I have been holding myself back from punching my computer screen all day today. So maybe I did look at porn on my computer this morning, but need I suffer from it all day long?Some horrible software has downloaded to my computer and keeps popping up ads each time I go to a new page. I have spent three or so hours trying to find this obnoxious program. As I have typed these few sentances, it was already interrupted by a pop-up ad for an online casino. The shame, the constant shame and remembering of the cause of all these pop-up ads. I have deleted so many things, but yet the ads still appear.
In other sad news, I am an idiot and threw away my Le Tigre ticket when I decided to chuck out all the reciepts in my wallet a couple days ago. I bought another ticket today, one that I was very careful to secure. I called in sick to work today, and now I am going to go see some Le Tigre.
And does anyone have an extra LJ code that they would not mind letting me have, so my friend Joe can join LJ. You can e-mail me at seniorcitizendiscount@hotmail.com. If so, thanks.
Tuesday, November 4, 2003
Monday, November 3, 2003
I got home from work a short time ago, and have since eaten some pasta and drank a beer. I am tired and exhausted, not so much from working today at work, but from encounters with people today at work, and from thinking of things I need to do shortly, like pay bills, like sewing up my one pair of jeans that ripped today, like getting new contacts, like voting tomorrow, and like waking up in eight or so hours to work tomorrow morning so that I can see Le Tigre perform tomorrow night and just breath out and dance my troubles away.
I miss conversing with people who share the same value-systems that I possess. Dare I say it, but I miss New College on days like today, where at work, after telling someone what type of deodorant I use (Tom’s), I got into the most stupid argument about why anti-perspirant is bad for you.
Here is one of the highlights of this conversation:
Me: [Not really feeling like having this discussion because it is totally asanine, and so not being as eloquent as probably is possible under different circumstances, namely an argument worth participating in] What do you mean how’s it bad for you? It’s a natural function of your body to produce sweat, it is not healthy, it is unnatural to stop the production of sweat.
Will, the silly co-worker: I don’t understand how someone like yourself who is constantly bashing essentialism, can then in an argument make claims that there is such thing as nature and things are natural.
Me: [Annoyed beyond the ability to form a decent argument against such stupidity] They are totally different things.
Will: See, but they are not.
[And blah, blah, blah ... more unintelligent gibber gabber that does not grasp either what essentialism is, or what nature, in the earthly sense is]
And it is conversations like these where I want to bash my head against a wall over and over that stress me out, that make me wonder why it is that I can not have cool friends in New York. And cool not meaning anything elitist, but meaning people that share my worldview, that are cool because of that, because they know what is what.
But it is okay, it is all okay. Tomorrow, I am going to wake up and affect democratic change. I am going to be a good American citizen and vote no on #3. I am going to go to work with a heart full of love like I do every single day, and am going to try to keep it full of love all day long, to laugh off stupidity, and then I am going to go shout feminist anthems till my lungs are hoarse and dance till I am covered, fucking drenched in sweat.
I miss conversing with people who share the same value-systems that I possess. Dare I say it, but I miss New College on days like today, where at work, after telling someone what type of deodorant I use (Tom’s), I got into the most stupid argument about why anti-perspirant is bad for you.
Here is one of the highlights of this conversation:
Me: [Not really feeling like having this discussion because it is totally asanine, and so not being as eloquent as probably is possible under different circumstances, namely an argument worth participating in] What do you mean how’s it bad for you? It’s a natural function of your body to produce sweat, it is not healthy, it is unnatural to stop the production of sweat.
Will, the silly co-worker: I don’t understand how someone like yourself who is constantly bashing essentialism, can then in an argument make claims that there is such thing as nature and things are natural.
Me: [Annoyed beyond the ability to form a decent argument against such stupidity] They are totally different things.
Will: See, but they are not.
[And blah, blah, blah ... more unintelligent gibber gabber that does not grasp either what essentialism is, or what nature, in the earthly sense is]
And it is conversations like these where I want to bash my head against a wall over and over that stress me out, that make me wonder why it is that I can not have cool friends in New York. And cool not meaning anything elitist, but meaning people that share my worldview, that are cool because of that, because they know what is what.
