Don't blow me away...

Oh, dear. I know it's been quite a while since I last contributed to the detritus on the web by self-indulgently posting here, but... actually, there's no but. The problem is, I don't have any impetus to post except when I really feel emotionally.... well, fragile, and that happens pretty rarely these days, but this drunken Saturday late night is one of those times.

I don't know who reads this. I mean, it shouldn't matter, because the reason I started this blog was to have somewhere to vent without any repercussions, but as anyone reasonable should have expected, the circles I travel in are wide enough that I suspect a decent number of people I care about will potentially read this at some point. Whatever, despite the potential for disaster (which, of course, are very small, as I would assume anyone who'll read this in the next couple days are among the misguided souls who find my writing entertaining enough to include me on their RSS feeds, rather than people who I know IRL, as the more internet-savvy among you might say), here goes.

I've been kind of a whore lately. Again, I'm sorry, but as I'm writing this for myself, not you (whoever you might be), I don't feel the need to be really specific in my explanation of that awesome revelation. Suffice it to say that I was practically celibate during my semester abroad, for one reason or another, and... well, that affected me, I suppose. To be honest, I wasn't any less... well, sexually active, to be blunt, during the fall semester than I have been in almost all my semesters at college, but the total lack of control I had over the situation then did make me feel kind of... well, impotent in a way. I mean, impotent is the wrong word, but I don't have the right word, and don't think there's a right one. Excuse my lack of brevity for a second: I had a major crush (I know, middle school, right?) on someone I barely knew, then I got to know him better, became good friends with him, and maintained the crush (tears of sympathy are pouring down your face, I'm sure) despite the fact that I really did like him as a friend. Did and do. All while hooking up with other people on occasion. (Occasion meaning if you include making out as "hooking up," I hooked up with four people total. If not, I had two one-night stands and that's it.)

Now, since being back in the US, I've become a slut. And I don't mean that in a self-judging way, because I don't think that one's level of sexual activity should ever determine how one is seen. Jesus, I must be drunk, because, I'm using the third person to refer to myself. Anyway, fuck it, I would never judge myself by who I hook up with or how often I end up waking up next to someone. But the fact remains that, since I moved back to the best city in the world (and I say that with all the love in my heart for every city I've visited), I've hooked up with six people (plus one flirtation that may lead to a hookup in the near future). With some repeats. For those of you counting at home, that means an average of approximately 1.33(repeating) sexual encounters per week. Obviously, that's nowhere near what someone with a steady boyfriend might have experienced, but I don't have one of those.

And I'm not complaining about that. In fact, two of the six count, in my guesstimation, as people who want me as... their "boyfriend," for lack of a better word. I'm very, very happy to keep the six people I've hooked up with as permanently temporary, if you catch my drift (with one very notable exception, but he deserves his own emo blog post, so I won't get into it now). I'm not actively looking for a relationship, nor do I think that's in the cards right now. Actually, as dedicated readers of this blog might find interesting, the "hot friend" I once was incredibly in L-U-V with features as a repeat offender in my six recent hookups, and I personally am very happy to say that even though I love him as a friend, and will never not be attracted to him, I know for a fact that I'll never be as crazily obsessed with him as I was at one point.

Anyway, let's cut the crap. This is already a longer-than-average blog post, and I haven't even gotten to the point. The POINT is that I spent tonight with the aforementioned friend from abroad who I have a big ol' crush on, and I didn't so much as awkwardly hold his hand. The friend, who I suppose we can call the short friend for lack of a better adjective, is in town just this weekend before heading off to spend another semester abroad. Tonight was the only night we could spend together, and we spent it being platonic. Which, if I haven't stressed it enough before, is FINE. I'm totally fine with just being friends with him. What I'm not fine with is being just friends with him without having at least broached the idea that we might be more than that.

I love (no PASSION implied) this guy no matter what we are or aren't. However, I want him, it's as simple as that. And yet, it isn't simple. I'm more than capable of getting random, fairly attractive acquaintances to sleep with me. I don't mean that in any egotistical manner, it's just kind of a fact based on my recent experiences. BUT, and it's a big but, I am completely incapable of suggesting to someone I know well that I might be more than just a friendly figure. I really, really like this guy, but because I'd rather have him in my life as a friend (even if he is trekking off to another continent) than not at all, I just can't be the guy who randomly kisses him, or even awkwardly suggests the topic of s-e-x (preferably with me) to him. Every time we hang out, I tell myself that I won't pussy out this time, but I always do. I walked the whole way home from the apartment he's at to mine while chain-smoking (I don't actually smoke) and being really, really sad.

And it isn't the fact that we aren't, you know, cuddling in each other's arms or whatever, that makes me sad. I probably wouldn't even let that happen on the off chance that he'd want me after I confessed my crush to him. It's the fact that I'm completely incapable of making that first move and finding out what might happen that makes me feel like a total idiot. If he doesn't like me in the same way that I like him, that's fine, but I want to KNOW that. There's nothing I like less than being the friend he hangs out with a lot who secretly builds a shrine to him in my closet. (Disclaimer: unlike Helga on Hey Arnold!, I have no shrine in my closet.)

Anyway, now that I've written far too many words about the topic, I'm going to bed. By tomorrow night, he'll be a continent away, and while I'm not happy about that in any way, it's fine. What's not fine is my total inability to express my big-ass (prepare yourselves for this word) FEELINGS in any kind of...well, normal way.

Goodnight, y'all, and good luck.

You can play brand new to all the other chicks out here...

So my life is actually kind of interesting right now (long story short, I'm kind of dating a prostitute... bwahahah), but instead of writing about that, I was inspired by some schoolmates (whose blogs I read even though we're not really friends) to make a list of my top 25 songs of all times. Okay, so they did 20, but 25 is all I could get my initial list of 66 candidates down to. So here, without further ado, is my list!

25. Bruce Springsteen - Born to Run

For the longest time (hee, to reference a finalist song that didn't quite make the cut), I was convinced that I hated Bruce Springsteen. He stood for my dad's shitty taste in music, and more generally New Jersey and the general sort of depressing sameness that I associate with most of my dad's whole side of the family. So, for years I only listened to the Boss when trapped on car trips with my dad. As soon as I started driving and being able to control the music, I quit him cold turkey. Then, for some reason, I decided to listen to his latest album, Magic, and LOVED it. I don't know what changed, but now that I'm listening voluntarily, he's pretty darn badass. I still don't like all his music, and find him a much better lyricist than... well, performer, but this song is perfectly structured and just... feels right.

24. Nina Simone - Sinnerman

The Pierce Brosnan/Rene Russo remake of The Thomas Crown Affair is among my favorite movies, but that's largely because of this song and how well they use it. Nina Simone is one of my favorite vocalists, and here her trademark growl is used wonderfully.

23. Feist - Brandy Alexander

I have very mixed thoughts about Feist. The songs of hers that I like, I love, but often she seems too wispy and self-indulgent for my taste. That said, this is among her wispier songs, and yet I love it. Of course, that may be because of my romantic circumstances during the time I first heard it (that stupid hot friend situation, ugh), but it's just such a pretty song.

