Even without beer (damn!), today qualified as one of those days.

It was a full moon tonight, which usually turns me into a particularly nasty lass for some hormonally-obscure reason (as opposed to the simply nasty person I am most of the time).

My friends Jennifer, Judy and Gonzo hauled me out to the carnival, and considering that (1) I hate hip-hop music (which is played incessantly at these things) and (2) I puke on any ride except the Ferris wheel, I wasn't exactly optimistic about the evening's itinerary.

Turned out I had a great time. Gonzo still didn't get me on the "Zipper" (let alone the Tilt-a-Whirl, apparently invented in 1927), but I remembered what I loved most about carnivals: the food.

So, here I lounge, waiting for the buses to stop running so I can sleep, enjoying the delicious feeling only a full tummy can provide. Funnel cakes with powdered sugar, manapua, cotton candy, more than my share of malasadas (sorry Jen!), huge-ass turkey legs, and a $5 bong-sized Pepsi...

I hate television on weekends (oooh! why don't you stick-it?), but I've had worse days.

Walking back home, the prostitutes were strutting about as usual. It was an unusually busy night for the ladies... looked like a ship was in town. There was bunch of drunk Marines (judging by the calibre of conversation and dorky haircuts) joshing with the ladies of the night posted at every corner.

The sick thing is, part of me was wondering why none of 'em were lining up to burp "Reveille" at me. I don't think I wear make-up as badly as these professionals... and I definitely smell better. Ick.

Sometimes it makes me sick thinking I'll be giving it away for the rest of my years, and these women can pay the rent after two quickies.

Heck, at this point I'd settle for dinner.

If you don't know Greg, he and I are actually friends. We just don't act like it. We rag on each other now worse than we did when we went out -- which wasn't for very long. He's an awesome guy, but we definitely get along better in this weird LJBF-based universe.

He also likes to joke that I turned him gay, which -- considering my luck in romance lately -- does wonders for my ego.

Apparently it's Gay Pride Month, and he wants to see some "Celluloid Closet" film out in the middle of nowhere (Aikahi?). Apparently his boyfriend is busy lately.

I told him I was too, even though I wasn't.

I'm funny that way.

Jen called me over on the pretense of watching The Usual Suspects again, and when I get to her apartment, a redhead answers the door!

Too cool. She looks great. Not half as silly as I looked last month during my purple phase. She's still trying to grow her hair long, but it's at that middle length when it otherwise looks pretty blah.

The color change should distract folks just long enough for it to grow out. "Down to my butt," sez she.

Why does everyone get money back from the government except me? She blew her federal return on this hairdo ($120... good gawd!), and just today got her state return -- which was even bigger.

I had to borrow money from mom to pay the state. And those mercenaries cashed my check in two days.

In self-pitying indignation, I splurged today, too: I had a Hostess Snowball.

It was quiet though, no screaming fits. The halls are crawling with more and more high-school volunteers as summer takes hold. They're so cute. Wonder if any of them will end up as jaded as me?

Oh, I got another parking ticket yesterday. I think that makes eight this year. Parking being what it is in Waikiki, my neighbors and I all flirt with danger in picking some precarious spots to hide our wheels. I just have worse luck than they do.

Here's a good laugh: The cop described my car color as "Creme." I guess that's a nice way of saying "Supposed to be white but dirty as hell and covered with bird poo."

On the bright side, I'm gonna see "The Rock" tonight. Watch for my review!

As usual, awesome food. An hour wait for a table, as usual.

So, by the time we went careening through Waikiki, we'd missed the last show of "The Rock." Forgot it was Sunday, when midnight shows don't happen.

The evening wasn't lost, though. We spun by Nate's place and picked up "Roman Holiday." The corner ABC store handled the catering (nachos and Sprite), and Jen's palatial abode (she's got a bedroom) provided the stereo sound.

Ah, nothing like a black-and-white weepy to renew your faith in human nature. It's always amazing how good old films are, despite the fact that they're paced and edited (and acted) completely differently than even today's best movies.

Jen, sadly, didn't care much for the ending (I guess preferring one more like the version "Pretty Woman" that made it to the screen). I, on the other hand, just spent the evening wishing I was as insanely pretty and charming as the other Hepburn (unrelated, but rumored to be my namesake).

It's well past the middle of the night and I swear it's still 89 degrees inside. It's not much cooler outside, either. I can't sleep and I start work tom... today at 8 a.m. Augh!

Actually, it rained tonight, but unlike Monday (we had thunderstorms) it didn't get any cooler. It's just deathly still and icky. Everyone else in the city's restless too. Mad packs of mopeds cruising around for no reason, only honking as they pass (of course) my place.

On the plus side, the heat got me out of the apartment (weeks like these I'd end up melting quietly alone). I pounded on Jen's door and, since her boyfriend was at work, we took off for the movie we missed on Sunday. Ah... an air-conditioned theater and no accompanying couple playing tonsil-hockey all night.

Mmmm... Sean Connery. It's almost creepy how I'm charmed by a gray-haired guy. He, and the movie, was great. Read my review?

