This program drives me crazy. (Don't worry, it's safe to click on it, if you don't already have it you'll probably love it.) I mean I'm grateful to Marnanel for designing it -- I admire her, but I hate this program because it's in my insecure schoolgirlish nature to notice the many people who have defriended me, before I count my blessings for the many people who have added me, and who still remain on my friend's list, despite my many flaws.
It's just that when a ton of people flock away from my journal I can't help but wonder why; Is it because I am a self-absorbed, selfish, dick-girl, (I really shouldn't use the word dick in a negative way because it's kind of male bashing -- it's just that it has such a nice ring to it, dick, dick, dickitty, dick,) who can rarely get it together to return the favor and visit my friends journals -- so I don't really deserve to have friends anyway -- or is it because of something I've written that offended people, like my anti-fur, antivivisection, positive animal stance, my constant swearing, or my cultish love of all things Burning Man? Could it be because I chose to use the word bitch for an anti-fur website? I've chosen to embrace the word, using it for men and women, but I know it gets people flustered so maybe it was that.
I just think some of these photos are the funniest things.
Or maybe it's because I'm just plain mad or boring and haven't posted any good pictures in a while. Although I sometimes wonder if people are offended by the naked pics I love to post, and when some of my pals started vintage erotic photo communities I figured there really wasn't much of a need to do it here anymore, you can always go there to find your pretty French maids fix.
I know I always do all my reading bent over like this, don't you?
Since I haven't posted any naughty vintage pictures in a good long while it can't be that, and besides I've got a nice warning photo right smack in the longish middle of my info page about my loving these old nudie pics. Hey, maybe I should post one today just for the hell of it. I think I will -- good plan that. Anyway you can see how twisted up I get over these kinds of things, when I pay attention to them, so it's often a better plan for me to ignore them. The problem is that when new people come along and add me I want to return the favor and add them back -- as long as they seem somewhat kind and interesting, because I only have so much room now on my overflowing list -- but when I go to add them I have to face how many people have defriended me and it just well, it just makes me sad, because I think of the potential good friends I've lost. Sometimes I think I should just disable the entire comment feature thing and do away with friends altogether, but then I think, "Are you insane, the friends and comments features are the best part of Live Journal." Okay enough blathering on this subject before I put you all to sleep, zzzzzzzzzz...
Argh, Sammy is eating my latest Bank of America credit card statement and some of the others have joined him in the fun. Would this work as an excuse for not paying it this month? Maybe not.
I almost got booted or towed yesterday when I parked in a temporary spot, ran in to drop Beau off at tutoring, then got distracted by the comfy looking nail salon massage chairs with their big bubbling warm foot baths and forgot all about my car. This incredibly nice man came in and asked if anyone belonged to my about-to-be-hauled-off car, and I ran slipping and sliding out of the salon. There was a shiny new ticket on my windshield and a tow truck on the way so I hopped in and escaped by the skin of Thornton Wilder's teeth.
I drove around the block and bribed a Latino parking lot attendant with my Spanish language skills, some cash and a good deal of flirting, so I would at least be off the street and thus out of the jurisdiction of the DMV. See, these are the kinds of things you guys don't have to deal with that make living here in LA hell. Driving around and around and around crowded blocks looking, no praying, for that one space so you won't be late for an appointment, while angry stressed out people flip you off is just par for the course here in LA -- one of the many reasons why we pay so much for housing and education, so we can live in this perpetual state of stress and fear, weeeee.
I swear I had no idea I had enough tickets to warrant towing. This is so like me, and here you have it, a typical glimpse into the daily workings of the ADD mind. I mean well. I really do. It's not like I mean to give the financial finger to the DMV, even if I do think they're a bunch of money grubbing proletariat robbing bastards, I sure don't want to have my car hauled off with all of my things inside it...again. I've been through this enough times in one lifetime to make the naughtiest of teenaged scofflaws look like little lock stepping soldiers. I just can't remember to do even the most basic of things.
It sucks, it really does, and anyone who hasn't lived in my shoes, or who doesn't have a child or family member like this, probably just won't get it and will think I'm someone who is using the latest psychological term toy as an excuse for laziness. You try being someone who is paralyzed with perfectionism, who adores people and wants to do good, but who can't remember appointments, loses everything she jots them down on, including her Palm Pilot, eventually resorting to drawing things on her thigh with permanent pen and yet still forgets, and then we'll see what you have to say about this.
I remember one of the worst times I did something like this was in college. I may have written about this before but who's going to remember, certainly not me, ha, ha. My mother and I were friends with this amazing woman who had been writing a society entertainment column for the Los Angeles Times Calendar section for years and years. She was such a cool gal and I loved her, Audrey someone, but I can't remember her last name now, typical. I'll try to look her up and add a link later if I can find one.