He's my Brandy Alexander,
Always gets me into trouble,
But that's another matter,
Brandy Alexander

Unrelatedly, I ate at the table next to Feist at a restaurant in the East Village once. She seemed nice and I smiled at her.

22. Nick Drake - Northern Sky

I forget who it was that said this, but... SOMEONE once said that the thing about Nick Drake's music is that no matter how loud you turn it up, it will always sound quiet, and that's especially true of this song. It's a little plaintive, but entirely sweet. No matter what mood I'm in, when this song comes on, I always get at least a little bit happier.

21. Fiona Apple - Criminal

Perhaps due to my awful taste in music growing up, I never listened to Fiona Apple when she first blew up. It was only really with Extraordinary Machine that I started to appreciate her and went back and rediscovered Tidal and When the Pawn.... I downloaded a fairly recent iTunes session she did, where she performs a bunch of songs and also has plenty of patter about them, her career, and even her life in general, and she's actually very sweet and completely normal. But when she sits down at the piano and starts singing, she is a SCARY little woman. I saw her live the summer after my freshman year, and she was INTENSE. This song is really sort of a placeholder for all her work, but it's still my favorite. (Although "Parting Gift" and "Shadowboxer" are very close runners-up.)

20. Tracy Chapman - Fast Car

I put this song on a mix CD I made for driving around at home this summer, but when my mom heard it, she made me turn it off. It came out right after I was born, when my mom had some minor post-partum crap going on, and apparently whenever it came on the radio (which it did quite often), she'd burst into tears. Maybe that's why it resonates with me so much... or maybe it's just that it's a fantastic song.

19. Iron and Wine - Each Coming Night

Speaking of crying songs, there was a long period when, if I ever felt like I needed a good cry (you know, in a therapeutic way), I would put on Iron and Wine's Our Endless Numbered Days and cry myself to sleep. The whole CD doesn't quite have the same effect on me now, but this song still does it to me every time. Sam Beam's music totally embraces everything about life, so much that there's not a single love song he's written that isn't tightly wound together with death, and this is a perfect example of that.

Will you say to me, when I'm gone,
"Your face has faded but lingers on,
Because light strikes a deal with each coming night"

18. Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova - Falling Slowly

Once was my absolute favorite movie of last year. In fact, it's probably my favorite movie of the past five years. I don't tend to think of it when I'm naming my favorite movies of all time, but every time I watch it it just makes me happy. Which is a little odd, because it isn't exactly a happy movie. But the fact that these two came together, made such beautiful music, and then *SPOILER* didn't conform to the typical movie plotline and allowed the story to end with the two main characters, who love each other, not together, is just so... refreshing, and beautiful. (The fact that they got together in real life doesn't hurt.) This song won the Best Original Song Oscar, and absolutely deserved it. Apparently Once is now being developed as a Broadway musical, which is a truly terrifying thought, but I'm keeping my fingers crossed that they somehow find a way to translate it well, or at the very least not do this perfect little movie a disservice.

17. Liza Minnelli - Mein Herr

This is the only show tune on my list, but rest assured that there are dozens of others that might make the list depending on my mood. Kander and Ebb aren't my very favorite composers, or even in my top three, because for every song of theirs that I like, there are three that I just can't get through. That said, they know (knew) how to write an awesome "Get the fuck out of my way, bitches, I'm the queen bee around here" song ("All That Jazz," "Kiss of the Spider Woman," anyone?), and when they come together with Liza it's just... perfection. This scene in Cabaret is one of my favorite movie moments of all time, because everything comes together perfectly. Liza, say what you will about her, is fabulously talented, and she was at her peak in this movie. She has a vulnerable, volatile edge to her, and with the flawless (in its appropriately unpolishedness) Fosse choreography, this song never fails to take my breath away. If I ever did drag, it would be in the costume from this scene.

16. Jimmy Eat World - Sweetness

I always feel like Jimmy Eat World should be more successful than they are. I mean, they're plenty successful, but if you ask the average person about them, they'll probably remember the ubiquitous "The Middle" and nothing else, when the band has literally never put out a bad album. Clarity in particular is, in my mind, one of the most perfect albums ever made. But this song... when I heard it the first time, I think I assumed it was a cover, because it just felt so good that I didn't think it could have not existed in the American music scene before then. But, obviously, I was wrong. It's impossible to hear this song and not sing along. Nearly as impossible as it is to sing along to it and not sound TERRIBLE. Oh well, such is life.

15. Janis Joplin - Me and Bobby McGee

I think because my first introduction to Janis was her "Summertime," which to this very day I can't listen to without wincing, I never bothered to listen to much of her work. However, on a whim I downloaded her greatest hits last year, and absolutely fell in love. I mean, the truth is that the woman, God rest her soul, was a terrible singer, but she could emote like no one else. And, when she got that in rein, she could just blow you away. This is actually one of my dad's favorite songs, further proof of the shudder-worthy fact that I'm slowly turning into him as I get older.

Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose...

14. Vanessa Carlton - White Houses

Vanessa's another one I think never quite hit the big time as much as she should have. Yes, "A Thousand Miles" was ubiquitous, but since then... not so much. Her next two albums were actually much better than that one, anyway. Plus, she got skinny and hot! Duh! This song in particular is just... perfect to me. Is it a typical, somewhat ham-fisted lost virginity song? Sure. But it's so good! Her thin, almost childlike voice and the piano, the driving tempo, the semi-but-not-really chorus... ugh. Me likey.

13. Igor Stravinsky - Firebird Suite (1919 version)

The only classical piece on here, but again, representing a whole genre I (sometimes) love. Stravinsky is probably my favorite classical composer, if you stuck a gun to my head and made me choose. He's just so badass. When Le sacre du printemps premiered, the audience started a RIOT it was so scandalous. How cool is that? But The Firebird will always be my favorite of his works. The very end (The "Berceuse" and "Finale") is amazingly amazing and so freaking good. Hahah, that's so descriptive, I know but... words kind of fail me when it comes to this piece.

12. Colin Hay - I Just Don't Think I'll Ever Get Over You

I have many very mixed feelings about Zach Braff (he's an asshat, but I liked Garden State for what it was, but The Last Kiss was ABYSMAL, but Scrubs has always been one of the best underrated shows on television), but I'll give him this: the guy knows how to make a soundtrack. So many of the artists that I like I've either found because of him or noticed in his stuff after I already liked them. Colin Hay is one of the former. What a career path, I mean, from frontman for a guilty-pleasure 80s niche band ("I Come From a Land Down Under," anyone?) to introspective somewhat lo-fi singer/songwriter? Unexpected, to say the least. At the end of senior year of high school, I even went to his concert at the Birchmere in Virginia, with the boy I'd been in love with since... um, realizing I was gay, actually. Nothing happened that night (although later on we had an awkward, failed quasi-romance that we got over and now we're friends and I love him dearly in a completely different way), but I still always associate this song with him, even though it really has nothing to do with any situation I might have imagined there was with him. Also, it's PRETTY!

