"elvis was a hero to most, but he never meant shit to me"

okay, what is up with salon folks? normally, it is pretty damn progressive and covers stories from different perspectives, but these last two days have made me pissed as hell. today's top story is an anit-arafat piece of bullshit, and yesterday they had some columnist babbling about how we need to cut off ties with palestinians and just basically nuke them. i really love salon, but i really hate israel even more, and so salon's coverage as of late is pissing the fuck out of me. and i was about to write a letter to the editor about the lopsided coverage but i decided against it cause i didn't want to waste paper-writing time looking for statisitcs and dates about all the far too numerous atrocities committed by israel against the palestinians. dude, i really do try to be a pacifist, but i would so like to see sharon get his fucking head blown off, and i would so love it if the us would just be awesome and bomb the fuck out of israel, and let palestinians have all the control they want over the land that was stolen from them by motherfucking western europe and the us so that they could absolve themselves of holocaust guilt. and i know it's really horrible that i have all this rage towards israel, but the fucking way the situation is portrayed in the news makes me want to throw shit. a couple israelis killed in a suicide bombing. big news, with a isn't this terrorism horrible slant. countless palestinans killed in retaliation, forced out of areas occupied near jewish settlements, restricted from traveling outside of whatever atomized chunk of "palestine" they live in. inside of the motherfucking paper, with a fair and just retaliation slant. mothefuck that shit.

and i really am not an anti-semite, i just hate israel. i get very angry about such things that i have no control over, and that seem so so unjust.

okay, but i thought i would rant here to save me a little bit of time since here i don't have to worry about citing facts and shit. and very soon i will write a real entry based in actual experience. i feel like a bigoted zealot or something with these last two entries: yesterdays about how much i hate fags, and today's about how much i hate israel.

really i'm not that serious in either case. these are not statements that i would vocalize to another person. here it's okay, cause it's a diary and i can bitch like rush or someone, and not give a shit, cause we'll all read each others shit and then never talk about it when we do talk. its something we are aware of, but act like we're not, and yeah so whatever.

anyways, i swear this is the last polticized entry for a good whiles. i am worried that i am pissing people off immensely and that people will secretly hate me, and think that i'm some horrible person. and also these are kind of boring entries, and far too easy to write.

right now, i am on page six of my language and politics paper. i am tired as hell and so so want to snuggle up in my cold bed under my warm blanket and get goosebumps from my cold sheets. but i have told myself that i am not going to bed until i finish this paper, since tomorrow i have to write that stupid faulkner paper.

i have just realized the joy of paper writing. i used to approach papers very seriously and with an oh dear god i have a fucking paper due attitude, and would feel like it was such a chore. but now, i have discovered the i don't give a shit, i ain't gonna unsat the class for a smartass paper approach - i take the paper as not seriously as one can take a paper and add as many pop references to it as i possibly can. the paper i wrote a couple of days ago for postcolonial lit, had the line "motherfuck him and john wayne" after every 3 or 4 paragraphs. the title of my language and politics paper is "meow meow meow: heath and his capitalist fat catesque dismissal of ideology" for god sakes. and i have managed to fit in totally random references to the cranberries, to gym culture, and to the sound of music. i am thinking about approaching my faulkner paper as a challenge, wherein i think of really random things beforehand and somehow insert them into my paper. the things i have thought of so far are: boogie nights, john waters, prince, snickers, and the chiquita banana lady. i don't know if i'll actually follow through with my plan of action, since out of all of my professors, i think dimino would be the least receptive towards my who gives a fuck style of writing.

the obligatory gay identity entry

i am at home, and already acting like it. this is far far too soon considering i just got home yesterday. but, i already see myself falling into the routine of doing jack shit. i woke up at eleven something this morning, casually went down to borders and took the stupid rehiring test, came home, settled comfortably into the couch, gorged myself on english muffins and clementines, and fell under the trance of mister mtv. what a productive day, right?

i watched carson and company all motherfucking day even though there is so much shit that i want to do now that i am at home. there are so many exhibits that i want to see, so many friends i want to hang out with at ihop, and so many shows that i want go to. i didn’t stay home all day because i think carson’s dreamy or because i was lazy about doing any of these aforementioned things - no, i would have hopped at the opportunity to get out of the house. however, i have placed myself under house arrest until i finish these two papers that are due on friday (a faulkner paper and a language and politics one). and guess how much work i have done on both of these papers?