Took a swig of Sudafed (or something... cheap Longs store brand) but I'm still not drowsy enough to bear touching the sheets or anything.

I think I'll plug in the Nintendo and stomp some Koopas. Cold pizza. That'd be nice too.

At least now it's Friday, technically. The Star-Bulletin horoscope (though not as good as the Honolulu Weekly) said it's gonna be a five-star day. They said today was a two-star day, but it felt a tad better than that... though not by much.

Friday's the deadline for any money paperwork at UH, so my super at Hamilton was stressed and not much fun for chatting. She put me on backup (for the second day), so I watched little numbers speed up to "100" over and over again while Cyna sorted through old tapes.

They closed the snackbar last week for good, so I had to struggle through the chicken katsu at the main cafeteria. I ran into Greg eating yogurt on the steps with his boyfriend. Irony rears its ugly head again -- he's quite a dish.

I don't know where the afternoon went. I stayed until I did all the boxes, stealing a kinda stale sweater from the lost-and-found (the library's an infamous campus freezer). Cyna turned on the stereo after bosslady left and we heard "Songs in the Key of X" three times (the X-Files tribute album). I think I'm gonna pick it up myself.

I took ten minutes in the structure trying to find my car. The security guard there must've had a good chuckle.

When I got home a neighbor I had never met was sweeping glass from right outside my door. She said the people in the next building have been throwing things off lately (my gift was a Corona bottle, she said another guy got a full bag of trash).

Finally Greg actually called 'cause I told him about this page revival, and he listed off about twelve spelling errors ("It's Vachss, not Vachs"). Such a darling. Then again, I called him a slut publically, so we're even.

I was honest, I confessed I was jealous of his catch. We both apparently take lunch at about 12:30, so when I'm working on campus we might be able to catch up on things.

Gonna watch Politically Incorrect now. Gods, I love this "fruit orgy" ad for Fruitopia. I don't know why but I identify with the maid, watching with revulsion mixed with a queasy fascination...

Jen, who seems to be most responsible for keeping me from naps this month, called me at 2 p.m. and told me I had to come golfing with them. "Just down the street," she said. What the heck... and I walked.

For the first time in I don't know how long there was a good breeze out. Waikiki was just crawling with people. When I got to the little course (just West of Don Ho HQ), I found the usual suspects... plus one.

Jen, her guy Ryan, Nate and his girlfriend, and a somewhat tall guy named Derek. Ah, an even number. I could tell by all the ridiculous grinning he was there by Jen's invitation. We played both the river and tropical courses, Nate's girfriend won and I was a close third behind Jen. In short, the guys got whupped.

The two couples were insanely snuggly, quite conveniently leaving me and Derek to chat and make somewhat disparaging remarks about our hosts. We ate at the Wailana Coffee House. Afterwards, Derek drove me home. Big mistake -- shoulda walked.

It's Matsuuri season. Obon coming soon. There was a parade on Kalakaua. Closed streets. It took 40 minutes to go six blocks. I mostly apologized between a somber discussion about how sad it was that Ella Fitzgerald died and a mutual tirade about moped riders.

I let him let me off about two blocks off, just 'cause it woulda taken the rest of the hour to even make it to Lewers. Nice enough fellow, a Mac guy even, but no thanks. I then spent the majority of the night listening to music and harassing Jen on the phone.

I thanked her, though. She's still my bestest bestest friend. Good conversation beats watching others slobber any day.

Think I'll put the Led Zep box set in or watch the TV Food Network all day. Actually I'm hungry. While everyone's eating like kings with their families, I'm probably going to settle for a musubi from the ABC store.

Father's Day hasn't really been depressing for a while now. It just kinda wierds me out. I never know what to do with myself.

Terrified by a bloated e-mailbox and enjoying the rare sound of rain on the streets yesterday, I just hid in the dark at home. Besides, I just got a bag of Chef Boyardee "Lunch Buckets" from mom (I ended up driving up to visit on Sunday), so I didn't starve.

Yesterday I slept way past noon, and by the time I looked at a clock it was 4. There's some sort of free-view cable promo on, so I watched some of the stations I didn't get. The Cartoon Network is neat, but I can live without Home and Garden TV (show after show of guys with belt saws making drink trays).

I stayed up past 3 a.m., somehow stumbling my way through Knight Rider and Gilligan's Island. I feel asleep chuckling to myself about the stuff on the Classic Country music channel ("...he's sleeping in my bed, he's driving my truck, and he's pettin' my dogs he-e-ead!").

I'm heading off to see "Moll Flanders" just 'cause the preview I just saw made it look pretty good. The next show's at 8:05, so I better pop open another can of Ravioli and get moving.

The dark yet mysteriously generous spirits behind this cyberpad (satanic.org) have been ordered out. The box is wired to the net at the office of its owner's employers, who have apparently taken issue with its presence.

Don't fret! I'll figure something out.

If anything, I'll just maybe consider (gasp!) paying for an account somewhere. Playing in this little world has been just too much fun.

Anyway, stay tuned. This site may go silent any day. Don't worry, either. If yer one of the cool folks who've actually and ever written 'bout this page, I promise I'll write you with my new home if and when I find one.

