hey everyone, lookee me out here. doing cartwheels and walkovers and no one, no one responds. it's just getting a little depressing. i start to feel like i'm alllllll alone out here.

but when i'm famous i'm only going to date models and roofers. i wonder if i could find a model who's also an ex-roofer? or an unemployed model who's roofing to make ends meet. yes, an unemployed model-roofer would probably be easy to keep in line. real insecure about how he looks and his IQ. dinner at the i-hate-men ranch. which is a subsiderery of the i-hate-women stud farm that was established during the dawn of men.

do i sound bitter? i am. but greatly in part because i know we're all lonely these days.

aw, i make so many roofer jokes but they are such a rare breed. so much bastard but so much fun. but i can't take their silly shit. i mean

I DON'T GET IT. we all know how full of shit the whole dating thing is. you fucking know when you're involved with someone that you respect and admire and blah blah blah, and you might even know s/he loves you more than anything but you know s/he isn't the one. or even worse, neither of you really love each other but every weekend you go see a band, maybe get some coke so you can fuck like wild and then, like a hair appointment, you just say good-bye knowing you'll be back for a touch-up in a week. and meanwhile, there's a good five days to try and find someone you *really* want.

which never happens because what you want is bullshit, too. some dame or some fabio wanna-be that you think is going to make you look good, no matter how ugly or stained you feel.

and we all feel this ugliness. the source of all beauty is any attempt to express it without shame, to say 'this is what i am. a stretch-mark model' and so what if you always get sand kicked in your face? only men could view the hero of such as exchange as the brute kicking the sand instead of the egghead on the beach just trying to enjoy the salty air.

man oh man. why am i soo pissed?

oh yeah, someone wrote to me asking if i was like some porn star because i swear. but pornography is funny. but that's a whole nother subject. although i was topless in "easy rider" magazine in the early eighties. i was on some biker calender (oh man, a biker calender girl, now how many of those do you meet) but my tatarinkis were covered, i just looked so cool with my two huges tattoos and i looked really good in the picture. i had curly hair. so cute.

anyway, yeah. well, no, i guess i get so pissed because i never have sex even though '94 brought an interesting variety of men to my door.

but you know what's very sad? is that when e-mail men fall in love with me, like i fell in love with adam, well, i tell them not to. because i want them to go on and really live their life instead of spending years in service to a dream. a dream that is so lonely some times. i am so grateful to madge.

aw, if i have a boyfriend, it will be her job to hate him and his to hate her. i have so many funny SNL skits in my head. and one is when two best friends are in the room and the boyfriend is there and the two girls start talking about all this ultra personal sexual shit while the man is there losing his mind.

this happened with st.john the roofer. he was so mad at me and it wasn't even like this big deal what i was saying. just that he had been married. he was sooo wigged. he hated madge. but he wasn't the one at all. even though he was funny and, well, nice looking. bastard peice of bastard. my little son, when he was still here, said, 'mom, he's not the one.'

my little son was here yesterday. he is soo cute. and in less than a year, he's doing to be taller than me. man. i cry. i miss him. all grown up. i so miss having a child around. they are such grief but of the highest source. they are magic.

okay, well, here is today's rant. i have to re-do my generation x piece for the pittsburgh post gazette. editorial writing is so boring. man. man oh man. no figurative language. no silliness. no fun.

oh let's see, and my skirt is done and perfect.

AGH!!!! today is a new beginning for me. today i am officially an employed, non-indigent, productive member of society. and i just got my whole next bus column in one flash. anyway, yes, today i begin getting 150.00 a week for a column (i'll have three, the bus ones, one title 'and another thing' about welfare, and 'in search of the ultimate jukebox) where i describe a night at a local bar listening to tunes . . .. hmm, this could be my rolling stone gig. i could open it way up, even make up the name of the place like a title to a poem.

hmmmm....anyway, i'll practice it on my in pittsburgh audiance. who love me. who hate me but can kiss my pimply butt.

oh i am sooo funny. well, how long have i talked? who cares what else? my skirt is perfect. i mean the fit, everything. it's pretty amazing. and the netting is on the outside and is short (the waistline's real low, it has a yoke), but anyway, just trying to impress you with my sewing proficiency even though the yoke has nothing to do with the placement of the waistline in this case, but

anyway, it looks just like a tutu!! it is the most excellent thing. and i need a bustier. and i have the most excellent purple suade jacket with real long fringe and a purse to match, baby. maybe i will wear gogo boots instead of my mary poopins boots. or maybe i'll wear those real high black suade pirate boots.

i don't know but it is a perfect skirt. i'm too old to wear it on the bus so i'm making a second one that will be the same without the netting. i actually have enough fabric. but it's a perry ellis vogue pattern. it's like this western victorian skirt. so pretty.

okay now i don't know what else to say except its freEeezing in pittsburgh. i sewed new buttons on my coat. i mean it is freezing. and i've been taking potasium every day so my hands aren't cramping up. yeah, and i've lost a total of fifteen pounds since jan. 11. i hate to even admitt it. i wish i wasn't such a whore who likes to kiss soooo much 'cause then i wouldn't lose wieght just, well it's silly. but getting in shape feels like giving in to this whole 90's fucking thing that i hate. but i will not get too skinny like some little nightmare. i love having tata's and i love having thighs. man. and my whole body is so muscular anyway. my arms my back. i am strong as a man. ask madge. it's hilarious. i can lift anything. and do splits and backbends. and i'm going to be 34 on eric clapton's birthday. oh, shirly jones has my birthday too. i loved her 'cause she went to the pittsburgh playhouse, too, and she was in the partridge family.

oh and so funny. me and madge exercized yesterday. i showed her how to do calenetics. it is so intense, none of that jumping around silliness, just real intense painful deep muscle exercizes. we have so much fun. i love making noises.

what a shock, i know. well what else? i'm feeling bored. i'm glad my stand-up thing is on friday. it's just that things were happening so fast and even though i was on the radio yesterday and am going to be a tax-payer, well i'm ansy.

oh, the village voice rejected my bus column. they all do because it's set in a different city. so now i have to send them all my 'and another thing' columns because welfare issues are not specific to pittsburgh. man.

anyway, writing. burrrr. it's a buyers market. but i am the only jo no matter what the fuck they say. sure, i follow a literary line of pranksters (who i prefer to beatnics (too intellectual) and hippies (too self-centered, no direction, merely prankster clones), but, well, i don't see a lot of people putting their ass on the line for what they believe.

so there. and i do. and the image of the welfare mother needs revamped. they are college or training students with A's trying to have tupperwear parties, going to five stores on busses for ren and stimpy valentine's for your son, i mean we get such a bad wrap. i'm writing to congress today. i need to testify in the senate. no one addresss the emotional needs of welfare recipients and until they do, the misery squad can bitch and bitch, but until we do, the problem is going to worsen. when we motivate these people by treating them with kindness and respect, then we will see changes.

okay i'm done. have a fun monday. and, well, see you later, baby.

i wanna man to call me baby like james bond would,

'come over here and sit on my lap, baby.'

or grabbing my arm as i turn to leave him, "i can't lose you, baby."

"and i loooooovvvvveeee when i have the flu and my boyfriend sits on the edge of the couch watching all my favorite movies that *he* rented just for me, and i have my pillow on my lap and am laying there all cuddled up while he keeps pushing my bangs back from my dampened brow and he says 'aw...poor baby.'

wow. i used the word 'brow' i must go now. how now brown

jo