sadly, you guessed correctly. “sadly” because one, it is true and also because two, it means that your perceptions of me as a lazy motherfucker are all too accurate. i have yet to even think about either paper. papers schmapers. i have three more days.

but, yeah, today i was a bit of a tv junkie. i just got finished watching queer as folk. has anyone seen this motherfucking show? why in the hell is it so bad? is it really that bad, or is it just me thinking its bad because of all of my issues with representation of gays and this thing that we will call gay culture?

bob mizer, i motherfucking hate you. and you too bruce weber, even though you are just being derivative. it is all mizer’s fault that gay erotica is nothing but a glorification of whiteness. mizer and weber with your stupid white models, and their big silly grins, and their even bigger shoulders, and their being set amidst american nature – you two fags have conflated whiteness with americanness. and it’s these fucking images that every fag in america gets off to.

queer as folk has the same slightly racist, definitely elitist notion of male beauty that you two knuckleheads created. i am so embarrassed that i used to be obsessed with your photos bruce, (and photo buffs, feel free to stone me here), and even more so that you were my favorite “photographer” for so long. oh, all the foibles of being a closeted gay youth are all starting to come back.

i thought i had heard good things about queer as folk, but i cannot recall where, but let me tell you what – this show sucks big fat fucking dick, okay? it’s about a bunch of ripped, young white guys who are very much enmeshed in this gay culture that makes me cringe. and dude, i’m just going to say it right now, so that that way, you can keep your fucking analysis to your goddamn self: yes, i have issues with masculinity, big time. i’m very concerned sometimes about appearing too feminine, and yes, i also know that i do not do the best job of trying not to appear feminine. whatever.

these are the biggest fucking fags ever that are on this show. what the fuck? i have never worn a black lycra shirt in my goddamn life, and i would consider eating my own shit before i would ever consider wearing one. and then there are all these gay club scenes, with bjs being given left and right and bad gay house blaring. dude, who lives this life? not i. i do not like green eggs and ham, i do not like them, sam i am. i do not like the faggot life, i do not like it, gun i am.

i feel like jerry falwell or some such asshole whenever i go on my little tirade about how much i hate gay culture. falwell says degenerates. i’ll be a little more rational, and admit, i just do not understand. the whole gay culture thing seems so foreign to me. i watch queer as folk, and i’m like dude, what the hell is this?

but, then again, this is probably just me trying to assert some shred of masculinity. i began to think: am i part of the dominant gay culture? ahh, i am. it made me so sad. i’m gay, i said to myself, as if i had just fucking come to this realization.

my first year at nc, michael jones told me that i was flaming. from anyone i would have been upset by that comment but probably would not have remembered it nearly three years later. but from michael jones, oh boy. if mister jones, a pretty flaming boy called me flaming, then oh god, yes i must be part of this gaggy gay culture.

let’s see what other faggy apsects of my life are there? i sometimes really like pop music. i know all the words to just about every madonna song (but, i know all the words to just about any song, so does that negate the madonna thing? i don’t even like madonna, in fact i sort of hate her.) i do like to dance, though (but, i have never gone to a gay club, is that okay?). and i do get aroused by bruce weber photos. i know, i need to accept it: i’m a fag, quit trying to rationalize it. and if all that were not proof enough, i thought of whom my close friends were/are. they are all girls. all of my friends have always been girls. i’ve always had a circle of fag-hags that i was friends with. i don’t know why this is, i just have trouble connecting with most males, and i really have tried to cultivate male friendships to try to add some gender balance to my life, but it has never worked. i never can manage to establish a lasting friendship with a male.

okay, blah – i’m real embarrassed that i’ve babbled all this nonsense about “being gay”, and may end up deleting it.

basically, my original point though, was that i’m a lazy motherfucker who watched bad tv all motherfucking day.

kerouac was a fucking liar

i just got out of the shower about five minutes ago. i had to take a shower to wash the fucking pee smell off of me from my not so great roadtrip. i am convinced that the fun of roadtrips is completely dependent upon who you are riding with -- and if you are riding with no one, well it is not much fun. it is a hellacious two day trip, wherein you find out how many fucking games you can possibly play to keep yourself from passing out, veering into traffic, and dying a horrible, bloody death.

basically it gets pretty fucking boring, and especially so when it is gray and drizzling the entire way, and your windshield wipers don't even work. and since you're an idiot and forgot you were driving north where there's actually seasons, you wore a fucking t-shirt and so you want to spend as little time outside of the heated car as possible. which also means that, yes folks, i ignored the countless pleas from pedro, and for the first time ever on the fl. to va. drive, did not even stop at the oh so campy south of the border.