11. Paul Simon - Me and Julio Down By the Schoolyard

Again, this was one song that I really latched onto around the time I was coming out. I mean, technically what Julio and "me" did down by the schoolyard isn't ever articulated, but Paul himself said that he imagined that it was "something sexual." And considering my own experience with boys down by and/or in schoolyards (which is unfortunately rather extensive by now), it just clicked with me. It's such a joyful song, no matter what the subject matter is. And at the end of high school, finally feeling somewhat comfortable in my own skin, knowing that I'd be in New York soon, I felt that way too.

Well, I'm on my way,
I don't know where I'm going,
I'm on my way,
I'm taking my time, but I don't know where,
Goodbye to Rosie, the queen of Corona,
Seein' me and Julio down by the schoolyard

10. Elton John - Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters

I don't especially know why I like this song so much. I don't really relate that much to the lyrics, although it is incredibly beautiful, melodically speaking. But sometimes, when I'm feeling... not so much lonely as thoughtful, I'll put this song on repeat and just stare at the ceiling for a while, and it just makes things better.

9. Rilo Kiley - Portions for Foxes

Hahah, it seems like a lot of these songs are about unrequited love and bad relationships, doesn't it? This, I'd say, would be the angrier, less zen companion piece to Feist's "Brandy Alexander." There's hints of both defiance and hopelessness in it, which for some reason in my more melodramatic moments I relate to. When I'm feeling less self-indulgent, it's still a fuckin' awesome song to dance around to.

8. U2 - Where the Streets Have No Name

I think The Joshua Tree is, aside from maybe two Beatles albums and maaaybe two or three others, the greatest album ever recorded. I mean, my mom's OBSESSION with U2 probably colors that opinion slightly, but still, I think the fact that it's a great album is pretty much beyond debate. This song kicks it off with a bang. When the Edge's guitar comes down out of the stratosphere and that pounding drumbeat begins... you just sit back and exist, because you're going for a ride whether you want to or not.

7. Buddy Holly - Everyday

This song is a perfect example of economy. Two minutes and five seconds of guitar, stand-up bass, glockenspiel, handclaps, and vocals make the simplest statement seem profound: "Love like yours will surely come my way." Yet again, my love for this song is a product of my dad's Buddy Holly obsession.

6. The Decemberists - Red Right Ankle

The Decemberists are notorious for their long, involved, ridiculous songs about sea captains, legionnaires, and war widows (which, don't get me wrong, I love), but this song is about as simple and acoustic as it gets. Who would have thought that the word "ventricles" would not only not ruin a love song but actually seem completely in place? Again, makes me cry every time.

5. Israel Kamakawiwo'ole - Somewhere Over the Rainbow/What a Wonderful World

Okay, so everyone in the known universe knows or should know this song, so I don't feel too compelled to describe it, but the fact that it works is just so unexpected. A ukelele and vocals, combining two of the most renowned songs in the American canon, with little to no concern for lyrical accuracy? And yet it's certainly the best medley I've ever heard, and one of those songs that, no matter where you are or what you're doing when it comes on, you stop, you sit, and you smile.

4. Coldplay - The Scientist

Coldplay have always been one of my favorite bands. A Rush of Blood to the Head is probably their most critically acclaimed album, but it did sort of start their whole "epic melodic soundscape" thing. Which is fine, and by fine I mean totally awesome. But this song stuck more to the Parachutes slightly more stripped-down sound. It's raw, incredibly personal, and beautiful at the same time.

3. Amy Winehouse - Tears Dry On Their Own

I don't mean to be a snob about it, but I definitely caught the Amy Winehouse wave a little before the majority of Americans did, at least. And I'm definitely still on it. I honestly think that Amy is the most important vocalist of the current generation of musicians out there today, drugs and all. I have every song she's ever recorded, and this is absolutely my favorite. It's funny, the lyrics themselves are rather depressing, encouraging the man she's in love with to break off their affair because she has no power to herself, but the song is so happy. Whenever I'm walking in the city and this comes on, my posture is better, there's a skip in my step, and I can't help but smile at everyone I pass. Now, Amy, give us at least one more fucking studio album before the drugs get you. I'm begging you.

2. Sufjan Stevens - Casimir Pulaski Day

Oh, Sufjan. I said that Amy was the most important vocalist out there today, but when it comes to overall musicality, I think Sufjan Stevens is just... perfection. From playing every instrument on his albums to RESEARCHING and writing all his songs, to his incredibly fragile voice... gahhh I have such a music-crush on him. (And kind of a regular crush, too.) Illinois is my favorite album of his, and while there are songs I listen to more often than this one ("Chicago" and "Palisades," to name two), that's probably because this song is so intense that I physically can't listen to it very often. It's so incredibly understated, from the opening lyrics ("Goldenrod and the 4H stone, the things I brought you when I found out you had cancer of the bone") to the questioning of faith that follows. I was going to call it raw, but it isn't raw, it's just incredibly honest. I've said before that there are songs that always make me cry, but this is the big one. This is the "last scenes of Forrest Gump" of songs.

1. Etta James - At Last

There are many candidates for this award, but I personally am positive that this is the most romantic song ever recorded. If and when I ever get married, this will be our wedding dance no matter how cliche it might be. The first two words of the song make me melt, and by the end of the song I'm a puddle on the floor. Per. Fection.

Hello, is it me you're looking for?

Sweet Jesus, the music I've been listening to lately has been SO pretentious. (I know, this is a change how, exactly? Whatever.) Anyway, I don't especially have anything I want to say right now, but I don't have any homework to do and I'm eavesdropping on the suitemate-I'd-like-to-fuck talking about his blog and how much he likes it, so I got inspired (read:bored enough) to just write.

I reread that last post of mine, and it's so petty I cringed. Of course, I always cringe rereading my old posts, or anything old that I've written, but... whatevs. Getting it out was good, and I feel a lot less stupid right about now. (The fact that my momentary suspicion that SILF and the hipster boy I'd also LF [HILF, if you will] are secretly dating appears to be at least mostly false helps with this.)

This weekend was actually really, really nice. I love my roommate to death, and I never don't want to spend time with him, but times when he is away I realize just how motherfucking nice it is to be alone sometimes. Essentially, this weekend involved a whole lot of lounging about my room, watching movies and just relaxing during the day, and then getting quite inebriated and dancing a lot at night. I was about to crow over how it was a lot of fun and I didn't even try to sleep with anyone, but then I realized that I kind of did a little bit on Thursday. The previously referred-to ex-boyfriend of HILF came out with us, was somewhat overly friendly to me, invited me up TO HIS ROOM to "see how easy it is to kick in his door" and then yet again pulled the "Okay, going to bed now!" card. Curses, foiled again.

