Pharmaceudicals what?

My mother informed me yesterday that pharmacists nowadays make $80,000 a year, fresh out of college, with an additional $10,000 sign-on bonus. Hmm...although I hate chemistry, that may not be a bad idea.

I just want to do everything. Pharmacist, journalist, music teacher, congressman...what the fuck. Oh well--my cinnamon swirl bagel shall console me, while I sort out my future.

Overall, the weekend was very enjoyable. Jesse, one of the most entertaining and awesome people in my repertoire of friends, finally disclosed to me that he's gay--I always suspected, but never wanted to say anything. My Queer as Folk circle of friends may exist after all! I hope that he and I hang out frequently over the summer.

While I'm here, that is--my weekend came to a close as I conversed with Theo about everything and anything. It seems as though the Europe trip will take place after all, to my great excitement. I found some wonderful airfare that is 1/3 of what I thought I'd have to pay (which I need to talk to Theo about), so that's grand.

If I get pictures back from this weekend in the near future, I may consider posting them.

Never before have I been so intoxicated. A combination of little food, extreme exhaustion, and a massive amount of hard liquor sent me, for the first time in a long history of social drinking, to the toilet bowl. It was miserating--I still feel like shit. I cannot believe I actually threw up...what a weak bitch I am.

I'm SUPPOSED to work tomorrow. I don't know how that's going to work out, since I'm allegedly not getting home until 5:00. Fuck.

Except in this relationship, it's clear who the vulnerable one is. (Confused? Read below.)

neither of us wanted to give in to admiting that we were vaunerable to the other. thats what its all about though. feeling like an open book but knowing your reader can keep secrets.

I don't think I could have put it better--thank you, Nick. It's true what "they" say--history does repeat itself. (Without the spelling errors, of course.)

I think I did something wrong last night, but I'm not sure, and I don't feel like I have to apologize, and I don't want to, but the guilt in me makes me want to, but really I was the one who was angry and upset and offended, to an extent, but he just made me feel bad about the situation, and myself in general, and I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. (Coup to bad dialogue in last night's "Sex and the City.")

I'll figure it out through song and dance tonight as I see the Tony award-winning musical "Contact" at the Ford Center for the Performing Arts.

Theo, as always, is right: the queer population of the greater (quantitatively speaking, of course) Northwest suburban Chicagoland area is ismply one big, sweaty, incestuous family. I ran into two gentlemen who have obsessively pursued me to be their boytoy this evening at the mall, on my break. They, now, are dating. odd, odd.

Remember me? The eerily sexy, charming, intelligent queer male who used to write in this Blog about a decade ago? I'm back.

The weekend...aah, the weekend--highlights being Theo, seeing Betsy, and being by myself, awake, for longer than I can remember. The "lowlights" include Theo, downstate etiquette (or lack entirely thereof), and being by myself, awake, for longer than I can remember.

I'll start with the main course of this weekend's oddly-seasoned weekend: Theo. For the most part, I thoroughly enjoyed being with him--bathing in the smallish bathtub, the disgusting "Exit" smoking arena, sleeping with my favourite person in this world (and the next, no doubt), the copious amount of sexual activity, and the eerie strides our sex life took over the course of the two nights. (Yes, two nights--Justin and Chris, you may NOT tell anyone about the second night!) I cannot express (save for on the flap of a Krispy Kreme hat) how intimate and delightful it is to wake up next to the man you love dearly. I reccomend everyone tries it--well, with their own counterparts, that is.

Sometimes, however, I have trouble understanding Theo. Make that, a lot of the time. There was an issue involving a different sort of sexual pleasure that we hadn't done, and he suddenly became very surly. Exhaustion? Perhaps. I feel like he's holding back sometimes, in what he says. Make that, I know he's hesitant when deciding what to speak with me about. I just wish he knew that he can share freely and guiltlessly with me, without having to worry about my "finicky" side domineering. That's what relationships are for, right?

More stories will be posted as I see fit.

"Join me as I try to record a little bit of my perfect life." --Summary of a Blog I've recently been introduced to, but may not reveal the author of

SwimminChick2002: if you are going to salzburg, thats the good shopping. swiss clubbing is the bomb, and munich is full of street walking whores
SwimminChick2002: dont forget hofbrauhaus in munich. an enormous building full of drunk chicks checkin out your shit

I'll have to, er, keep that in mind.

Blue Man Group tomorrow? I hope.

I would not like it if my house were to burn down.

Aside from practical reasons, my neighbours are the most nosy, gossip-starved monguls one would ever meet. My neighbour's house is currently surrounded by a score of fire trucks, police cars, and ambulances. And, for one fleeting moment, the at-home mothers set down their spoiled children, Cosmopolitans (the magazine AND the beverage, thank you very much), and bank books and gather around the scorned abode. It's ironic that tragedy is the leading catalyst for togetherness; Spring Acres Hills is no different than the US post-September 11. Most of my neighbours have never seen each other's faces, except through the tinted windows of their Mercedes Benz(es) on the way to work or Woodfield. Odd.