Anyway Audrey was this cool gal, there was something very glam Gabor sistery and yet Catherine Hepburnish about her. We used to see her all the time at The Beach Club. Every morning, rain or shine, she would walk out to the sea and swim out to the far buoy, circle it and come back. I admired that about her. Then she'd come into the warm clubby locker room that always smelled like sand and fresh paint and give us kids these little gummy pastilles that she took out of this tin she kept in her locker.
Audrey had helped a lot of actors and actresses through the years by interviewing them in the paper and giving them press. She had been following my career, if you can call it that because although I had had all the leads in the plays from grammar school, through high school and on through college, I was still just a kid. She encouraged me and gave me tips, old fashioned tips that would have applied mainly to actresses in the fifties and sixties, like how to sit, speak, act and dress, but I adored the advice and support nevertheless.
As Audrey got older and her husband became unable to take her out to the many premieres she was invited to, and she was unable to drive herself, she began to look for people to accompany her. One day she called and invited me to accompany her to a big film premiere. I was so excited, this was like being knighted by an entertainment gossip queen, the eighties equivalent of having Louella Parsons ask you to be her escort. This meant a stepping up for me in terms of our friendship and in the way she viewed me, it was as if she was mentoring me into a different level of the game. And here comes the sad punchline. On the night of the premiere what do you think I did? I forgot to pick her up, just flat out forgot, and not because I didn't care, because as you can see I really did, and thus ended our long friendship.
As far as she was concerned anyone who would be so rude as to leave her dressed and waiting to attend a film premiere was not only a poor choice for a companion but certainly not someone who was going to succeed in a business where punctuality was everything. I was crushed and my parents were disappointed and I had destroyed a friendship I had spent a lifetime nurturing. Now tell me that my ADD is just the latest psychojargon for chronic laziness. I've got a lifetime's worth of these kinds of stories that I could tell you but just telling this one was hard enough, bleh.
And I get to go to Mom's today to face financial matters, oh yeay, weeeee, you know how much I love this. Last week she fired my housekeepers and had an anxiety attack that lasted about fifteen minutes, (please don't worry, my Mother is the one who should have been the actress in our family, and like every therapist and shrink we've ever seen has said, she will probably outlive all of us). Today we're going to talk about credit cards and loans. I would rather spend twice the length of time I spent sitting in my dentist's chair getting crowns yesterday, than have to go over there today. God help me, please? Send prayers/meditations/positive vibes? Please know though that in the rainbow of human suffering that you can read about here on Live Journal I know that my problems rank way up there along with the least meaningful things like, oh gee, let's see, what kind of grass should I plant in the garden -- that kind of thing. it's certainly not like I am sweet Kathy/RaggedyRobot, whose journal is the one you really should be reading and who really needs your support. Go see and you'll understand why.
Ummm... anyone out there with any computer experience? I have a couple of minor problems I need to resolve. One has to do with my MSN program. I'd never had it before, instead relying on AOL's fun little instant chatting program to talk to friends, but my pal Phil insisted I get it so I did. But then, after having downloaded one version of it, I went back and got a newer one so now I have two versions of MSN on my computer and no matter where I go or what I do I cannot delete the old one. I've tried the obvious like control panel/add delete files, and I've tried deleting the new one and reinstalling it, in the hope that I had missed a button or something that would ask me if I wanted the new one to write over the old one, but the old one still seems to be there in the list of my program files. When I sign on it says things like, "You have signed on using another version would you like to sign on using this one." And it constantly asks me to verify my e-mail address, which I think I've done, bleh, anyway it's driving me nuts. Also I don't like that the second I turn my computer on, because I'm using wireless, it tells everyone that I'm on and my pals start ping, ping, pinging me. I don't want to hurt their feelings by ignoring them but I need quiet in order to be able to write and edit photographs. So, there's that complaint.
The other problem started pretty soon after I began using this computer, although it might have something to do with our having transferred files over from the old computer. I get this random error message that pops up when I'm using my browser that says, "A runtime error has occurred do you want to debug?" I don't even know what a runtime error or debugging is but when I do it, it doesn't resolve the problem. Anyone wanna take a stab at these for me? I would be super grateful.
Okay, well, I guess I should go live my life out there now, although I'm dreading it and would so much rather stick around here talking to all of you. Scott is off to a good start in his new home. With the help of Esther and her sister Concha, I helped get his kitchen and living room pretty well squared away, and yesterday, or was it the day before, (See, I can't remember), I put up the shelves in his office, dug out the computer, monitor, speakers, and one of his office chairs, moved a bunch of boxes and went through two of them, so with just a little more effort we should be off and running. Now I just have to put the focus back where it belongs, on my own home and life, on getting things in order around here and making money, weeeee....
Big loving hugs for all of you who have stuck around and who have just risked joining me on this wild ride,
Alfred Cheney Johnson, now these aren't funny, just really beautiful. If only I could afford some of these...