Be that as it may, it was a very fun weekend. Sunday night was especially interesting (in an oddly productive, atypical way for me, actually). I forget if I mentioned this earlier (I probably didn't, since all I write about is drunk sex), but somehow I got myself appointed editor-in-chief of our study abroad program's webzine (the only American student-run webzine in Europe, or so they claim). Which is good, but became very, very interesting when our combined server/host got electrocuted or something and destroyed all our past issues, along with our templates and... essentially the entire interwebs. Not fun. So, Sunday between the hours of 6 pm and 3 am, we rebuilt our entire website and published a new issue, on... Wordpress. It's not amazing, and it's nothing like the old website, but the fact that we did that all in one night makes it very hard for me to be anything but totally un-cynically happy and proud of us. So... yeah. Hahah, sincerity and actual accomplishments other than one-night conquests from me, isn't this crazy?

Otherwise, life here in Evropa is good. It's kind of strange, actually. I do almost all my work, and do it fairly well, I'm pretty much owning discussion in two if not three of my four classes, and yet I still manage to go out nearly double as much as I do at home. What's up with that? Oh well, I'm not complaining. Especially not with my fierce new toggle-coaty sweater from Topman, the new owner of my sooooul. Ugh, isn't it terrible how you start out saying things ironically and they almost inevitably become sincere? Namely: fierce, fetch, not gonna lie, I know, right?, and Can we discuss...? Very unfortch. Actually, add that one to the list. OY.

Alright, that's all I've got, yo. Tee tee why eventually!

I opened my eyes while I was kissing you once, more than once...

Well, homies, I'm back for a sec. Don't get too excited, I thought I'd given this up for good (and by this, I mean this self-indulgent blog, not blogging altogether), but as I'm feeling rather self-indulgent right now, we seem to be a perfect match! I'd feel guiltier about not having updated in months, but one of my favorite blogs, the West Village Kid hasn't been updated in even longer, I can pretend I'm the lesser of two evils. (And when I say evil, I of course am referring to the very evil and inappropriate thoughts I have about that blog's author. Come back to the internet! I want to fuck you!)

Anyway, back on topic... I'm in Europe. Isn't that odd? I always knew I'd be studying abroad, it's just weird to actually be living in a city where no one speaks my language and there's nary a Chipotle to be found. (I lie, of course, plenty of people speak English. I'm just in a mood because I really want Chipotle.)

My sex life (of course the main topic of this blog) has actually been pretty decent. After a very dry summer, I've been here a month and hooked up with three people, two of whom I had in my sights beforehand. I am having issues, though. The one guy I really, really want to have lots of sex and babies with is either really taking his time with me or keeping me permanently in the friend zone, which... well, sucks. And the other big potential guy (as in a guy with big potential and a large potential guy, he's at least 6'2") might very well be interested in me, but... he's my suitemate. Which doesn't entirely rule him out eventually, once we get towards the end of the semester, but for now means I'm definitely not pursuing anything.

So... yeah. That's where things stand here in the Old World. I'm also a little confused as to where things stand with one of the guys I hooked up with (who happens to be the very serious ex-boyfriend of the guy I'm in love with, AWKWARD), but that's a whole 'nother story.

Getting all that out of the way, the REAL reason I wanted to update is even less consequential: internet romance! Yay! Well, not internet romance, per se... internet friendship that eventually developed into a real-life hookup, ish. I'm sure at least half the people who bother to read this (read: maybe two of the four) know me from a certain infamous website/message board. That's where I met these two people in particular, both of whom I met and hooked up with this summer. One was a seventeen year-old (I know, bad Sam!) in New York for a summer program, but originally from (and currently living in) Alabama. That one, to be honest, was more filling a need (NO PUN INTENDED), not so much someone I was actually that interested in.

But the other one got interesting. A college kid in Boston, I actually kind of really like him, despite having only met once. Like, really like. Which is a little weird for me, because usually I don't like people that much, or many people that often, at least. Actually, it's not even that I like him that much, it's more that he's the kind of person I could see myself dating for longer than the requisite one weekend. We talk fairly often, and while of course we're not getting relationshippy or anything, there's sort of a mutual understanding that it's likely we'll see each other again when I get back to the States.

Where it gets complicated is the two coming together. Naturally, the gay boys of a certain age on this website all know or know of each other, and that's true of these two. Boston boy and I have even talked a lot about Southern kid, and he knows I hooked up with him. (I even told him funny hook-up-related stories I'm not even telling y'all.) And I have no objection to them talking or anything like that. It's just... I don't like people being dishonest.

Southern boy and I were talking and he not-so-subtly dropped in that Boston boy had imed him looking for naked pictures, which he did in fact supply. The naked picture topic is one with which I'm quite familiar these days (I even have a couple of myself that I'm REALLY proud of), and I've given and received them of both of these characters, in fact. But I'd never gotten the impression that Boston would ever bother to ask Southern for some, much less send some of his own. (To be honest, I only asked for them myself out of semi-morbid curiosity.)

Semi-nonchalantly, I asked Boston about it, and he played it off, which is to say denied it. I pretended to be interested in a specific aspect of the pictures (namely, the shavedness, which was different from when I'd last seen Boston's junk, and asked to see one. And, in fact, it did (and still does) look like it could be Boston. Aside from the hair, I compared it with another legit naked picture of him I have, and the curve of the lower stomach and even the cock veins seem comparable. The background reminds me of Boston's apartment, too, from the yellowy light to the overstuffed DVD case.

I pressed the subject a little with B, wanting to hear the backstory (if there is one), but he again denied everything. It just smelled a little fishy to me. (Again, no pun intended.) I would bet money that this is a picture of Boston. An outdated one, because it's from the old apartment, but still. And it makes me a little angry. I mean, not even angry that he'd be exchanging naked pictures with the Southern guy. I did MUCH more than that with S, and I've hooked up with other people since then, so I'd have no room to talk. I might (unfairly, of course) be a liiiittle annoyed if he actually hooked up with S, but he's in Alabama, so that's not even a possibility, so it's not even that I'm the slightest bit threatened by competition.

What I AM threatened by is lying. If B had admitted to soliciting nudie pics, we could have had a laugh about it and that's it. The fact that he'd (ALLEGEDLY) do it behind my back means I have to have this gross little seed planted at the back of my mind. As honest and unguarded as I've been with him and he'd lie to me about something this consequential? What else does that mean he'd lie about? I've come clean about all my anti-relationship tendencies and my generally whorish ways and he can't come clean about sending a naked picture to someone I clearly consider if not desirable, at the very least fuckable? It just bugs me.

And the worst part is, I can't come out and SAY that, because it might actually not even be him (Southern boy has a LONG history of lies and misinformation), and then I'd look like the asshole who doesn't trust him. Not to mention that it seems like I'm getting more and more relationshippy when really the thing is that I hate even the idea that I'm being lied to.

Ugh. So that's it, bitches. I'm in a foreign country where beer is cheaper than water and I've had a decent amount of romantic success, and I'm wasting time worrying about naked pictures and boys I've met once. What IS my problem? Oh well.

I wouldn't be surprised if you see me again before the semester's out. I have a feeling I'll be getting even more self-indulgent as time goes on, so a long blog post about me might be just what the doctor ordered. After that... well, my friend and I have this great idea to start a joint blog (piggybacking off a friend's idea, and totally designed to bait Gawkerites), so I might not actually be back here often if ever, but we'll see!