But it is okay, it is all okay. Tomorrow, I am going to wake up and affect democratic change. I am going to be a good American citizen and vote no on #3. I am going to go to work with a heart full of love like I do every single day, and am going to try to keep it full of love all day long, to laugh off stupidity, and then I am going to go shout feminist anthems till my lungs are hoarse and dance till I am covered, fucking drenched in sweat.
Saturday, November 1, 2003
halloween
For some reason, it is more fun to be in a big group of people that you do not know than with a big group people that you do know, and have known for years. There is still something to be learned from the unknown. Those conversations are not all some variation of: "So, what have you been up to since the last time I saw you?" They are more broad, more playful: What do you do, What's your story, What are you doing here, Wait, where are you from? And in those questions, as shallow as they may be, there is still a genuine curiousity exercised in the asking of them, however pruient the cause of this curiousity. Things are new, people are, and there are still things to be learned. You still want to.
And so, last night, after attending the parade in the village that was marred by cold as ice weather and mobs of people preventing good visibility, I went with Dara and Mariah to Chris Mitchell's party, which was the big party full of people that I already knew, that I had known for years. A New College reunion of sorts: Maggie Ray, Shellly, Anna Montanna, Jason Grimste, Brian, Sarah, Melissa, and on and on, more people arriving each couple of mintues, and so after about fifteen minutes or so, I said good-bye to Dara and Mariah and slipped quietly away into the night, back onto the street, where my slight depression about the party that had caused so much social anxiety in me disappeared at the first drunken call of "Peter Pan!" that I recieved on Bedford Avenue. I remembered that I was running around in green tights, was called back into the Halloween spirit with the repeated callings of my name by passer-by.
And I made my way back into Manhattan where I went to Josh's Halloween party (the boy whose window I vomited out of after going home with him). There were a couple people from my work there but it didn't matter, because they were dots, small little dots in a whole crowd of people that I did not know, dancing to really fun music. And I danced and sang along to songs I knew the words to, but even more importantly, to songs that I liked. And I talked to people that I did not know, asked them questions that I wanted to know the answers to, and I even made attempts at flirting with some people.
Perhaps all that talk about knowing a crowd and not knowing a crowd all comes down to whether or not you are so familiar with everyone there and already know that you should not flirt with any of them, that nothing would come of it, or that you would never in your life want anything to ever come of it that determines how exciting, or unexciting the party will be. And this second party was exciting because of this, because familiarity is the death of desire and here I was not familiar with anyone, because there were people there that I desired, and there were people there that I tried to flirt with, and really that's all I can ask for, all I really want from a party. Besides the booze and the dancing that are requisite of any party and as such, not even worth mentioning as neccesary, the neccesary thing for me to enjoy myself at a pary is conversation initiated and further propelled by desire. Conversations brimming with excitement because latent in them is a wift of potential sex, of naked bodies togehter doing things, and so I talk and talk.
And so, last night, after attending the parade in the village that was marred by cold as ice weather and mobs of people preventing good visibility, I went with Dara and Mariah to Chris Mitchell's party, which was the big party full of people that I already knew, that I had known for years. A New College reunion of sorts: Maggie Ray, Shellly, Anna Montanna, Jason Grimste, Brian, Sarah, Melissa, and on and on, more people arriving each couple of mintues, and so after about fifteen minutes or so, I said good-bye to Dara and Mariah and slipped quietly away into the night, back onto the street, where my slight depression about the party that had caused so much social anxiety in me disappeared at the first drunken call of "Peter Pan!" that I recieved on Bedford Avenue. I remembered that I was running around in green tights, was called back into the Halloween spirit with the repeated callings of my name by passer-by.