i stopped for gas and that was about it. i didn't end up leaving sarasota until about four in the afternoon yesterday. the first part of the drive was decent -- the drizzling had yet to start, i was still excited about the idea of a long drive, and the landscape entertained my thoughts for a while. then the sun set. i have the worst night vision ever, and it started to drizzle outside making it even harder to see since my wipers don't work, yet i trudged on until about midnight at which point i could safely drive no more.

i stayed in the seediest hotel ever, but that is probably to be expected from a hotel that only costs $28 a night. i was not tired to the point where i could fall asleep, i was just tired in the sense that i did not want to have to squint to see through the one area of my windshield that actually gets wiped, and realize that i was about to hit yet another car. so i called it a night, checked into the carolina lodge, entered my wood-panled motel room, turned on the tv and lied down in bed.

it was a night not spent by me writing a road journal, reading books, or doing some even semi-beatish thing. no, it was spent by me watching wwf on mtv and masturbating to the sight of these grotesque embodiements of a hulking masculinity, slamming each other around and yelling ridicolous grrr statements at each other. i wasn't so much getting off at the sight of stone cold or the rock or some other lame-o, but rather to the recollection of how much i used to love wwf when i was a little kid, and i thought that even back then i most have been gay to have been so into these overpuffed males gropping each other. or maybe not gay, but definitly looking at these versions of males in a they're so cool, that's what i want to be like kind of way.

and little sidenote- i don't know how many other people used to be wwf fans when they were kids, but ric flair is back, and he still says whooo! after every six or seven words. i kind of would like to go around and talk to people i don't know like at the mall or something, and talk like ric flair, and to just say whoo! after every sentance. for some reason, i think it would be lots of fun.

after my little wwf jackoff session, i became thoughougly disinterested in anything that was on, and at that point fell asleep.

i woke up at 11, hit the road, and motherfuck, yes it was still drizzling, and so it was still an annoying drive.

today's drive was, however, a lot more fun than yesterday's. to keep myself awake, i played the gossip game with myself, telling myself all of the new college gossip that i could think of. that was fun for a while, and it's being mentioned here for two reasons. 1.) that i was pretty goddamm bored, and starting to develop cabin fever. and 2.) okay, maybe nikki and bonnie were right - the game made me think of how much i wish i would've tried to talk to marky mark on saturday nite. what would have been the fucking harm of being rejected one more time - i was leaving the next day -- why was i such a pussy?

besides this game, i played sing-along with every song on the radio that i knew even just a couple of lines from. i also played the license plate game. and of course, the always entertaining, stare into the other cars around me and talk about what type of life they lead game.

so at 4:11, i finally saw the welcome to virginia sign, and i was so excited that i decided that i was not stopping again until i reached alexandria, and was home sweet home. keep in my mind that virginia's a big state, and takes about three and a half hours to drive through on 95.

the drive through virginia was so exciting even though it looks just like the carolinas, it just felt so much better to be within these constructed boundries called virginia. i was nearing home and feeling so so good to be in va -- that and i found the 10,000 maniacs unplugged tape which always makes me feel so wonderful. (and fuck you if you're smuggly laughing, i like my adult contemporary -- don't say shit about 10,000 maniacs, they're fucking awesome.)

so i'm singing along with natalie, i'm fifty miles from my house and i have to pee so fucking bad. i say no, hold it charlie, fucking hold it, remember we are not stopping till we get home. twenty miles later i decide i'm going to be a little creative. hey, jim carrey peed in a bottle while driving in dumb and dumber, and i think i've even heard real people talk about it -- so i assumed that it was not such a bad idea. oh, how wrong i was. so first of all, i am trying to undo my pants while driving my bobo car that has the worst alignment ever. so while doing this, i hear a honk, and i realize i'm about to run someone off the road. problem #2 involved with trying to pee while driving: after i took down my pants, i got hard, and so i had to be like oh no no no, please cut that out, i so need to pee. problem #3: once i get soft, i get fucking pee-shy for some reason and cannot make myself pee into this empty gatorade bottle, even though i am about to fucking wet myself. i literally have to force myself to pee, grunting little squirts of pee out of me into this empty gatorade bottle. okay, then i start to pee and i don't know what the hell happened. i don't know if the bottle was not at a vertical enough angle, or what. rembember it is dark, drizzling, my windshield wipers don't work, and i am still technically driving -- so my mind was not solely on watching the pee bottle. but soon, i smell that fucking urine smell and i'm like oh fuck shit and then i can feel it on the seat. so, i stop peeing, cap this stupid gatorade bottle, pull my pants up, and put the map book between the wet seat and my ass.