Ciao, bitches!

I want to ride on a white horse...

Hello, chickies! In an effort to get back into blogging, I've decided to start recapping my favoritest of TV shows, Project Runway. So now, as the Shear Genius credits roll and I watch the show for the second time... here we go!

Previously on Project Runway: models are stupid, Suede thinks he is the shit, judges agree (incorrectly), Wesley McShortshorts is out!

Designers wake up, Stella continues to somehow be both annoying and the most entertaining person on the show. I'm still not sure how that's possible.

Model selection: DRAMA DRAMA INTENSE MUSIC... just kidding Suede sticks with Suede's model. Stella is wearing an Ed Hardy hoodie as the designers wait for Tim to fetch them. Shame on you, Stella. Ed Hardy is only marginally more rock n' roll than Juicy Couture. And now in comes Tim in a stylish shortie trench... to make the designers put on matching ponchos and rain boots. Oh, Tim. Is this part of your master plan to look classier and more genteel than every human being on the planet?

The designers board a double-decker bus with the company's name prominently displayed on the side. Kudos, Weinsteins! How much money are you making off this? They are dropped off in small groups to take pictures at several very New York locations: Columbus Circle, pretty much the closest thing to a mall Manhattan has; Times Square, the highest concentration of non-New Yorkers in New York; the Public Library, aka WHERE CARRIE ALMOST GOT MARRIED; and Greenwich Village, aka my stomping grounds. Oh look, the WaMu on the corner of Sixth and Fourth!

Stella and Blayne banter. Then, Kenley and Stella bitch about Keith. Well, not really, but the editors have clearly decided that this is the closest thing to drama that they're going to get out of this cast, so we get subtitles! Woohoo!

So during the commercial, I'm now going to ruminate on the past couple episodes... sit back and enjoy! Thus far, I'm really not that impressed. I mean, I know it's early in the season, but though the general lack of incompetence so far is encouraging, there aren't really any super standouts for me. I mean, I was prepared to like Wes because he's a friend of a friend (the connection's much more complicated, but this simplified version will suffice for now), but he went and got his ass kicked off already, so now I have no one to gravitate towards. Le sigh. So far I really like Terri and Kenley, though. Kenley totally should have won last week, and Terri should have been in the top three both of the past two weeks.

OKAY OMG BACK. The designers pick photos. Largely... blurry photos of neon things. Because that is NEW YORK. Life! Color! Movement! These are words that come to mind when you think of New York... if you are from a small town in Iowa. Cutes. First trip to Mood! Emily heads for silk chiffon. Emily's bangs really, really bother me. They almost seem like she doesn't want bangs because of their impracticality, but has some sort of unsightly scar on her upper forehead she has to cover up, and so she has to compromise with herself. I will keep an eye out for this scar for the rest of the episode.

Terri appears to be comforting Leanne with what seems to be no instigation. She runs into the sewing room and hugs her... for no real reason. Damn you, Bravo editors, give us some continuity! And while you're at it, take Blayne off the crack! He's starting to scare the other designers!

Emily describes her dress. She talks about her issues. Kenley is worried for her. Oooooh boy. Someone's getting either the winner edit or (more likely) the loser edit. Stella was inspired by a horse's harness. Why? Obviously because she likes... *drum roll*... bestiality! I mean leather. Definitely leather.

Commercial, then Tim time! Tim is worried about time. This is not news. Daniel's hair bothers me. This is also not news. It, like the rest of him, looks like he cares about it very much, so much that he's scared it and it's shivering. Tim throws out many common Tim words. "Costumey." "Statement." "Overworked." "Holla at your boy." Wait... one of these things is not like the other!

More designing happens, Keith's model has been in a bicycle accident... or maybe she quit. What is with these models and their lack of dependability? Also, why is Keith allowed to say "shite" on television? Designer panic, designer panic, no one is ready, and now, it's runway time!

Sandra Bernhard? Love her dearly, but who the hell told her that she could judge design?

Keith: Oh dear. When he said it had shape, he apparently meant Cousin It's shape.
Blayne: Um... well, he's not boring Nina. On the downside, it looks like Carmen Miranda puked on his dress.
Joe: I like, sort of. A fairly simple (but cute) dress that looks vaguely bondage- and/or Spiderman-inspired.
Emily: Apparently Emily's edgy style translates into pulling out her model's large intestine (what could she need it for, eating? Yeah right.) and safety-pinning it to the front of her otherwise completely unremarkable black dress. Do not want.
Leanne: Cute! Structured but not overworked! I like!
Jennifer: Come ON, Jennifer! You say your aesthetic is "Holly Golightly goes to a Salvador Dali exhibit," use a CLOCK as your inspiration, and still turn out a dress that appears to be made for a pregnant senior citizen. What the HELL?
Jerell: Um... I think Tila Tequila might wear this to a formal event. It looks well-made, but that flamenco dancer hemline is just SO hard to make classy rather than hoochie.
Kelli: Well, it's very well-made, but it appears to be two looks eating each other. How unfortunate.
Daniel: I like the dress, but oh my god his MODEL. I hate her! Ahhh! Also, she looks fat. Not sure if that's her fault or the dress's.
Kenley: A very cool shape, but I can't decide if I'm a fan of the print or not. And the tulle is... interesting. Hmm.
Suede: Suede comments on how the judges might find Suede's design too abstract. Suede made a sleeveless shirtdress with a big collar. Sam doesn't quite see anything abstract about Suede's shirtdress unless bedazzling is now considered abstract.
Stella: Leather pants, leather vest. Original.
Korto: Black jumpsuit. Nicely tailored, but YAWN.
Terri: Ooh... I like her pants, and the back of the dress is cute, but the front just reminds me of elementary school art class, where we'd wear donated fathers' dress shirts backwards as smocks.

In the end, Kenley, Terri, and Leanne are the top three and Keith, Emily, and Jennifer are the bottom. Hmm. About a third of that is unexpected. The judges rave about Kenley's, which I kind of get, because it is actually very cute upon further inspection, but it still doesn't scream "WEAR ME!" to me. Maybe this is because it's a dress, and I don't wear dresses. Often. Anyway... Terri's odd Celine Dion-inspired dress (backwards tux? Anyone? Anyone?) also gets raves, and Sandra Bernhard makes a comment about how the girl wearing the outfit might be followed into a dark alley and then pull out a knife and threaten her mugger. This concept apparently appeals to her. Is it because she's a lesbian? The world may never know.

Anyway, Leanne's fabulous little blouse and skirt that looks like a dress is hot hot hot and the judges love it. Heidi says she would wear it (although we all know she'd have the dress shortened six inched before she came anywhere NEAR it). It is my pick for the win. As for the bottom three... well, actually, I don't care, because Keith's is bad, but not nearly bad enough to get sent home, and the other two are boring boring boring. I think it's very telling that when it came down to the two of them and tense music played, I didn't give a flying fuck which one of them went home, because neither has made anything that I've liked much or hated much. B-O-R-I-N-G.