And I made my way back into Manhattan where I went to Josh's Halloween party (the boy whose window I vomited out of after going home with him). There were a couple people from my work there but it didn't matter, because they were dots, small little dots in a whole crowd of people that I did not know, dancing to really fun music. And I danced and sang along to songs I knew the words to, but even more importantly, to songs that I liked. And I talked to people that I did not know, asked them questions that I wanted to know the answers to, and I even made attempts at flirting with some people.
Perhaps all that talk about knowing a crowd and not knowing a crowd all comes down to whether or not you are so familiar with everyone there and already know that you should not flirt with any of them, that nothing would come of it, or that you would never in your life want anything to ever come of it that determines how exciting, or unexciting the party will be. And this second party was exciting because of this, because familiarity is the death of desire and here I was not familiar with anyone, because there were people there that I desired, and there were people there that I tried to flirt with, and really that's all I can ask for, all I really want from a party. Besides the booze and the dancing that are requisite of any party and as such, not even worth mentioning as neccesary, the neccesary thing for me to enjoy myself at a pary is conversation initiated and further propelled by desire. Conversations brimming with excitement because latent in them is a wift of potential sex, of naked bodies togehter doing things, and so I talk and talk.
Thursday, October 30, 2003
This morning, two men from Time Warner came to my apartment and installed internet, and since that moment, I have done nothing but reconnect with my lost love, the internet. Oh, how I have missed you and wasted afternoons reading every web publication I love, every one that I mildy like, reading online diaries, doing stupid google seaches, and doing all of this to the soundtrack of newly downloaded mp3s.
I did all of this today, pretty much all day long, interupted only for a quick trip to the grocery store and a shower. I did this on the day before Halloween, instead of going into the city to try to find something to wear tomorrow on Halloween. I love how people that live in the outer boroughs talk like they live in the suburbs or something, referring to Manhattan as The City. This is one of the things that amuses me a lot about the customs of this area. The only other localspeak that still sounds odd to my ears is the habit of saying "Let's get a slice," as opposed to saying "Let's get some pizza."
But yes, it will soon be Halloween, and I can think of the weather around Halloweens in Florida, can recall it fairly easily, and can also recall even more easily the weather of high school Halloweens that preceeded those college years, adolescent Halloweens, elementary school Halloweens all spent in northern Virginia, and I can recall this even easier because this weather that I am experiencing right now in New York is something I have experienced before, back in Virginia, and everytime I walk down a still wet from the rain street, and see a puddle in the gutter with fallen leaves in it, submerged under the rainwater, I am shocked, continually shocked by how beautiful fallen leaves look submerged in water, and I am perhaps more shocked because at each viewing of one of these puddle of leaves sight, a flash of recollections sprints past my consciouness quickly before receding back into my long term memorey, only to emerge again for another sprint before my eyes the next time I walk past a puddle of submerged leaves. The Smashing Pumpkins are recalled, the walk over the creek home from the busstop after school, the lonely afternoons after school, the crisp air, guilty masturbation, locked bedrooms, making food in the microwaves, dad sleeping on the green and white couch, tv always on, cold tile floor of the porch, and the lonelier days at school, the dark wood varnish on the dinner table my mom, sister, and I sat around, laconic conversations that would occasionly erupt into teenage rage, working out boundaries of space, trying to declare some, declaring some with a car, early mornings with my sister driving to school.
And everytime now, at a good healthy 22 years old, that I see some wet leaves, these memories are evoked, and I finger them gently, nostalgic and missing those moments now that time has allowed distance from them.
Back then, I had something I wanted to escape. I think that is what I miss so much in moments like those, having a good outlet to direct your rage at (sorry mom), knowing that soon, just a couple more years and you would be in college and wouldn't have to live here, there anymore. The other day at work, I was trying to describe this to Keith and Will, neither of whom cared to hear it really, both of whom have reached their threshold for tolerating my excited revelations and my happiness about boys or music, or whatever it is that provokes my fancy on any particular day. But I had just heard Stevie Nicks' "Edge of Seventeen" played over the radio in the pizza place I ate lunch in, and there's that part where she wails over and over "Run away, run away, run away." And I was way caught up in the song, back in that sixteen year old mental state where everything seemed okay as long I had the option that I could occasionlly entertain whenever things got bad enough of just running away, when that sill seemed like a plausible idea, before the effects of rationality fully sunk in when the idea is now dismissed with a I could never... I have to do this and this and pay this and this...