i get home, and thank fucking god no one is home to smell my urine smell, and so i quickly take a shower, and spray smelly shit on the car seat. and then i chide myself for thinking that this was possible just because i saw jim carrey do it in a movie. chiding myself, i too too clearly hear and see jack nicholson in the shining, saying "its okay, he saw it on the television" (which ps, is far a creepier line than the oft-quoted ones: "here's johnny" and "red rum")

the last goddamn wall

as i write this, i hear a spray painting noise outside my living room window. the little hiss sound and then the occasional metallic sound of shaking the stupid motherfucking can are making me feel even more like shit. i came home in the worst funk ever to see jesser (who is creepy as hell) and anne doing something in the driveway with spraypaint.

so, the reason i am so pissed to begin with: i go to the wall, hoping to have lots of fun hanging out with my friends on my last night here after i just finished writing that postcolonial lit paper.

and fucking goddamn i hate the sound of jesser's voice, it's this i so want to be barry white with a sexy deep voice but i'm just a stupid white boy with no life who lives in sarasota and have to bleach my hair so i can tell myself that i am hip. shut the fuck up, i hate your voice.

okay back to the story about the cause of this little funk,

what the fuck i hate the spray painting noise, it is so obnoxious, what the fuck is anne doing with spray paint in the driveway at four the fuck something o'clock in the goddamn morning, i so hope our neighbors call the cops on her and jesser's dumb asses

so i go to this motherfucking wall, hoping to just have good conversations with my friends on my last night

motherfuckers, okay i just got up to close the window and when i did i saw them spray painting graffiti on cardboard boxes stacked against our fence, and then jesser said some stupid ass thing, and oh god how i hate that boy and his motherfucking sexual predator voice

so, anyways i'm at the wall, and everyone keeps telling me to go talk to marky mark. i was planning on talking to him, but whenever anything becomes an imperative and everyone is urging me to do something, i just resist and refuse. i was getting so annoyed with nikki and bonnie, and i told both of them this, that i didn't want to hear them telling me to go fucking talk to mark, i just wanted to have a decent conversation with them both. but, both of them are motherfucking jackasses and kept on telling me how much i would be regretting it tomorrow if i didn't go to talk to him. motherfuck, i don't want to go talk to him, i just want to talk to you about shit, can you shut your fucking mouth and stop telling me what i need to do, and concern yourselves with what you need to do with your own pathatic lives.

okay, so i'm still mad as hell. and i'm not so much mad at myself for being too full of pride and also too much of a pussy to go talk to mark, nor am i so much mad at bonnie and nikki for being obnoxious assholes. but, rather i was more so sad because (and stemming from that my current state of anger) of the realization that i really have about 3 friends here at this school that i actually engage in conversation with. it was all very depressing, and even more depressing that i couldn't talk to any of the three. nikki and bonnie were driving me crazy with their talk of mark, and becky, the most wonderful girl ever who actually understood that i did not want to be pressured about stupid mark went to bed so early. and so i was stuck at this stupid wall, dancing even though i was so tired and just wanted to stand around all because i had no one to stand around and talk to. and then, bonnie still comes up to me, squealing why don't you go talk to him, why are you being so weird.

because i fucking want to be weird. why is it such a big deal if i am weird and am not super confident about approaching boys that i really like and especially boys that know i really like them and have given me this oh dear god look on far too many occasions for me to continue to set myself up for another one of those oh dear god looks.

and even though it would not have happened since i'm pretty sure he thought i was loud/scary/obnoxious/abrasive and even if he didn't think so before i am positive he must think so now after bonnie and nikki went up and talked to him, so that that way i could come talk to him since bonnie would be over there. i know in some of my previous posts i complained about how much i wanted some action. but maybe i do want something more. i really had no desire to hook up with mark since i was leaving in the morning. it is just not what i wanted. but of course, bonnie and nikki know best, and so they persisted with their obnoxiousness.

and that was the point at which i could take no more, i gazed around palm court, so wishing rebecca or some friend that would not be that obnoxious would just magically appear, and that i could just sit in the middle of palm court with her and talk about shit other than mark, and clap our hands and stomp our feet, and just be not obnoxious.

this is why i am sort of glad that i will be leaving tomorrow. i will get to hang out with old friends and have the opportunity to develop new friendships without people thinking i'm this loud, boy-crazy person, who needs to be told to go talk to that boy, why are you being so weird.

