6/10/03

Just walked home from the Mission. Not so unusual for me, but this time, I take the direct route: 17th Street over the big hill and then down and back up again. I listen to my iPod: Grandmaster Flash, Iggy Pop, Ween, AC/DC, and I don't feel a thing. I must either be buzzed or getting back into shape, finally. The only person I pass after leaving the Castro is a short, Hispanic man who blows me innocuous kisses. Along the way, have a thought and write it down on the back of an old movie ticket because I can't grope the pad of paper I'd stashed in my purse: "trying to keep my life from turning into the 'girl loses boy' segment of a romantic comedy. Boo-yah."

EARLIER:

"I know you think that you'll never find anyone like him," she tells me, "and it's true that you won't, but you'll find someone else who you'll like just as much for other reasons."

"Hey, that's my advice! I told you that very same thing a month ago!"

"Really?"

"Yeah!"

It doesn't really matter, though, because it's good advice and true and everyone who has ever gotten over someone knows it, anyway.

BEFORE THAT:

"This is my friend. He's a hypnotist, he can hypnotize you!"

"Oh yeah? I've heard that not everyone can be hypnotized, though. That it just doesn't work on some people."

"If you're not open to it, you can't be hypnotized" he says.

"Well, I'm not sure if I'd be open to it!"

"Why not?"

"Well, you'd have to really trust the person a lot!"

"Oh, yes!" he says, giving me a disapproving look. We both know I'm one of those people who can't be hypnotized.