You know, I highly doubt that there will ever come a Monday that I couldn�t accurately say, �I had a wonderful weekend.� I realize that, looking back on my journals, this log, etc. that though I may have shitty days, my opinion of the weekend is always, well, positive. Even if it sucked ass, I�m sure that in retrospect, I would only see the positive highlights. That�s just the way I am. Any focus on negativity is futile, in my mind. So, needless to say, I had a wonderful weekend.

Friday night, I stayed in, played with some new toys, games that require two players. I won. That�s a good thing, because I�m a sore loser. I admit it, and I�m fine with being that way. Sometimes, it�s fun to pout. But I much prefer to win in most situations. Call it my competitive streak. Saturday, trip to the manicurist, where I shocked old ladies with stories of sex and drugs. Well, I intended to shock them. I didn�t think that they�d end up sitting on the edge of their chairs, squirming around and saying, �I remember when� sigh.� I love it when there are old ladies hanging out at the salon. For years, I�ve looked forward to someone showing up late or early for their appointment, overlapping our visits, and giving me the opportunity to add a little glimpse of spice into their bland, dry lives. I swear, they salivate.

Saturday night, I went to dinner and the theater with my father and younger sister. What a lovely and pleasant evening it was. I had spent the bulk of my day going through shit, cleaning up around the house, replacing a billion busted bulbs (okay, only 5, butt fuck, who goes on living with FIVE broken light bulbs?) My sister called me Tim Allen until our father picked us up because she caught me on a chair, arguing with the damn ceiling light when it wouldn�t unscrew. Suddenly, my frustration of having no reliable light turned me into a grunting fixer-upper. Yes, that should tell you a bit about my perspective on household things � I do consider replacing a light bulb to be a huge, �fixer-upper� sort of task. That�s what men are for. That, cooking, cleaning, and all that other domestic crap. It just never did suit me. A woman�s role? To be a muse, of course. Occasionally, one will also choose to provide, but I don�t think that�s necessary. Hee hee. Try to guess whether or not I�m kidding around.

Anyway, Sunday was pleasant despite the rain. I went to the museum at Balboa Park, saw the Exhibit of Torture and Intolerance: all torture devices used in history, some still used today. Disturbing, what the human mind can come up with, what the human hands can create, for the sole purpose of sadistic and most INhuman tortures. Triangular spikes that the victim would sit upon, their weight, over time, forcing the spike further and further into their bodies, literally tearing them apart slowly. Sick. Actually, most of these devices were intended for slow, torturous, mentally destructive and deadly results. And a good portion of them are still used today in the Middle East. I�m usually not ethnocentric, or stereotypically judgmental� but I feel comfortable stating with veracity that that particular culture, the way women are treated, the way people are punished, is backwards. Is wrong. I believe in a universal morality, and nothing that I know of that culture coincides with my belief. I wish I had a solution. In the meantime, I am left to just appreciate again the fact that I was born where I was, and that I�ve never had to suffer such atrocities.

The rest of Sunday was relaxing, I went to Project Cathedral, a performance, interactive-dance-music-art thingy held at a church once a month. I don�t even want to try to explain it, it�s beyond definition. Mellow, beautiful, visually relaxing and stimulating at the same time, movement, sound, sigh. Very nice. I�m in a good space right now in life. If my life was a bathtub, at this point it would be filled with warm water; scented with floating lavender and rose petals; illuminated by floating candles; and glistening with glitter, some sinking to the bottom when sprinkled in, reflecting upwards to the surface, some not breaking through the surface tension, sparkling over the liquid and reflecting the candlelight on the walls in a hundred constellations. A much better sensation than sitting in a tub filled with cold, dirty water. I think we�ve all been there. Yes, I am crawling deeper and deeper into my analogy, but I wanted to mention that in order to keep your water clean and warm, you have to drain the tub every once in awhile. Let the cold, dirty water run down the drain, and refill it with warm, wonderfully scented, well lit sparkling beauty.

-Barbarella

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