Monday, August 15, 2005

I hope this isn't making me one of those people, you know, losers - by talking here on my Livejournal about MySpace, but here goes, and you know, I think the love of Billy Joel already might have me securely in that loser category. So, recently I changed my photos on MySpace, maybe two or three days ago I did this, and really I need to change them again soon, I fear. So apparently, by being not totally clothed in my main photo - I am wearing a negligee - I am advertising that I want to be your friend. This afternoon alone I got five friend requests from total strangers, most of them eighteen year old gay boys. I have gotten three messages this afternoon. One from a gay boy telling me how cool I am. Another one from some man in Staten Island who wants to hang out. And one from a young woman in Manhattan who wants to be friends for some reason. It's insane how often they are appearing now, these random people, whereas, prior to photo change, I rarely heard from strangers.

It makes me want to vomit. Whenever I see that New Friend Request link I get excited and hope that it is someone I know that found me, but they are random people in towns I have never even visited and I click delete and for some reason get really annoyed by this, and annoyed at myself for making myself sound cool, presenting myself in such a stylized manner that has only little basis in my day to day life.

I mean, the me getting totally wasted part all the time is totally true. Last night, I went out to Stache, met Niki and Ramsey there. And they eventually left me there alone when I went to the bathroom, by which time I was totally wasted and not really wanting to go home. It was rum I had been drinking and so I was maybe more than mildly horny and stood by myself for a while smoking, staring at boys, and hoping some would talk to me. It wasn't happening, so I danced with Evan and his friend. And left when they left, not knowing other people there, and the place not being social enough to make new friends.

As I was walking along Delancey, this really hot man, walking in my direction, was rubbing his stomach in that lazy way that turns me on so much, the shirt slightly lifted, and I was trying to check out his stomach without being obvious - and thought I had succeeded until he stopped me to ask me a question as we were passing. He was German and asked me in accented English where the boys were - veer are zee boyz? - that he thought they were in this neighborhood. He was really close to me and definitely flirting with me and he had really awful breath and either for that reason or the me being a total wimp reason, I didn't try to take him home with me. I told him Stache was a couple blocks away and gave him directions. As soon as we parted, I regretted not being more bold and also for telling him to go a place where I had no luck, which is not cruisy, and after he had left, I thought of the much sleazier bars not too far, The Cock, Boysroom, Urge.

So by the time I get on the subway, I totally have sex on the brain and when I get off the J train, I am a drunk, stoned, horny mess. I walk home and there is this tough looking Latin kid walking my way whose muscular chest I was imagining under his white t-shirt and I made eye contact with him and did not get my ass kicked. But nothing happened, he rounded the corner and for the next block I daydreamed about him and kept turning over my shoulder, for some reason hoping for him to appear on the block again.

Then that was not the end of it, my night of cruisy encounters in this Puerto Rican neighborhood right by my house. So then there is this large, older man walking my way that I am trying not to make eye contact with and maybe he saw me turning back constantly after that guy and knew that I was looking. I don't know. He asked me to sell him a cigarette, and I lied and told him I didn't have any because I did not want to interact with him. Then I start to walk away and he asks if I hang out at Boogaloo, saying he recognized me. And I laughed because I have only been to that bar once, two years ago, and it was really hilirious how awful and snotty that place was. I told him no and he said he works the door there and recognized me and while saying this he kept giving me this really cruisy stare. Sorry, I said. And then he asked me if I smoked weed, and even though I did want to get stoned more, I told him no, answered some more of his questions and then finally escaped from him and crossed the street to make it home.

And oh yeah, earlier in the night, a blind homeless man who I gave a cigarette to and chatted with for a while, told me he would fuck me real good. I have people interested in me on the street at three in the morning, people interested me on the internet, but man, when I tried talking to people at that bar last night, they fled so quickly, but of course, they were also not blind men with blind canes.

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