Oy.
I went on an ill-advised, regrettable 17 hour road trip with Erin and a couple of her friends this past weekend. We left Friday morning so we could get to Washing D.C. and protest war with Iraq. We piled into her Volkswagen Jetta and took turns driving until we got delirious. Each driver got to pop in their own mix tape, and oh my god, if I never have to hear a fucking lesbian folk tune ever again, it will be too soon. I really want Melissa Ferrick and Ani Difranco to die. Now. I mean, there are queer musicians out there who don't totally suck. Like, Tribe 8, Pansy Division, and Sleater-Kinney. Although I'm not entirely sure if the guys in Pansy Division are homos.
Anyway, I had a great time protesting. I felt empowered, like I was actually doing something to help out. I was standing alongside tens of thousands of protesters, and it felt really good. I was freezing my ass off in the 24 degree weather because I've never actually seen snow. I've only seen snow melt as soon as it hit the ground.
And I may think Jesse Jackson is an asshat, but he's supporting a good cause.
I took a plane home. Alone. Erin and I had a big fight at the motel we were staying at for the night. I had stupidly thrown my cock and a harness in my overnight bag. I didn't actually think I was going to get laid, but I like to be prepared because I'm a fucking boy scout, I guess. It slipped out, and she started preaching at me about how these kinds of sex toys oppress women, and I thought it would be funny to take the idea of oppression literally and say, "Hey, it's only 5 and a half inches, it's not cockzilla." That didn't amuse her. She became absolutely livid and yelled at me that I'm what's wrong with lesbians today, blah blibbety blah, SHUT UP.
So I don't think we're compatible. And I owe my parents $241 for the flight out of Reagan. I should've seen LilJackKnife and kingbugs DJ at Revolver.
I went on an ill-advised, regrettable 17 hour road trip with Erin and a couple of her friends this past weekend. We left Friday morning so we could get to Washing D.C. and protest war with Iraq. We piled into her Volkswagen Jetta and took turns driving until we got delirious. Each driver got to pop in their own mix tape, and oh my god, if I never have to hear a fucking lesbian folk tune ever again, it will be too soon. I really want Melissa Ferrick and Ani Difranco to die. Now. I mean, there are queer musicians out there who don't totally suck. Like, Tribe 8, Pansy Division, and Sleater-Kinney. Although I'm not entirely sure if the guys in Pansy Division are homos.
Anyway, I had a great time protesting. I felt empowered, like I was actually doing something to help out. I was standing alongside tens of thousands of protesters, and it felt really good. I was freezing my ass off in the 24 degree weather because I've never actually seen snow. I've only seen snow melt as soon as it hit the ground.
And I may think Jesse Jackson is an asshat, but he's supporting a good cause.
I took a plane home. Alone. Erin and I had a big fight at the motel we were staying at for the night. I had stupidly thrown my cock and a harness in my overnight bag. I didn't actually think I was going to get laid, but I like to be prepared because I'm a fucking boy scout, I guess. It slipped out, and she started preaching at me about how these kinds of sex toys oppress women, and I thought it would be funny to take the idea of oppression literally and say, "Hey, it's only 5 and a half inches, it's not cockzilla." That didn't amuse her. She became absolutely livid and yelled at me that I'm what's wrong with lesbians today, blah blibbety blah, SHUT UP.
So I don't think we're compatible. And I owe my parents $241 for the flight out of Reagan. I should've seen LilJackKnife and kingbugs DJ at Revolver.
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None of this would have ever happened?!