but, i'm also really sad, i really will miss living in this house and hanging out with my friends, irrespective of the ramblings i have wrote here tonight. this is a place with some really gorgeous people that i'm going to miss so much. i didn't realize this till tonight when i was hugging becky goodbye. yeah i know it's cheesy, but it made me somewhat sad.

and i still have yet to pack a motherfucking thing, i'm hungry as hell, i have to go to bed so i can wake up and make the long trek up to virginia. and anne and jesser are still being dickheads and spraypainting shit. if they don't quit shit in ten minutes when i'm ready to go to bed, there's going to be some of that loud abrasive yelling that i am unfortunantly identified with, going on.

splish splash i was taking a bath

i watched do the right thing again today so that i could write my postcolonial lit paper about it, however i have still yet to start writing my paper, which is in fact due to the fact that i haven't finished reading the other book that i'm going to write about. but have i been reading that book? no sirree, dog, i have been finding whatever i can do to occupy my time so that i don't have to read.

after i watched the movie i stared into space for a good long while thinking about absolutely nothing. nothing.

after doing that for way too long, i listened to bonnie and india talk about boys. india was in the exact same position on the couch that becky was in when she came over last night and started whining about boys. the conversation in both instances seemed very tedious, and made me think how boring people must think i am, since that is probably what i sound like all of the time, since i have a tendency to talk about my crushes to whomever i run into and am forced to make conversation with. why are boys so often the subject of conversation? it seems so 8th grade sometimes.

so then to awake myself and to feel energized, i decided to take an ice bath. oh my god, it was so nice. i filled the tub with cold water, dr brommers peppermint castile soap, a huge bag of ice that anne had bought a while ago for her picnic, and all the little trays of ice from our freezer. it reminded me so much of my first year when me and leslie had our brief polar bear club, where a couple times we went swimming in the pool early in the morning when it was real super cold. i don't know what it is about being in cold water, but i fucking love it, it is the most intense sensation other than being on fun drugs, and maybe even more so than that. dude, your entire body gets covered in goose bumps and you kind of want to get out of the water but you kind of don't because the sensation is just so fucking wonderful.

i just took a bath for the first time since i was a kid about a month ago. it was a super hot bath, accompanied with a cup of wine, and some coltrane playing. and it was so so nice -- afterwards i just collapsed into my bed and went big time nighty night.

this bath, my second one since i was a kid, was fun in a totally different way. it made me awake instead of tired. and i had much more fun this time, as i remembered all the things that i did in the tub when i was a kid. i slid around in the tub, back and forth back and forth making waves crash against the tub. i splashed water over my head. i made bubbles. i counted to see how long i could stay underwater (37 seconds). and then i did some things that i didn't do when i was a kid, that made this bath all the more fun. i played with all sorts of body parts. submerging them. having them be above the surface of the water while i submerged the rest of my body. washing my body with care while reciting lines from song of myself ("i believe in the flesh and the appetites, seeing, hearing and feeling are all miracles and each part and tag of me is a miracle, divine am i inside and out, and i make holy whatever i touch or am touched from . . .)

it was all just so nice and relaxing and so not my postcolonial paper that i'm supposed to be writing. i then put on a facial mask, some warm pj's, and thought i would write an entry so i wouldn't have to start working on my paper. and, now i am going to go make myself something to eat, and then i guess i'll start working on that stupid motherfucking paper.

i do not heart dimino

no more faulkner class. thank fucking god. i am now offically done with attending classes. don't mistake that, however, for me being done with my work. i still have three papers that i have to write. i have still not even started to pack. i have still have not talked to the landlord about switching my lease. i have still not registered for next semester. but, i do still plan on leaving bright and early sunday morning to drive to virginia.

let me tell you how happy i am that i do not have to attend that faulkner class anymore. no longer will i have to sit there, awkwardly wait in silence with the rest of my class for dimino to decide to grace us with her lazy ass presence. twice she has shown up 15 minutes late, and on one time she did not show up at all. i took so much pleasure in writing that evaluation for her today, i just totally let loose. but while we were writing the evaluations she sat in there. i don't think that you are allowed to, and even if so it does not seem like a very courteous or ethical thing to do.

no longer will i have to listen to her take up entire classes with her slightly racist musings in which she makes overly broad, gross generalizations about black culture and blackness. oh, i get so frustrated with her in the class, and seriously have dreams of wildly kicking her in the shins whenever she starts talking about "blacks" and "their" culture. she is so fucking patronizing and she doesn't even realize it. she like so many other professors and students at this school think that they are being progressive in their sympathatic descriptions of "blacks." mohanty said, "they must not be represented, they must represent themselves."