But the point that I was trying to make was everyting seemed simpler then because the option of escape was always possible. At eighteen you would be free and could do whatever you fucking wanted. Parents be damned. Even in college, there was the post-collegiate life to look forward to as running away, doing whatever you wanted, moving wherever you chose.
And I moved wherever I chose, I am here in New York, not doing what I wanted except seeing lots of good rock and roll and reading good books, but other than that, working a fairly crappy job, failing to make any close meaningful relationships, not falling in love with one of the many New York gay boys, and most importantly, not making art, any art. And somedays, especially now that the weather is that perfect for brooding fall weather, I think about these things, think about how much better I would like my life to be and then I get sad, sometimes terribly so, thinking about this, and how there's not really that much I can do, how now I have no place else to go, no plans of running away. I am an adult now, I say, and convince myself that I have to live my life, do something meaningful. And I am going to try. I really am. Now that I have internet, I am going to spend lots of time job hunting and sending out resumes for a job I would consider meaningful. So, I am not going to run away, I am going to fucking run towards it, tackle it, and scream like a fucking mad man. Look out world.
I did all of this today, pretty much all day long, interupted only for a quick trip to the grocery store and a shower. I did this on the day before Halloween, instead of going into the city to try to find something to wear tomorrow on Halloween. I love how people that live in the outer boroughs talk like they live in the suburbs or something, referring to Manhattan as The City. This is one of the things that amuses me a lot about the customs of this area. The only other localspeak that still sounds odd to my ears is the habit of saying "Let's get a slice," as opposed to saying "Let's get some pizza."
But yes, it will soon be Halloween, and I can think of the weather around Halloweens in Florida, can recall it fairly easily, and can also recall even more easily the weather of high school Halloweens that preceeded those college years, adolescent Halloweens, elementary school Halloweens all spent in northern Virginia, and I can recall this even easier because this weather that I am experiencing right now in New York is something I have experienced before, back in Virginia, and everytime I walk down a still wet from the rain street, and see a puddle in the gutter with fallen leaves in it, submerged under the rainwater, I am shocked, continually shocked by how beautiful fallen leaves look submerged in water, and I am perhaps more shocked because at each viewing of one of these puddle of leaves sight, a flash of recollections sprints past my consciouness quickly before receding back into my long term memorey, only to emerge again for another sprint before my eyes the next time I walk past a puddle of submerged leaves. The Smashing Pumpkins are recalled, the walk over the creek home from the busstop after school, the lonely afternoons after school, the crisp air, guilty masturbation, locked bedrooms, making food in the microwaves, dad sleeping on the green and white couch, tv always on, cold tile floor of the porch, and the lonelier days at school, the dark wood varnish on the dinner table my mom, sister, and I sat around, laconic conversations that would occasionly erupt into teenage rage, working out boundaries of space, trying to declare some, declaring some with a car, early mornings with my sister driving to school.
And everytime now, at a good healthy 22 years old, that I see some wet leaves, these memories are evoked, and I finger them gently, nostalgic and missing those moments now that time has allowed distance from them.
Back then, I had something I wanted to escape. I think that is what I miss so much in moments like those, having a good outlet to direct your rage at (sorry mom), knowing that soon, just a couple more years and you would be in college and wouldn't have to live here, there anymore. The other day at work, I was trying to describe this to Keith and Will, neither of whom cared to hear it really, both of whom have reached their threshold for tolerating my excited revelations and my happiness about boys or music, or whatever it is that provokes my fancy on any particular day. But I had just heard Stevie Nicks' "Edge of Seventeen" played over the radio in the pizza place I ate lunch in, and there's that part where she wails over and over "Run away, run away, run away." And I was way caught up in the song, back in that sixteen year old mental state where everything seemed okay as long I had the option that I could occasionlly entertain whenever things got bad enough of just running away, when that sill seemed like a plausible idea, before the effects of rationality fully sunk in when the idea is now dismissed with a I could never... I have to do this and this and pay this and this...