In the end, Kenley is the winner (which I don't agree with, but don't totally hate, because she's awesome and I have a homocrush on her and she should have won last week) and Emily is out. Finally we get rid of one of the little hipster nerdgirls! I'm one step closer to being able to tell them apart. Now we just have to get rid of Jennifer and they'll only be one mousy brunette left!

Next week: Stuff happens. Arguing. Field trip!

Ciao, bellas!

Handle me with care...

It's me again! I was talking with my aunt, a fellow blogger (who should NEVER, EVER READ THIS), about pageviews, of all things, and it made me realize that I actually spent more time checking statcounter.org than I did writing in this blog. Which is absolutely ridiculous, because a. nothing I write here is particularly interesting to anyone besides me, b. I started this blog to have somewhere to write where people WOULDN'T be reading it, and c. my pageviews don't actually fluctuate whether or not I write here, bwahahah.

Anyway, just to give anyone desperate enough to still look at this SOMETHING to read (tee hee), here's a post I made a while ago in the livejournal community bad_sex. A week in the life of Sam. Enjoy ever so much.

So this past week, I went to the Jersey shore with a friend, a guy I'd hooked up with before, and his friends. To get there, I had to drive from my house up to my friend's house outside Philadelphia, park my car there, and drive with him down the shore. Since I'm not really a morning eater, and we didn't stop for lunch, I was understandably quite hungry when we got to the house. We attempted to make some burgers (and by we, I mean they, because I'm not especially domestic), but the grill wouldn't stay on and it was taking forever, so out of frustration I just started drinking. Champagne. On an empty stomach. Yeah...

I'm not a lightweight by any stretch of the imagination, but after a bottle and a half and no food, I was extreeeeemely drunk. Like... EXTREEEMELY. All five of us are horny (mostly) single gay boys, so pretty soon the clothes start coming off, thanks to a little friend I like to call "Strip Catch Phrase." Right about this point... is where my memory of the night ends. Yay!

I wake up the next morning naked, which is not altogether surprising, given what I remember of the previous night. What IS surprising is that I am in a room with the boy I'd previously hooked up with, who is also naked, with the door locked. Oops. We rejoin the rest of our little group, me with a THROBBING hangover, and all chuckle a bit, except I don't really, because... I don't know what happened the night before! Eventually I get the boy alone and get him to give me some answers, and it turns out that I was so drunk I a. couldn't even get it up and b. fell asleep while he was going down on me. STRIKE ONE!

The next night, I do actually eat prior to beginning the drinking, so I manage to stay coherent and non-blacked out! Kudos, me! We have another booze-soaked night, with plenty of sexual tension (as two of the other three people in the house were also somewhat secretly hooking up with each other), and eventually people break off to their respective rooms. Naturally, the boy from the night before and I head off to our same room, with me excited because he made it very clear that he only goes all the way on the third "date," and this would be that date, right? WRONG. Apparently my inebriated inability to keep an erection doesn't count as a "date," so we were again being somewhat limited in our... activities, shall we say.

Slightly disappointed, I pick up where we had left off the night before (as far as I know), but before long, the fact that I've had sevvveral highly carbonated beers in the past few days is catching up to me, and my stomach is gurgling. I'm trying to keep my sphincter closed, but it's like trying to cover up a hose with your thumb. Sooner or later, something has to just let go, and this night, it was sooner. So as he's balls-deep on my cock, I let a fart rip loose... directly into his face. Andddd that is the end of the sexytime for the night. STRIKE TWO!

So I return home from the beach, turn around, and head up to New York the next day to visit my aunt and uncle, who live in Hoboken but think of themselves as New Yorkers. I had been internet-flirting with this guy doing a summer program at Parsons (although I felt a little dirty because he's only seventeen), so I met up with him and some of his friends to go sake bombing. He drinks two beers and two shots of sake and is WASTED (which shouldn't be that surprising, considering... umm, he's seventeen), so we head back to his sexy sexy dorm room.

Now, it isn't that he's especially bad at anything, but he is a bit sloppy in general, and to be honest, blow jobs and hand jobs don't tend to get me off very often as it is. However, although for once I remembered to bring a condom, I'm not really in a bottoming mood, and he's never bottomed before (which isn't a bad thing, per se, I just didn't feel like dealing with that right then). So... I ask to just straddle him and get myself off, which he agrees to. I'm about to come, so I ask if it's okay if I finish on his chest. As he's saying yes, I come hard (it had been a few days since I'd last gotten off) and hit him DIRECTLY IN THE EYE. He took it pretty well, responding to my apologizing with "Ow... It's okay, don't worry about it... ow... no really, (ow) don't worry about it!" So... STRIKE THREE! I'M OUT!

I'm begging you for mercy...

Well, here I am again. From the good old suburban homestead, in fact. The school year is over and I'm out of New York, ne'er to return until... well the New Year.

Okay, that's not strictly true. I'm visiting the City for the... wait for it... TONYS TONYS TONYS, and supposedly popping up over Fourth of July weekend to see Damn Yankees with my future husband who just so happens to be happily committed (for NOW) Cheyenne Jackson. But aside from a few visits here and there, I won't really be back in the city until next January. I don't believe I mentioned it earlier, but I'm studying abroad in Prague for the fall semester. And how do I feel about that? Well, I'm excited. And scared. And that's not a Sondheim reference. But it could be.

I'm thrilled to be going. Prague looks like the most gorgeous city ever and I've heard nothing but wonderful things and even the classes I'm taking sound fabulous. It's what I'm leaving that I'm scared about. I just finished my second of the only four guaranteed years I have in New York. Now I'm leaving, just when I started to feel at home?

Whatever, it's nothing to cry about now. I'm stuck in the suburbs for the next few months, and I'm already noticing the man-drought. Not that this has been an exemplary semester for my sex life, but I HAVE gotten accustomed to a little male attention at least once a week. Being back in the relatively lifeless suburbs, it's amazing how much more you notice the looks you get from hot guys on the street when you're not getting them. Poo. Oh well. Friday nights are 18+ at Town in DC, so maybe I'll make an appearance one of these days or something.

In other news, I'm starting up my summer reading again. I'll post a list once it's worthy of being posted. Ciao, lovers!

Hey, old friend...

Well, it's been a while, but I'm back. Miss me? I thought not. My pageviews stayed exactly the same when I wasn't posting, so clearly I'm not much of a draw either way... hee, just kidding.

Anyway, I stopped posting... well, at first just because I didn't think to. Then a few weeks went by, and I thought it would be a good idea to post, but I literally couldn't think of a single thing to write. I was just so fucking fed up with my myopic posts about boring drunken nights and uneventful hookups that no one besides myself would possibly care about. So I decided to continue my blog hiatus until I felt interesting. Well, along the way I started actually doing productive things, but I'm still not conceited enough to think that I'm interesting. The summer's coming up, though, and I have a feeling I'll need this blog to keep myself mildly entertained back in the suburbs, so why not get a head start?

