that he wasn't really aware of drugs (they existed, but he didn't even consider it that way) when he wrote the song. He informed the audience that anyone who tried to attest to the contrary should be told that it wasn't true and they knew it from the dragon's father.

I never did get a nap. Saturday afternoon PBS television isn't all that bad. I'm a really big fan of The Woodwright Shop; it's been airing for twenty years or so and it's basically this guy, Roy, out there making stuff without the use of power tools. I mean, the guy starts hacking at a log with an axe and ends up with a gorgeous chair, that's the kind of show it is. He makes toys and novelty things too, and old Roy's fun to watch, so don't put me down as a complete nutter yet. (You are though, aren't you? I can hear you now. "Puff the Magic Dragon and now this crazy woodworking show on PBS? What's wrong with her?") I have honed tastes, that's all. Shut up.

I'm in a pretty good mood. I'm caught up on my mail, I think, as soon as I can get it in the post. The list of people owing me grows ever longer, but that's fine with me. Makes me feel loved or something.

When you get right down to it, I guess that's what I really want. I go positively green to listen to Angel. I mean, yes, they're rather older than I am, but it's the same around Ren and Andy: why can't incredibly sweet things happen to me? Well, I'm not friends with any avaliable straight guys in this state, for starters, but that's hardly my fault.

Brandy (and others) give me a lot of flac for not wearing make-up and dresses and basically for not trying to emulate a world I want no part of. I know it's fighting natural selection and all not to smear your face with bat guano and whale bones (yes, that's what make-up is largely composed of vegetarians!) and to believe that there is more to me than cleavage, but I would like to firmly believe in it. Brandy's said before "What you're doing obviously isn't working, why don't you try the other way?" Well, I don't want that to be the answer. I'm interested in far more in guys than their crotches! Rich says that guys are afraid of me because I'm opinionated, which adds to fear of rejection or something. I don't tend to believe that one too much, unless I'm expected to translate that to "You're a stubborn bitch, what do you think?" But I don't know if I come off like that as often as I think I do, or not, so I don't know whether to translate it that way or not.

Ah well, too many issues in this department, so I'll close it. I suppose being single has it's advanteges- you're spared all kinds of forms of angst.