But the point that I was trying to make was everyting seemed simpler then because the option of escape was always possible. At eighteen you would be free and could do whatever you fucking wanted. Parents be damned. Even in college, there was the post-collegiate life to look forward to as running away, doing whatever you wanted, moving wherever you chose.
And I moved wherever I chose, I am here in New York, not doing what I wanted except seeing lots of good rock and roll and reading good books, but other than that, working a fairly crappy job, failing to make any close meaningful relationships, not falling in love with one of the many New York gay boys, and most importantly, not making art, any art. And somedays, especially now that the weather is that perfect for brooding fall weather, I think about these things, think about how much better I would like my life to be and then I get sad, sometimes terribly so, thinking about this, and how there's not really that much I can do, how now I have no place else to go, no plans of running away. I am an adult now, I say, and convince myself that I have to live my life, do something meaningful. And I am going to try. I really am. Now that I have internet, I am going to spend lots of time job hunting and sending out resumes for a job I would consider meaningful. So, I am not going to run away, I am going to fucking run towards it, tackle it, and scream like a fucking mad man. Look out world.
Saturday, October 25, 2003
Last night. CMJ. I smooched Hunx from Gravy Train!!!! The Gossip were totally amazing, and I am going to try to see them play again tonight. Perhaps the best live performance I have ever seen. I am at work, updating livejournal. That is sad. But tonight, rock and roll hopefully - to redeem this, to redeem everything.
Thursday, October 23, 2003
it hurts sooo good
I just attended a union meeting for my bookstore that was held at of all places, the gay bar I frequent way too much, the Phoenix. Not that many people showed up, and I even questioned whether I should bother to attend or not since I hope to God that I will have found a new source of employment by the time a new contract is negotiated for the union (next summer). But being part of a union is such an appealing concept to me, as a leftist raised in the suburbs, in Virginia, in a "right to work" state (which you should all hopefully know means "anti-union").
Not much got addressed, but I did offer up my two cents and other people did too - it was a session of collective griping, a chance to see what this talk about democracy and the people is all about, and I liked it, I really liked being with other workers and talking about our rights, about how we needed to demand certain things from our employers in the next contract, and seeing how this whole process works.
In other news: It is colder than a polar bear's toenail, to quote Outkast. I am an idiot, and spent from 10 am to 2 pm waiting for the cable guy to come and install internet in my apartment, until at 2:30, pissed that the guy didn't come, and searching for the piece of paper that I had written the confirmation number on, I realized that the appointment is actually for next Thursday. I watched Keith's movie today at Megan's house. It's cold, I am mildy drunk, and have to pee so insanely bad right now and am thinking of where the closest bathroom must be. But tomorrow night, tomorrow night my friends and foes, tomorrow night I will be in attendance with some of my fellow co-workers, none of whom made it to the union meeting tonight, but will be with them anyways watching and dancing to some good rock and roll, to Hella, Gravy Train, and the motherfucking Gossip. Did I mention that I am so excited? And that it is cold out? So cold? And that I have have to pee? So fucking bad?
Not much got addressed, but I did offer up my two cents and other people did too - it was a session of collective griping, a chance to see what this talk about democracy and the people is all about, and I liked it, I really liked being with other workers and talking about our rights, about how we needed to demand certain things from our employers in the next contract, and seeing how this whole process works.
In other news: It is colder than a polar bear's toenail, to quote Outkast. I am an idiot, and spent from 10 am to 2 pm waiting for the cable guy to come and install internet in my apartment, until at 2:30, pissed that the guy didn't come, and searching for the piece of paper that I had written the confirmation number on, I realized that the appointment is actually for next Thursday. I watched Keith's movie today at Megan's house. It's cold, I am mildy drunk, and have to pee so insanely bad right now and am thinking of where the closest bathroom must be. But tomorrow night, tomorrow night my friends and foes, tomorrow night I will be in attendance with some of my fellow co-workers, none of whom made it to the union meeting tonight, but will be with them anyways watching and dancing to some good rock and roll, to Hella, Gravy Train, and the motherfucking Gossip. Did I mention that I am so excited? And that it is cold out? So cold? And that I have have to pee? So fucking bad?