ahh, one of the many reasons i hate this school. and, i am always so timid about questioning dimino on her categorical descriptions of "black culture." occasionally, i will be so annoyed that i will feebly respond, but my lack of verbosity coupled with my propensity to say "like," "um," and "yeah," always manages to make me sound really lame.

today she was talking about latin american lit. and af-am lit. as postcolonial lit., and not that i even totally disagreed with her (in fact, i sort of agreed with her), but she talked about it as if was the general consensus amongst postcolonial scholars, which it most definitely is not, and so i just wanted to point that out and ask her if her statements would not be contested and rejected by most postcolonial scholars. or, more accurately that is what i meant to ask. i don't even know what ended up coming out of my mouth, all i know is that i got this very puzzled-what-the-hell-are-you-talking-about-how-can-you-be-so-dumb-to-think-that-af.am.-lit-is-not-postcolonial-lit look from alena and dimino. i tried explaining my thoughts, which produced from dimino a question something like, why don't you take a minute to actually think of a decent argument? and then i saw brian hughes cover his mouth and make a stunned laugh which was super cute, but made me realize how incomprehesible i must have sounded to everyone except myself.

i know everyone has this problem, but i really do think my case of it is more acute, wherein i think i'm making perfect sense and it all seems right before i open my mouth, and then i mutter some words, which are in english, but yet still produce a what the hell are you talking about look from people. this happens far more frequently than i would wish for it too.

but, anyways no more dimino at least until next fall, which will be so nice. however, i really did enjoy going to faulkner just because i would get to talk to drew geer, who by the way i am becoming less and less obsessed with (the crush, like eventually all of mine do, is starting to fade), and i get to stare at brian hughes, who i am thinking is cuter and cuter with each sighting of him.

and i only have two more nights here now, two more chances to make out with marky mark. maybe he'll be at the wall and i can strike out yet again.

foxy lady

marky mark encounter:
after my last class of language and politics (thank fucking god, that class was so painful), i go into the cafeteria looking for dana to talk to about the magazine. she's not there, so i use the phone in ham center to call her. we are talking and talking about the magazine, or more like she is talking and talking and i am uh-huhing and uh-huhing. but then in a moment that was very wayne's world like when garth spots the hot chick in the diner and can only hear the song "foxy lady," my eyes gaze across the cafeteria to see who's eating there, and then the bass guitar starts riffing as mark walks out of line and towards the tables, and oh is he? is he going to? yes, fucking god, he sits down at a table by his motherfucking self with no indie kids in sight to intimidate me. dana soon becomes an obnoxious fly buzzing in my ear, distracting me from my mark moment.

-dana i have to go uh someone i need to talk to, i'll call you right back
-um, uh, what
-yeah bye
-bye?, as the phone leaves contact with my ear and is placed on the receiver.

now it's just me and marky mark, i don't even bother (which probably was a mistake) trying to not seem eager and excited. i bolt over to marky mark, sit across from him, and experience rapturous delight as i stare at the cutest boy ever and babble and babble so that that way i can stay without having to flee at the appearance of awkward silence.

i'm just as big a geek as garth and get this oh-dear-god-look-at-you-looking-at-me look from senor marky mark. i ignore it and keep on babbling, just so enamored with the sight of cbe (the cutest boy ever).

dramatic music signaling change of events/ shocking realization; da don don daaa:

-oh, is this annie's bag
-yeah
great, means she's in line, about to come sit with mark and then will laugh and think i'm totally dorky and scary
-oh, and who's bag is this
-i think that's sam's
okay, time to prepare to jet, so the indie kids won't make total fun of me
-oh and this one
-that's brian's
-brian hughes
-yep

i babbled some more briefly so i could linger for just a little while more and stare at cbe, and then i took flight so so worried about how all the indie kids would soon be out of line and give me this i-know-you're-obsessed-with-mark-you-sad-pathatic-loser look

i bolted out of ham center, looked up at the slightly blue slightly cloudy sky and wanted to melt into the earth, meld with the schizo nature of the sky, feeling so good for getting to just look at and be in so close vicinity to mark, and feeling so like a big fat loser for multiple reasons that unfortunately need no explanation.

