Friday, February 27, 2004

Okay, so this boy I really liked asked me if I wanted to bounce or get another drink. This boy's name is Matt. He is the boy I went home with on Monday, Kevin's roommate, and the boy I have liked incredibly since Monday.

So tonight we met up at Metropolitain after I went to the Judith Butler talk, which was fucking amazing by the way, and we both got throughouly trashed, Morrisey was played twice, we debated the merits of criticism, he from the artist perspective, me from the critic and the lover of criticism perspective. It was fun. I started to hit on an old Italian man and started talking to him about the changes that have occured in Williamsburg over the past couple years and what he has thought of them. Somehow this led into racist ramblings of Matt about "the blacks" and the last neighborhood he lived in. He was appearantly robbed twenty or so times by black people there, which may be an understandable cause of generalizations, but not understandable enough for me, and when he made one too many comments about "them", I said I was going home, and he said he was going with me, and I said, No, no you are not. Prior to his slightly racist ramblings, I had my hand all over his ass and could not imagine going home with anyone hotter, but his comments disappointed me so much, I said no. When I was about to reach my house, I recieved a call from him, asking me what was going on, that he liked me, and I told him, I could not deal with his racist comments, and he said something about if I was there, and I told him I just did not find him attractive anymore, but told him that prior to opening his mouth I found him so fucking hot, and wanted nothing more than to go home with him, but he had to say those things, which made his body replusive. And am I am an asshole? A hot guy really liked me for the fist time ever, and I blew him off because I pushed him into this corner to discuss his thoughts on race, a test that no one could have probably passed, since no one would have been able to live up to my standards. And he called, and I told him, that yes, I was no longer into him because of what he said, and maybe I would call him, and I could hear the sadness, and the me not getting laid for antoher eight months when some hot homo wanted to be (perhaps) my boyfriend. And yes, don't ask what is wrong with me - you already know.

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