Thursday, October 16, 2003
go-go is my role model
In Times Square yet again, hopefully for the last time at this internet place, since Dara and I are beginning to take seriously the project of our house. We have painted our living room an orange that I altertanely like and dislike, we have hung up lights, hung up pictures and polka albums, placed a bathmat on our bathroom floor. I now have a working electric outlet in my bedroom, and soon, very soon, like today, we are going to call and schedule an appointment to get some internet flowing through our little home. I want to have lots of people over soon, something involving food.
Yesterday my mom was here for a few short hours, and left me with a computer, and some old kitchen knick-knacks of hers, including: a breadmaker, an espresso maker, and an electric wok. Beki and Stephanie are here now, staying with me for a few days and are out shopping. I couldn't deal with it, I left them, and will meet back up again to cruise some galleries and consume some free booze.
Last night, I had an awesome time at Phoenix. I am spending far too much time there. It really is becoming my bar, in the Cheers sense. Last week, Joe and I figured we were there three times. That is probably not good, but I am getting to talk to people, nice people, and so right now, it is enough. Soon, I will get bored though, no doubt, it always occurs, but now, I am in that space of time when there is a self-awareness of impending boredom without any actual boredom present, a high before the comedown, if you will pardon the overused drug reference.
I want to be in school. I am going to go the Hunter offices after my time expires here and see if it is to late for the spring.
I need to connect more with my body. I don't dance enough. I rarely masturbate. Let's not enough talk about how long it has been since I have had sex. I am the sedentary duck that was in that Voice comic this week. I need to do something besides eat.
Yesterday my mom was here for a few short hours, and left me with a computer, and some old kitchen knick-knacks of hers, including: a breadmaker, an espresso maker, and an electric wok. Beki and Stephanie are here now, staying with me for a few days and are out shopping. I couldn't deal with it, I left them, and will meet back up again to cruise some galleries and consume some free booze.
Last night, I had an awesome time at Phoenix. I am spending far too much time there. It really is becoming my bar, in the Cheers sense. Last week, Joe and I figured we were there three times. That is probably not good, but I am getting to talk to people, nice people, and so right now, it is enough. Soon, I will get bored though, no doubt, it always occurs, but now, I am in that space of time when there is a self-awareness of impending boredom without any actual boredom present, a high before the comedown, if you will pardon the overused drug reference.
I want to be in school. I am going to go the Hunter offices after my time expires here and see if it is to late for the spring.
I need to connect more with my body. I don't dance enough. I rarely masturbate. Let's not enough talk about how long it has been since I have had sex. I am the sedentary duck that was in that Voice comic this week. I need to do something besides eat.
Wednesday, August 13, 2003
Shit... Open Bar at Triple Crown, so many vodka tonics consumed, then Tainted Lady Lounge, already too wasted for belief. And oh yeah, remember how I told you earlier this week I made the easiest money ever, well scratch that - because tonight man, also less than fifteen minutes while watching MTV - businessmen rock! What did I ever use to say about capitalism? Um, then we ran into the worst drug dealer ever - who sold me ten dollars worth of weed - um, what? In New York? And yeah, he gave me so much weed - and then proceeded to smoke Jillian and me out. Fuck yeah! Got pretty fucking stoned, then went to Capone's, ate pizza, smoked, and danced to Montel Jordan! Then a party on Grand Street where I ran into an old straight crush from the Strand (Joe, you know who!), Liam, and talked to him for so long. Tonight equals fucking awesome.