"you gotta eat"

i just got my computer back from megan about half an hour ago and have since been listening to all my mp3's that i have not heard in over a year. the really good ones that i listened to quite a few times already are: gill scott heron's "it's your world," goodie mob's "soul food," sly's "family affair," and more and more sly.

dude, this music has made me feel so good about myself, and has made me recall my first two years of college when i downloaded all these songs and seemed a lot more together academically and emotionally. now, i am a lame-o who worries about school and feels lonely cause i haven't had action in so so long -- dude, i didn't used to give a shit -- i used to rock my shit singing loudly and happily at my computer all the fucking time to sly and whomever else i so felt inclined to listen to.

the magazine is done hopefully. we had to fix all the fucking photos today cause they were in the wrong format, and so dana is going to bring it to the printer tomorrow. and it should be done on tuesday or wednesday, and i have decided to not even wait around for it to come out, to let dana take care of distribution and to depart for virgina.

i don't know what is wrong with me and my eating binges. today after me and bonnie looted from albies i wanted checkers so so big time, and so i got two cheeseburgers even though i wasn' t that hungry, and ate them both and washed them down with a chocolate milkshake and a couple bottles of that sugary smirnoff malt liquor crap. and very similar to yesterday with the excessive eating of pizza i felt like s-h-i-t big fat stinky shit. really greasy fast food has some unknown allure to me, especially hamburgers. i think it is so weird that i used to be a vegetarian for so long and now the site of a checkers make me think mmm, i could sure go for some of that beef.

only 4 more nights to try to make out with marky mark, "only" 3 more papers to write in the next week, only 2 remaining beatles, and only 1 more amy's burrito left in our fridge (which may not even be true in a few minutes, since i seriously am feeling the urge to be piggy, and then to sit on the couch, start to read, and then become far too distracted by how fun it is to play with my increasingly pudgy belly and then lullalbied to sleep by dreams of marky mark.)

no sex till brooklyn

okay, the sad truth of the matter must be admitted, so that i will no longer be called boy crazy by people. i am suffering from major withdrawl. the last time i hooked up with a boy was with andrew in early februrary. this is now december folks, that is eleven some fucking months of not even getting to kiss anyone. and so, i am sexually frustrated to say the least. maybe this is why i am being called mean by just about all my friends. this situation is reaching the point of being really depressing. i highly doubt that i will get any action over winter break and so it may be early feb. before i might even have sex again, when i'm in ny. that's a whole year. am i really that pathetic?

okay, this little rant was inspired by my running into a little marky mark at this midnight breakfast shingding. so, maybe i was a little shy about approaching him but i haphazardly tried to talk to him, and he seemed so so disinterested and almost uncomfortable. why oh why am i so blind to reality? there was really a period of time when i believed that this was going to be a normal liking of a boy who might like me, and then that something might actually happen. i really did believe for a while that this was not a one sided crush. how we like to decieve ourselves though, right? i think though that maybe for a short while he may have liked me, but that window of opportunity has closed and the window is fucking bolted. he didn't used to be uncomfortable around me, and i think i made it pretty clear to him that i liked him (i told him that i called him to see if he wanted to see a movie but he wasn't home, and i said he should come with me to see another movie soon). he didn't seem uncomfortable then, but now whenever i am around him, i feel like some weird obsessive creepy i don't know what type weird guy. but, he's so cute.

and, i really feel like other people do not have nearly this much trouble in obtaining someone to smooch. why i am so socially awkward that i fail miserably at all attempts to ever hit on anyone. am i that scary? i need to take suave lessons or something from someone that's good at flirting with people like andrew. i used to watch him whenever he would hit on anyone, and he was very suave about it all. when i try to hit on someone, oh dear god, a train wreck is a prettier site. do you see yet my slight inferiority complex that i have with andrew ( if you don't see it yet, i definitly do have one, that stems from me being rejected by him so many times and then watching boys that i have huge crushes on go home with him) -- how can i (or anyone for that matter) be so utterly horrible at simply talking to someone that they like?

i just don't understand.

i heart brian hughes

spotlight graphics sucks big fat cock! dude, the erotica magazine that i've been working on all semester was supposed to come out on friday and this motherfucking renee has yet to even open the disk. i was ready to scream at her today, but i thought that might further delay the printing of the magazine. so, this means that i may not leave florida on sunday as i had planned if the magazine is not yet distributed and which means that i will not be able to leave until at least monday afternoon, which is no good at all since on tuesday i am supposed to be in arlington, va to work at borders at like noon. and if i have to call and cancel they are going to be pissed as fuck and possibly not hire me for winter help. aghhh! this is the thing that this is really pisssing me off right now.

