Today has been a bad, bad week. Bad. Ah, shit, and now I've got the Michael Jackson songs stuck in my head again because the television news media in general have a hard-on for MJ. You know it.
Anyway, I had a big fight with Camera Boy. He's the boy I'm seeing. Saw? I don't know. He wanted to go downtown and shoot some footage for the FTAA protests, and I told him that I thought he was stepping into a pair of ill-fitting Bad Idea Jeans, and he thought it was very sweet that I was so concerned, but hey, I'm-a-big-man-and-I-am-used-to-it-and-I-shot-footage-of-Elian-way-back-when-blah-blah-blah... I don't know. Yeah, he got arrested. No, the police don't care that he's a journalist. Yeah, he got pelted with rubber bullets. I let his stupid roommate Paul spring him. Whatever. I told him he was going to get arrested, and he got arrested, and I kind of hate that I care about his wellbeing. That's so fucked up. I sound like such a passive aggressive suckbaby. Kill me.
And yet more boy problems: Sweet-Faced Boy from zoology is flirting with me. I flirt back. He touches my hair. The boy has curly hair and a sweet face, and I want to bend him over and do things, but I'm stupid, stupid, stupid about Camera Boy. It's like Sophie's Choice in my head, except my decision has to do with banging boys instead of sending off kids to concentration camps. So it's not like Sophie's Choice at all, except for the whole making a choice thing, but you get my point.
I have a new picture. I can't decide what I like more: the way my face looks fat because I'm smirking or the deep, dark circles underneath my eyes. Or maybe it's the messy hair. Or the fact that the angle makes my nose look absolutely ginormous. Huh. I'm not sure how I feel about that word -- "ginormous." I think I don't like it.
I still love VH1 Classics, but someone needs to tell the head of programming there that Bon Jovi is not metal. "Dead or Alive" may be the only Bon Jovi song that does not make me want to stick the tines of a heated fork in my ears, but that doesn't make it metal -- stop playing Bon Jovi videos during . It will never be metal. Never. But they're forgiven, as long as they continue to play Hanoi Rocks, L.A. Guns, The Jam, Ramones, Dead Milkmen, and The Cramps. I mean, there are other videos from other musicians that make me cream my pants, but it's kind of embarrassing that I like them. For example, Charlie Sexton was cute, and I will not elaborate any further -- except for the fact that he has a pointy face like I do. Also, they played a Skid Row video -- I can't remember which one -- and I thought to myself, hey, I would really like to hear some Cre right now, and they played "Dr. Feelgood" right after the Sebastian Bach and his pretty, pretty face. I would've preferred "Girls Girls Girls," but that's just me being nitpicky.
Fuck. I'm sorry, but I can't continue writing about this stupid shit. I have Sammy's ashes. Picking up his ashes was almost as bad as saying goodbye to him during the euthanization. I fell apart. In addition to the ashes, the vet also gave me an impression of Sammy's paw in a small piece of clay. I keep rubbing my fingers against the indentation of his paw pads, and if I do it long enough, it almost feels like I'm holding his paw. I know that sounds crazy, but it hurts. And I think it always will. He's my special little guy, and I love him, and I miss him. And all of the entries are starting to sound the same. "I miss Sammy." And I do.
Anyway, I had a big fight with Camera Boy. He's the boy I'm seeing. Saw? I don't know. He wanted to go downtown and shoot some footage for the FTAA protests, and I told him that I thought he was stepping into a pair of ill-fitting Bad Idea Jeans, and he thought it was very sweet that I was so concerned, but hey, I'm-a-big-man-and-I-am-used-to-it-and-I-shot-footage-of-Elian-way-back-when-blah-blah-blah... I don't know. Yeah, he got arrested. No, the police don't care that he's a journalist. Yeah, he got pelted with rubber bullets. I let his stupid roommate Paul spring him. Whatever. I told him he was going to get arrested, and he got arrested, and I kind of hate that I care about his wellbeing. That's so fucked up. I sound like such a passive aggressive suckbaby. Kill me.
And yet more boy problems: Sweet-Faced Boy from zoology is flirting with me. I flirt back. He touches my hair. The boy has curly hair and a sweet face, and I want to bend him over and do things, but I'm stupid, stupid, stupid about Camera Boy. It's like Sophie's Choice in my head, except my decision has to do with banging boys instead of sending off kids to concentration camps. So it's not like Sophie's Choice at all, except for the whole making a choice thing, but you get my point.
I have a new picture. I can't decide what I like more: the way my face looks fat because I'm smirking or the deep, dark circles underneath my eyes. Or maybe it's the messy hair. Or the fact that the angle makes my nose look absolutely ginormous. Huh. I'm not sure how I feel about that word -- "ginormous." I think I don't like it.
I still love VH1 Classics, but someone needs to tell the head of programming there that Bon Jovi is not metal. "Dead or Alive" may be the only Bon Jovi song that does not make me want to stick the tines of a heated fork in my ears, but that doesn't make it metal -- stop playing Bon Jovi videos during . It will never be metal. Never. But they're forgiven, as long as they continue to play Hanoi Rocks, L.A. Guns, The Jam, Ramones, Dead Milkmen, and The Cramps. I mean, there are other videos from other musicians that make me cream my pants, but it's kind of embarrassing that I like them. For example, Charlie Sexton was cute, and I will not elaborate any further -- except for the fact that he has a pointy face like I do. Also, they played a Skid Row video -- I can't remember which one -- and I thought to myself, hey, I would really like to hear some Cre right now, and they played "Dr. Feelgood" right after the Sebastian Bach and his pretty, pretty face. I would've preferred "Girls Girls Girls," but that's just me being nitpicky.
Fuck. I'm sorry, but I can't continue writing about this stupid shit. I have Sammy's ashes. Picking up his ashes was almost as bad as saying goodbye to him during the euthanization. I fell apart. In addition to the ashes, the vet also gave me an impression of Sammy's paw in a small piece of clay. I keep rubbing my fingers against the indentation of his paw pads, and if I do it long enough, it almost feels like I'm holding his paw. I know that sounds crazy, but it hurts. And I think it always will. He's my special little guy, and I love him, and I miss him. And all of the entries are starting to sound the same. "I miss Sammy." And I do.
VIEW 21 of 21 COMMENTS
i don't know what else to say that hasn't been said already.
HI!!