Tuesday, August 12, 2003
For the past week or so, I have been eagerly anticipating last night, Monday night, the Cock, hoping to run into Craig, the NC alum I met there last week, that told me he would be there again this week. And so, I went there with Joe after downing rum and cokes with him in my kitchen, found Craig, talked to him, and was told by yet another crush that he's seeing someone.
It was shortly after this utterance by him that the peaking excitment of the past week looking forward to Monday quickly came to a halt. In fact, took a nose dive. The self-esteem that had been building in me for reasons that whatever sick notions of being liked by someone will foster, quickly fizzled, and how fragile our egos are. Our moods can change from one second to the next. Yes, that's very obvious, but fascinating to me nonetheless, that there is no real stable identity, stable feeling, that our emotional constituions are constantly at the whims of things outside ourselves.
At this point, I was ready to go home. Craig's friend gave me a blinking taillight for my bike before they all biked off home. I could find some symbolism in this. I will try not to.
I rode the subway home, with a nice Southern boy, a boy who introduced himself as Christopher (not Chris, mind you). He had brown hair and brown eyes, and had that same shy, overwhelmed look in his eyes that Sam G had. He was nice and I was glad to meet him, had no interest in pursuing it any further, and wished him a good night as I got off the train.
I am not doing so well on the boy front, but on the home front, I am doing excellent. Today at 7:30, I am hopefully going to go sign a lease for a three bedroom off the Lorimer stop to live with Dara and a girl I met at a bar, Jessica, in a room that I will be paying 400 a month for. Then, I will have the stability of a home for a year and can then devote my energies to finding additional forms of stability.
It was shortly after this utterance by him that the peaking excitment of the past week looking forward to Monday quickly came to a halt. In fact, took a nose dive. The self-esteem that had been building in me for reasons that whatever sick notions of being liked by someone will foster, quickly fizzled, and how fragile our egos are. Our moods can change from one second to the next. Yes, that's very obvious, but fascinating to me nonetheless, that there is no real stable identity, stable feeling, that our emotional constituions are constantly at the whims of things outside ourselves.
At this point, I was ready to go home. Craig's friend gave me a blinking taillight for my bike before they all biked off home. I could find some symbolism in this. I will try not to.
I rode the subway home, with a nice Southern boy, a boy who introduced himself as Christopher (not Chris, mind you). He had brown hair and brown eyes, and had that same shy, overwhelmed look in his eyes that Sam G had. He was nice and I was glad to meet him, had no interest in pursuing it any further, and wished him a good night as I got off the train.
I am not doing so well on the boy front, but on the home front, I am doing excellent. Today at 7:30, I am hopefully going to go sign a lease for a three bedroom off the Lorimer stop to live with Dara and a girl I met at a bar, Jessica, in a room that I will be paying 400 a month for. Then, I will have the stability of a home for a year and can then devote my energies to finding additional forms of stability.
Tuesday, August 5, 2003
The skin on the roof of my mouth is all mangled and soft. I just ate a really hot piece of cheese pizza, should have let it cooled, but man, there are few things better than warm cheese, and it was so worth it.
Went to the Cock again last night, because really, I don't think there has been a Monday in two months that I haven't. And this boy that I had a crush on was there, I had seen him dancing at the Traci and the Plastics show. And I talked to him, finding out that he also went to New College, that the world is way too small. He said he would make out with me next Monday. I hope so.
Looking for an apartment with Niki. Trying to move by Sept. 1. And maybe, I'll get another slice of pizza. Entries of depth coming soon, once I get a disk to save my laptop writings on and upload them here, for the cost of ten cents a minute.
Went to the Cock again last night, because really, I don't think there has been a Monday in two months that I haven't. And this boy that I had a crush on was there, I had seen him dancing at the Traci and the Plastics show. And I talked to him, finding out that he also went to New College, that the world is way too small. He said he would make out with me next Monday. I hope so.
Looking for an apartment with Niki. Trying to move by Sept. 1. And maybe, I'll get another slice of pizza. Entries of depth coming soon, once I get a disk to save my laptop writings on and upload them here, for the cost of ten cents a minute.
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