It's also Thursday, now Friday, 12:01. I need to make a choice on a house tomorrow. I want to say that I'm going to sleep on it, but I'm so goddam changeable and can convince myself of either of the two places to live.

The first is this gorgeous little blue and purple house. I would be living with a Japanese exchange student, a 50 year old woman, her mother, and another woman who is in the middle of a divorce and her 5 year old son. Hmm. It's in a great location, I would be around spiritually inclined folk, which I always appreciate, big room, spacious closet, big windows, great porch, two cute dogs, two sweet cats, a large garden, but I couldn't let them know that I smoke pot. Aaah! Discretion is not something I am not very good at. Let alone good at. And they cook meals and sit down on Sundays for dinner, how cute is that shit? It's also 535 which is really cheap- hella for SC.

Then the other one. Two girls my age. Own room. Big windows. I can smoke pot whenever I want. Big great porch to smoke out on. I can entertain. (bring people over when I want) Hot tub too. Yum. It's also a really great location. They cook meals and would speak Spanish with me. And one of the girls didn't seem hesitant to practice her massage school lessons upon me. Mmm. 600. Still not bad. Mom will be paying for whichever. Am I ageist? It's a cute apartment too. Not a house. I could grow my tiny little avacado seed inside still. Well, tomorrow is the big decision. Not today. Shit, it is today. Fuck fuck fuck.


THERE ARE NOT CHEERLEADERS IN GRAD SCHOOL. MOTHERFUCKERS. JULIA HARDY WILL NEVER EVER BE A CHEERLEADER. EVEN WHILE SHE'S PREGGERS. WHICH IS THE ONLY WAY SHE COULD ACTUALLY PULL OFF BEING A CHEERLEADER.

So I know that I choose to live more frequently on a more superficial (by that I mean surface dwelling) level of life. I like to shoot the shit, I have the gift of gab, and I can make people feel good about themselves almost always. Yeah, it's people pleasing, I know. But shit, I feel entertained when I do it.

I'm such a horndog. Spring has SPRUNG. And I feel like I can't help myself, so I rest on my laurels of being a oversexualized homo. Yadda yadda yadda.

Ok. I work tomorrow at 10. At Jamba Juice. I learned how to make wheatgrass shots today. I have to look like a fucking goon. And everyone comes in and sees me as I've sold my soul to corporate swine and I don't get to look even minimally cute in the damn uniform as I see so many random acquaintences around SC. Arrgh. Oh my image base is slowly enacting murder upon my ego in the juice shop. But damn I love making carrot juice for myself. And I find the one word labels to describe 'boosts' and how they're supposedly supporting one's health. Like fiber, for instance. Really. Do I NEED more fiber in my diet? For real? Or are they selling me that. Or immunity. Or femme. Give me a break. Do I get my progesterone or some shit? So soooo weird.

Plus, my best girl friend is dating this guy that I find to be a flaming homosexual. Crazy. Well, he's not super effeminate, he's just ragingly all about boys. Well, they're in an open relationship. And he's probably making out with a boy at the party he's at right now. Oh, how I find life so silly.

Life is good. I'm feeling quite content. Maybe a little emotional avoidant. Maybe. I also really want to play Dr. Robotnik's Mean Bean Machine right now.

Talk amongst yo'selves.

Today has been all about discussing loving more than one person at the same time. We all had interesting contributions to the conversation. Liz provided the possibility of thinking that in relationships there are times when one person can feel more for another in a relationship at different times as it progresses. Eli put in his two cents of the necessity for honest conversation and that a group of 4 people sounds easier than 3 because swinging brings in the possibility that there isn't someone left out-- like when going to the ferris wheel-- 3's a crowd. Lauren reminded us that in relationships, one has to be conscious of each persons' autonomy and individuality as they are rather than as a couple or triple or and other dynamic. I remembered that at times I think I have a difficult time owning and feeling some harder, more specific feelings like anger or jealousy and adding more people means more opportunities for that. Only with the willingness and ability to communicate all those feelings does the relationship then have the propensity to go from idealistic, theoretical want into becoming a functional healthy relationship.

With that said, I want to row on a crew team. I'd be so hot. Cut and rippling muscle.

I want to start growing little baby mota seeds. Awww.

Who's up to play racquetball with me? Tree 9?

Focus.

I can't count on my body to do what it used to be able. And that's sad. I decided last minute to go and meet the people that I may live in a house with on the corner of bay and king. I grabbed a bike and hustled like shit to get there. I got the tour, met the kitties, saw that they're growing 25 marijuana plants in their backyard and was impressed with the room. Cheap too, for Santa Cruz. People were nice, a little bro-y, but friendly. Short and sweet. And as I find myself huffing and puffing up the hill on western, I make it about halfway and have the coughing fit to bring on Revelations. Bloody coughing is the grossest and all in all it makes me sad, angry, and frustrated with myself. AND WHAT'S WORSE, to feel better all I want is to numb it away with another fucking cigarette. My actions are slowing killing me. Why am I not drugged up on a lot of Zoloft?

At least I love carrot juice. And the smell of my ears when I take my amber plugs out. Ya know? Not anybody else's smell, but my own. And only sometimes. It's just so... me. I make that smell. Me. Weird.

I mean it's hot. Admittedly. The idea of it especially, not necessarily the one written by Terry Sanderson. It's not bad, but I could write such a better one. And it'd have bigger pictures.

I feel so restless in a hotel room when it's raining, calling random managers from stores to make them shine their light me some chance on a job that a monkey could do.

I want to be a bartender and grow my little Danish poppy seeds by the window. I want that UCSC would let me take religious studies classes. But not like anthropology of religion and psych and relgion or consciousness. I don't want to take classes that look at religion as a concept. I want to study religious tradition in Zen, Dharma, Tao, sacred texts with the Hebrew bible or New Testament or Buddhist texts or Islam or Shamanism and prophecy in Northern America, something specific and cool. Not a class on how dreams are connected to my psyche. Duh. I don't need a class for that. Fuckers.

Well, as of today I am changing my major ONCE again. Education, minor in Spanish I spose. Here I go.

I'm new at this game.

I have a rock. It's called a shivalingum. It's apparently bathed and shaped in some river and it has the essence of shiva and deals with balance. It's an oval. It's pretty and good for massaging my feet. It would NOT make for a good butt plug. Ya know?

Sometimes I imagine that I have a tail and that I am certain of how it feels underneath me. It's swirling around in a large circle pretty fast. Swirling motions. I think from my perspective (since it's underneath my bum) it's moving counter clockwise, but it you looked at my invisible swirling tail from behind my behind it would appear clockwise.

I think and hope that I'm employed. I'm not sure which one I feel more.

Peace y'all.