the other thing that is pissing me off (however not enough to make me do anything about it) is my lethargy. dude, i don't do shit. my self-imposed schedule is out the window. i try to be a good student, and tell myself okay i am going to have one of my papers written by tuesday, the other one by thurday, and the other one by sunday night. lies lies and still more lies. i don't know why i even bother with schedules, i never end up following them.

okay, so i'm a little stressed about school and shit, and yes it definitly is preoccupying my thoughts, but as stated earlier i don't actually do my work, i just stress out about it and then decide to take a little nappy-poo because i don't feel like reading, and end up sleeping away the day. nappy time.

waking up to the sound of nikki screaming in my living room some story about wanting to shove a cigarrete down some cunt bitches mouth and out her fucking ass. hunger oh god, hunger. waking up made me acutely aware of how fucking hungry i was. my stomach gets so hungry as of late and i don't know why cause i eat all the fucking time. so anyways, i groggily call rico's and order myself some pizza.

drive there 20 or so minutes later, pick the shit up and hear the pizza boys (aka aryan youth) babbling about some fag cocksucker. the guys that work at rico's are so so scary -- they are huge people that i associate with notions of bradenton. they seem like the kind of people that say they are going to make heads roll. and i've occasionally heard the small, racist comment from them, they have close cropped haircuts, and so i affectionantly refer to them as aryan youth. it may have been hopefully my last encounter with them ever since i will soon be leaving sarasota.

so, i came home watched king of the hill with nikki and bonnie and motherfucking devoured that delicious greasy pizza -- let's not forget how hungy i was. sated, gorged, and then sick -- way too much grease trying to be processed at one time by my digestive system. dude, i still feel sick from eating all that pizza. i want to go drink like a gallon of listerine to wash that greasy feeling out of my stomach.

perhaps, it's time for the subject of boys. i am still without one. that is the subject today. why the fuck? there are tons of really ugly, obnoxious, dumb faggy boys with boyfreinds. what the fuck? am i more obnoxious, ugly, dumb and faggy than all these detestable boys? i don't even want a boyfriend, it'd be nice, i just want someone to make out with, and to sleep next to, and someone's lips to bite occasionally. is that so much to ask? are there no other boys out there who desire the same thing?

andrew's an asshole who has utterly rejected all my attempts at hooking up with him this year. which makes me feel even more like shit, since last year we had casual sex, and now he's like no, even though he's not getting action. which makes me have even more low self-esteem, and makes me all the more cautious about approaching him or other boys. and then there's this marky mark. oh this boy is so r-e-d h-o-t, and annie has told me that he likes boys. but, i feel like he is not all that comfortable and open about liking boys, and i am really shy about approaching boys that i really like. and so, i don't think i will get to make out with him anytime soon, maybe ever. dude, i've had a crush on this boy for a couple of months now.

yesterday he blew me off when i tried to talk to him, and i felt so rejected that i was conspiring evil things to do to mark. i decided i would stick a dead fish in his mailbox, and then taking things to the extreme like usual, i thought i'd pick up one of the numerous dead racoons along 41 and stuff and smash one of them into his box. luckily i went out with nikki and did shit otherwise i'd feel like such an asshole right now, but before we went out i did try calling his voicemail to change his password, which being real bad with technical shit could not figure out how to do.

see this is how evil i can get. i then talked to annie later yesterday about marky mark and she said that he was having a real shitty day, and that made me feel horrible about my plans to make his day shittier and resparked my crush on him. he's so nice, and cute, and awkward. maybe i'll go to this midnight breakfast thingy and hopefully see him. i really just love seeing my crushes. the visual sight of my crush is some slightly sexual thrill. and when i don't run into or see my crush for a long time, i feel dejected. is that weird and sick, and signs of a future voyeur?

i love seeing brian hughes. i get real excited about going to a class if he is going to be in it. just seeing him and hearing him talk in class fills me with this sense of urgent living, of shortened breaths, of oh my god he's so cute. i signed his guestbook today as his secret admirer, just to let him know how dreamy he is, but bonnie got me all worried after i signed it, and said that he definitely would know that it was me who had signed it, since it was the way that i talked. and, i hope he doesn't but also sort of hope he does -- i sort of want him to know i have a crush on him since i won't be embarrased about seeing him around since i won't be here next semester. oh dear god, brian huges is so cute -- he says "golly" amongst so many other cute things. i'm such a 13 year old girl reading tiger beat.