Wish me luck!

I got a commercial net account. Against the prime directive of computer geeks in academia, even. Just 'cause this universe I'm weaving is too big to host on the department's little system. Feeding yet another addiction... like when I actually paid for the "full version" of Eudora. Ick.

It won't be the same. Nothing was cooler than a satanic e-mail address. Now, I'm oozing with sappy "aloha." Yes, my second sin -- I've signed with the company referred to 'bout here as the evil empire (evil in an uncool way, you see).

You are now looking at Kat version 2.0: ophelia@aloha.net

So far, the system sucks. No UNIX commands, trapped in BBS-style menus. The system has been crashing ever since I became yet another of their sheep, too. Even as I type, I can't get to my mail there. They're saying they're going to be down most of tomorrow, too.

A weekend? Hello?

And yet, here I am, writing a diary entry in the conceited hope that someone out there will actually read my bitching. There's no hope. I'm addicted.

Don't mind my bad mood. I'm not supposed to be here tonight.

On the plus side, I've got a pseudo-date tomorrow!

Cooking up a pot of rice for some leftover Zippy's chili, watching perhaps one of the most disturbing infomercials I've ever seen. Accents, "secret breast ehancers!" Just about as predatory in tone as those acne cream ones.

The "host" just said they come in a "beautiful designer chest." I'm sure that pun was unintentional. For their slogan, they should be shot: "Hollywood's Breast Kept Secret!"

They're pushing 'em for weddings, business suits, working out... They apparently have the same "density" as the real thing. Omigod! They have a web site! www.figure.com! Everyone has a web page...

Remember Derek? Turns out he knows Jess (another friend), and her friend Kim had a birthday party today. Thus the aforementioned pseudo-date, wherein a gaggle of people (most of whom I didn't know) spent the afternoon singing really bad karaoke in a very small room.

Derek and I had to shout to have a conversation, but if it weren't for him I probably woulda just sat in the corner and screamed only when the cheesiest of songs came on (Rainy Day Women comes to mind!).

They played a lot more Hawaiian stuff than I would have preferred, and I always hate it when everyone who goes can actually sing (unlike me). It was fun, though, and I forgot I had a beer and didn't pay for it, so it must have been my day.

In other news, Jen just got a job! She's got another of my dream jobs... at a music store! Tower Records, and she's already in charge of the country music section (mostly due to the fact that no one else would take it, I bet).

I know she's going to be much happier than she was at Blockbuster (the Ala Moana store -- join my boycott!). They at least don't treat their workers like slaves, and besides she can blast music in the store while she works!

The paranoid utterance above came after the illustrious Ms. Landers slammed a U.S. Senator who defended the value of the internet. The senator was responding to a heaping mound of hooey she'd recently published in the name of "millions" of Americans whose lives, businesses and marriages were destroyed by this big, spooky new technology.

First the Pope, now this? Annie, get a grip!

I've been seething about this since Jen read it to me over the phone from work. I even bought a copy of the "Honolulu Badvertiser" just to look it over myself.

I don't know what annoys me more: the sensationalism of Dateline NBC's infamous "pedophiles rule the net" campaign or Ann's totally insane fear of -- gee, I don't know -- the 90s? Just 'cause I'm having a pretty yucky week, they're both new residents of my "suck" page.

Some kids got seriously roughed up by a mob last night just up the street from me. One of those noisy packs of idiots that always feel like howling at two in the morning decided to get physical, I guess. Usually they just yell and throw trash at cars and whistle at the streetwalkers.

I mention this because I'm out of Coke and yet I'm suddenly disinclined to make my regular walk to the ABC store for my regular caffeine hit.

I'm drawing a blank. I work straight through to the weekend. I'm already aching everywhere.

As Yakko Warner would say, "Goodnight everybody!"

It started terribly, actually. Screeching, a startling pop and crunch of metal against metal. There was an an accident outside, tourist against tourist. I didn't go out and gawk like a lot of my neighbors did, but given the subsequent sirens and all the unusually loud conversation it inspired, I didn't even try to go back to sleep.

I toasted some Pop Tarts, finished off some flat Coke, and generally tried to recover from the last few days (worked both Queen's and SLIS, at one point two shifts seperated by no more than a tuna sandwich and a painfully short nap).

Then I finally acted like a Waikiki resident.

I went and I walked up and down Kalakaua. I talked to the Bird Guy (and he now knows better than to try and sell me a picture). I stopped in to buy some of the first batch of fries at McDonalds (always have a starch for breakfast!).

I went wading around and was briefly followed about by a blonde guy on a big plastic blue raft. I cheered for the dancing queens in a Gay Pride Parade. I had a hot dog and another Coke for lunch (99 cent special), and fed a good portion to the mobs of pigeons on the beach. I just sat and got some sun (safely, of course, SPF 29), people-watched and soaked my toes.

Now I'm ready to do absolutely nothing all night, too.

To top it all off, I got home just in time for Talk Soup! Gotta love it... everyone, meet Bryan, "Proud to be an 18-year-old Virgin."