It's funny how much and how little has changed since my last post. Both boys have gone by the wayside, along with a few more, and good riddance. I had (or missed, rather) my one-year blogiversary. That was actually a bigger milestone than you'd think, actually, because I've never before kept a blog for longer than a year. Even during the high school years when I kept a Livejournal, I'd start a new one each year. Kudos, blog. You made yourself lasting.

What else is new? Well, I went to Africa. That was kind of big. Yanked a friend out of the closet while I was there, but unfortunately, that only led to me kind of developing an actual crush on him, not a "Dude, you're hot" kind of thing, and that isn't really going anywhere. C'est la vie. I got a job, which was nice. Saw tons and tons of Broadway shows thanks to the job, too. Not too shabby. And now the year is nearly over and I'm halfway finished with college. Wow.

I'm going home for the summer in a few weeks, so fully expect a bunch of whiny posts about how boring the suburbs are and how much I miss having boys. Not that I really have them now, actually, as I've been completely celibate for the past month and a half aside from a little heavy petting and making out at ze gay club, but still.

In conclusion, <3 u all ttyl bbs!

Piazza, New York catcher, are you straight or are you gay?

Well, it's been a fairly uneventful week and a half or so. Last weekend was soaked in alcohol, but really didn't involve anything that exciting. I hooked up with the skinny boy as planned on Thursday, but that was pretty tame because he somehow got too drunk too fast. Friday was a lovely karaoke night with the old crowd, and Saturday was simply getting too drunk. This week was boring. Then this weekend, aside from a friend's birthday party that involved finally dragging more than one of his friends closer to the closet door and more awkward three-way sexual tension, was... meh. Whatever, next weekend will be more interesting.

It's funny, I hate to sound so... well, juvenile, to be frank, but it's very odd for me not to have a crush on someone. There's nearly always someone that I want, and so my free time is happily occupied trying to get them. Right now, there's the hot friend, who I couldn't be more attracted to if he were a black hole. But the thing is... he's not a good person. Not that that's ever stopped me before, but he hasn't even been a good friend lately, and I'm finding it harder to bother with trying to make him fall madly in love with me. Essentially, I wouldn't be surprised if our brief period of hooking up were very much over.

Then, there's the skinny boy, but the fact of the matter is that he just doesn't excite me. He's nice, he's attractive, he's interesting, and he seems to be into me, but I just don't have butterflies. Whatever, not to be too reliant on sex, but... well, there are certain things he and I haven't done yet, so maybe we'll do those and then see if I'm more... excited, shall we say.

But barring that, there's no one really getting me worked up right now. Sigh. Maybe that's a good thing. I'm really set on making this semester about not continuing the faults of the last. I'm going to the gym, flossing, avoiding fast food, actually doing homework... essentially doing everything I normally don't. We shall see if it pays off...

Got a body like a battle axe...

So last night I was over at the hot friend's place, and he told me how it's great that we can just be friends and such after having hooked up in the past. I gave him my coldest, fakest smile and agreed.

Then we got drunk and hooked up and I spent the night. Oops.

Ahhh why do I make such bad decisions? Oh well. Date with the other boy on Thursday. With any luck he won't notice the rampant hickey (perfectly placed, natch) on my collarbone.

He's my brandy alexander, always gets me into trouble...

I'm back, y'all! Back to the blog and to the city, that is. I can't even begin to tell you how good it is to be back. That month at home was so, so needed, but now I'm 100% in a city state of mind. This weekend was lovely and low-key. The roomie and I had a bunch of people each night for wine and conversation (... and more wine), and it was just a great, cozy way to get back into the swing of things.

Classes started today, and... well, the one I've had so far seems fine, so with any luck that'll continue! Heh, I have another class tonight at seven, so I have to haul my sorry ass all the way across town to the totally inconveniently located journalism department, but such is life. At least it's with my adorable (and unfortunately married) TA from last semester.

I am actually already looking forward to next weekend, though. It's very perturbing, ever since I realized I'm basically in love with one of my really good friends, my social life has seemed much more convoluted. HAH, sorry, I don't mean to be so overly blase, but I'm trying very hard to avoid dwelling on or even really dealing with... you know, FEELINGS, so glibness is the name of the game. But yes, I'm very deeply in like with the hot friend about whom I've already spoken far too often, and he's currently acting borderline indifferent, so I'm essentially planning all social events that don't involve him to be either a. so fun that he'll want to be involved or b. sexual with other boys so he'll get jealous and go back into that intermittent wanting-what-he-can't-have state we've sort of circled (sort of as in very remotely, that is) for the past few months. Le sigh.

On the other hand, there is a very nice, attractive, interesting boy who does seem to want me, but for some reason I'm just not that excited about him yet. So... yeah, at this point he falls under category b of social activities (jealousy-inducing, that is). We shall see. Maybe I'll use him for a while, make the other one jealous, then realize that the one I've been using has been the right guy for me all along. Then we'll ride off into the sunset, I'll throw in some quirky, witty dialogue and sell the screenplay to Miramax, and everyone will live happily ever after. And then roses will fly out of my ass. HAH. Oh, dear. I find myself FAR too amusing. Dinnertime with the roomie now, so adios, y'all!

Father, why do these words sound so nasty?

I keep feeling like I should be posting more here, but there's honestly next to nothing remotely interesting going on with me lately. I'm in the suburbs, doing nothing. I got a haircut. That's about the craziest thing that's happened lately. Woo!

The primary/caucus results thus far have been... well, I was going to say interesting, but that's exactly what they haven't been. The one notable story I can find in the entire process so far is how abysmal the press coverage has been so far, and of course that's the one story they're not reporting. The need to create a narrative out of the results seems to permeate all divisions of the press. The Washington Post went as overboard as MSNBC did in talking about Obama's ascendancy and Hillary's downfall. I really just don't understand how no one showed any qualms about completely contradicting previously established facts. Obama's increasing popularity in Iowa was visible weeks before the caucuses actually happened. Many analysts had him pegged as the winner from the start. The only thing less surprising than Obama's win in Iowa was Clinton's win in New Hampshire. People had been talking about her lead in the state for weeks as well. Sure, Obama seemed to get a boost from his victory in Iowa, but putting aside the minor excitement people naturally get after a win that is presented to them as an upset, the trend in public opinion seemed fairly likely to let her lead hold out through the primary, and it did.

It's not that I blame the cable channels for trying to make the race SHOCKING! and EXCITING! and NEWSWORTHY! You don't expect much from them. But when respected print media goes along for the ride and completely misrepresents the situation, it's just sad. I know your sales are bad, boys, but twisting the facts like this can't even be called journalism.

I keep on talking trash, but I never say anything...

Well, here we are. It's 2008. Big freaking whoop. Heh, sorry, that sounds cynical, but... well, no, it is. I've never really understood New Year's. Yes, it's symbolic, I suppose, but so are plenty of other holidays that have some significance aside from location within an arbitrary calendar system. I find it kind of hard to think of the new year as any kind of new beginning besides just another day.

