Sexy sexy

It's been an interesting weekend. And by interesting, I mean quiet. It's Saturday night, and I'm in my pajamas, watching Dynasty. Season One, so no Joan Collins, but Pamela Sue Martin provides just enough bitchery for my taste. Last night... we did the same thing, except minus the going out with friends and having a few rounds first. Okay, so it's not quite thrilling, but... it's relaxing. Getting back into the swing of things has been a little different than I thought it would. It's amazing how much more planning everything takes when getting anywhere takes twenty minutes longer than it did before. Whatever, we're getting used to it, and... well, walking is more fun when you're drunk, anyway.

Damn. The latest boy is getting relationshippy. Which I swear, I'm not against in general, but... well, it's just not right in this case. I thought that the fact that I've had hickies from other boys on multiple occasions when hanging out slash hooking up with him would give him the right impression about what I want from our relationship (namely occasional hookups, occasional hanging out, and no obligation to call him every fucking weekend night), but apparently that's not the case. Last night... ugh. He showed up at my dorm and just "happened" to be hanging out in his friends' room down the hall, insisted on coming by to "say hi," and then WOULD. NOT. LEAVE. I mean, my roommate was in the room, asleep, I was getting into my pajamas, and he could NOT take a hint. Not to mention he "we"d me. As in while trying to make conversation, he referred to the empty bottle of Vitamin Water on my desk as "our" flavor because we'd both mentioned liking it. Ew.

So it would seem that I have to find a new boy, so I can use him to drive a wedge between myself and the current one. Damn. Why does everyone have to get so darn clingy? Why can't we all be satisfied with having three or so people with whom we hook up on a semi-regular basis? I don't really mean that, I'm really all for commitment and all that, it's just... not me. Not now, anyway. Whatever, it's NYU. Finding a new boy shouldn't be too hard.

Speaking of which, the roomie and I are working on a chart of all our hookups and, subsequently, their hookups (those we know of, at least) for our wall. It's pretty epic already, and we haven't even done any research into their interconnectivity. Once we do... damn. Which is my word of the moment. Damn, I'm sorry. But not. Whatevsssss. Anyway, Steven Carrington, the gay son, just kissed his stepmother's ex-lover's wife, who's been in a mental institution for years! I have to go. Gooodnight!

PS: I LOVE living two blocks from the river. Tanning in the park tomorrow afternoon? I think so!