Anyway, break has been low-key and fairly fun so far. Christmas in San Fran was decent. I mean, the first few days were great, but after a while the sheer volume of the dysfunction flowing through my aunt and uncle's tiny house got to everyone. It was definitely good to come home to a few small parties and general hanging out-ness.

It's amazing how much I miss the city already. I mean, a week and a half ago when I left, I couldn't get out of the city fast enough. This semester has been tough. I don't mean to complain, because I really am happy. It's just been an adjustment.

But now, I can't wait to get back to school. I love my friends here, but I miss walking to wherever I need to go. I miss BOYS. It's not even hooking up with them, I just miss being in an environment in which that's a real possibility, or where I feel like... well, like people want me. Shallow and insecure? Yes, but such is life.

I'm going back to the good ol' restaurant for the next couple weeks to make some money, because I am B-R-O-K-E. With any luck, it'll be enough for me to stave off employment for the next semester. We shall see. And I mean, one of the models on the Janice Dickinson Modeling Agency was found in a CPK, so... I just have to wait for that! Kudos, me.

I never thought I could love anyone but myself...

Well, here I am again in my lovely, big, warm bed in Potomac, Maryland. I finally got those last few papers done, had a few drunken escapades with the few friends who hadn't yet returned home for the holidays, and hopped on the wonderful Orthodox Jew-run bus to DC. It's funny, much as I love the city, there's nowhere I'd rather be than home right now.

It was only on the bus ride home that I really thought about how hard this semester has been. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm not going to get all poor-little-upper-middle-class-kid on y'all. But compared to what I've gone through in the past, this has just been a big change.

As anyone who's read this blog very long knows, seeing how I've written quite a few times about it, one of my really close friends died in a car crash this summer. It's a big deal, obviously, but it's resonated most with me simply because no one close to me has ever died before. The one dead grandfather died two years before I was born, and there really hasn't been anyone that important to me since, until now. And going to school, the negative things haven't exactly gone away. A very good friend tried to commit suicide on the night of her birthday party and spent all semester at home. My one friend from home who goes to school with me is dealing with anorexia and some major body image problems. The physical closeness I took for granted with the majority of my very best friends at school is gone, and the one friend slash hookup slash I don't know what who lives closest to me is a. fucking with my head big time and b. on coke, which I can't possibly approve of but am afraid to chastise him about too much because I'm afraid I'll lose him period.

They're not big things, they just seem to be piling up. I'd love to be able to talk about them more with the roommate slash best friend at school, but he's another problem in itself, as he's still having a really hard time coping with his father's death last May, and hasn't yet gone a month without having a night where he just breaks down and sobs into my shoulder. Which of course he has every right to do, it's just that I don't feel like I can burden him with any of my problems because he doesn't need anything else on his mind, and that sort of leaves me without a real support system, which is... well, less than ideal.

Don't get me wrong, I'm still having a great time ninety percent of the time, and I wouldn't trade my life for anything. It's just the other ten percent when I look around and see all these friends, some of the strongest people I know, just... cracking. And it makes me wonder if I'm next, and if I'd know it or see it coming.

HAH. Well, that was a downer. Would you believe that I started thinking about that just because I was reading Ender's Game on the bus? Well, I started thinking about it WHILE reading Ender's Game, I don't really remember why exactly it was. It was strange, I was running out the door to grab the bus and I just threw whatever books were within reach into my bag, and ended up bringing two of the real foundational texts of... well, my life, I suppose: Ender's Game and The Amber Spyglass.

It's not that I didn't have plenty of other things to base my worldview on, of course. But Catholic, upper-middle-class, magnet public school suburban life, for all the wonderful things it gives, doesn't exactly offer too many options. It just sort of... is. Lyra and Ender helped me see that no, actually, you don't have to go to Church every Sunday and believe what they tell you to. The way children were not only actors in the events of these worlds, but even the driving forces behind things, made me realize more than anything else that I could DO something. And especially with Philip Pullman's works... the idea that God might not be what the priests at church said he was, that he might not be all-powerful, if he existed at all! The possibilities these ideas opened up CHANGED me!

I don't mean to say that without Orson Scott Card I'd be a complacent little twat, or without Philip Pullman I'd still be a good little Catholic boy. But reading these books, that not only had complex ideologies behind them but WANTED to share these big ideas with their readers, taught me to question and test all my beliefs, to tear down some and make the ones that remained even stronger. I'm more grateful to them than they could ever know.

And with that, kiddoes, I'm hitting the sack. Peas out, kids.

It's funny how beautiful people are when they're walking out the door...

Well, it's been an interesting time since I last posted. Well, not that interesting, of course, but... I've been enjoying myself!

For one thing, I got a tattoo. I've been planning to get one for quite some time, but it took a little encouragement from the roomie to really get me out the door. He really wanted to get the tattoo that his far-too-recently deceased father had had, and so he convinced me to get mine as well. I'd been hemming and hawwing about what to get, but I finally settled on a blue rose on my hip, for a couple reasons.

a. Blue roses symbolize searching for the impossible (since no one's ever actually managed to grow one)
b. It's a somewhat vague reference to my favorite poem, "somewhere i have never travelled" by E. E. Cummings.
c. It's a somewhat less vague reference to my favorite play, The Glass Menagerie
d. It's on my hip, so it's not obvious to anyone I don't want to see it.
e. It's on my hip, so it's a great warning sign if I start getting fat, and even a reason never to get fat, so it won't get all stretched out and gross
f. Personally, I think it's kind of hot.

Anyway, I'd post pictures, but it's still not really healed, and... yeah also it's a bit awkward to have the first actual picture of me I post on here be of basically my crotch. Whatevs.

In other news, I went out on a date with one of the potential threesome boys, the one with whom I hadn't already hooked up on a previous occasion. Hahah okay, so that sounds incredibly awkward, but it was actually really nice. We got a late dinner, but ended up talking a lottt over dinner and closing out the restaurant. And then, somewhat predictably, we grabbed a bottle of wine, went back to my place, and had a nice little sleepover. No sex, just some innocent making out slash heavy petting... and then we fell asleep on each other. It was cute. And he sent me literally the most adorable Facebook message EVER this afternoon. Which, okay, sounds laughable, but whatever. I have low standards! Emotionally, that is.

I don't know, I'm in such weird headspace right now. I mean, there's the one person who from all accounts actually wants a relationship with me, which I know beyond a shadow of a doubt would be a terrible idea. And yet, if he actually fucking expressed any kind of emotion to me whatsoever, I'd probably drop everything and do whatever he wanted. Now this new one seems like a perfectly viable relationship opportunity, or at the very least someone to date casually. But even as much as we click, I'm already having second thoughts...

Whatever, I have self-destructive relationship patterns, so sue me. I feel like in Manhattan, that's par for the course. It'll be good for me, I think, to get out of the city for a month or so. I need to clear my head (and make some money, for that matter). A week in California, then a few solid weeks back at good ol' CPK will do quite a lot for my sense of perspective. Also, NO MORE HOOKING UP. Unless hot friend has time to see me before I leave... ahhh okay that's all, before I make an even bigger fool out of myself. Goodnight, y'all.