You know, I-90 just isn't the same as she used to be.

I am beginning to enjoy the cloves, actually--they do taste so very good.

For awhile, I was thinking it was foolish of me to write a letter to my non-practicing lesbian principal about my homophobic government "teacher." But, after a series of gay-themed jokes were uttered yesterday during class, I have set forth to conquor the battle against oppression at my school...or at least whine a bit about it.

Last night, I needed soap. So naturally, I picked up Theo and drove to a mall one hour away from me, to purchase some overpriced L'Occitane Shea Butter soap. We walked, dined, and went home. We discussed, on the venture back to AH, how I feel like there's no one in the world I'd be able to spend the rest of my life with. I was feigning hopelessness--I feel that person may, in fact, exist.

I'm worth a reported $2,043,366. Now, if that were in Yen, or Pesos, I'd believe it. Even shillings. You too, may find out how much your body is worth by clicking here.

How tacky and appalling are these? I'm glad I soon will no longer be associated with this state.

So, I worked this morning. This woman who I've been associated with through church for the better part of a decade came in with her daughter, my friend, the uber-conservative Shannon. She preceded to tell me how I need to get my "shit" together, and she's really worried about my future. Her daughter is going to U of I, and she stressed that I should be going there, and she was "pissed" that I didn't apply there, and that one can "really get a bang for their buck" by attending that hick-town overrated university. She claimed to have "connections" to professors there and told me I could still go there if I wanted, and that she'd be calling to check up on me. She then started to cry. Yes, she was letting real tears. What the fuck.

So, now I'm thinking about my college choice. I decided that if I do go to the decrepid, low-class Republican University of Missouri-Columbia, I may be able to weasel a month-long trip to Europe out of my parents. I'd say it's a worthy trade, wouldn't you?

I've decided that clove cigarettes are disgusting and "harsh," Zoolander was, as I expected, a goddamn waste of time, and I need to find a high-paying, high-quality job for this summer. Now.

I'm in a bit of a funk today. I slept all afternoon, and am just awkward ("auckward") feeling. Hmm.

I simply abhor my school, and everything related to it, aside from about twelve people. Seeing choirs I should be in no longer inspires me to "try harder" in my own musical endeavours, but rather it makes me angry. Angry about where I live, who my choir teacher is, and who my choir is comprised of.

Another incident occured today, which will involve a letter to the principal.

It is so wonderful being able to just ash anywhere I please, with the top down. The only downside is, I'm so paranoid someone's going to see me smoking that I know. Please, no inner comments needed. Just move on.

I am in love with the concept of naivete: today, at the bookstore, I actually witnessed a fairly attractive twentysomething woman utter the words "good golly" when she dropped my copy of Orwell's 1984 while checking me out. God bless her, that little whippersnapper.

Theo has been shorn--Il est très beau, sans ses cheveux massifs. I shall devote the weekend to him, as penance for not being able to spend more time with him this week.

Well, well, well...

I just checked my E-mail. It appears as though the Schaumburg Prairie Center For The Arts has already chosen this summer's intern. This was a position I sought after last year, only to find out about the great, $1600 opportunity one day tardy of its deadline. This year, I did not see any information posted anywhere, and contacted the production manager a few days ago, thinking it's months away from summer, and I'll be on top of the ball. But...oops. As long as I don't tell my parents about this until after we decide where I'm going to school, it will be fine. Fuck, though.

In the spirit of the front-page article of this week's Onion, another sign of spring's gracing us with its presence is the lowering of my new, sparkly white top. I had an enjoyable afternoon, driving around the suburbs, looking like a yokel. (Hey, it was fifty degrees out; I'm more than entitled to my share of non-sexual pleasure.)

It's vital for a musician to be able to take rejection well, and be resilient when faced with it. I am, therefore, not a musician.

I did a good deed today.

The highlight of tomorrow--well, the earlier one, will be the sushi I picked up for myself for lunch tomorrow. (The other highlight being, dinner with Theo.)

A really good day has just passed me by. I feel much at ease now, and may even be able to quit smoking. For a bit. I'm very much looking forward to May 31.

I'm singing Andrea Bocelli's "Time To Say Goodbye" with Bernadett tomorrow for some Lyons Township Invitational sort of thing. She's got a beautiful voice--allegedly she performs at the HOB every once in awhile--but without the memorization, we're just another pimple-faced (Oh is it ever...) high school duet.

Aah, the wonder of sleeping pills. Goodbye, cruel world.

Aah--twenty-four hours that I do not mourn the passing of.

Last night I watched The Shawshank Redemption with a friend (Lauren) and foe (Catherine). Catherine is a white-trash, self-centered, conservative ignormaus who I cannot stand. Any mention of gay sex in the aforementioned film brought about an "ew" or some other comment of disgust with the lifestyle that I am attributed with.

After their departure, I went out and had a great deal of cigarettes, as I got a donut from Crystal Lake and a Slurpee. I promptly, upon returning home, vomited twice. A shower of pink fluid and Chinese food filled my toilet. I was not happy.

Today, I went to a banquet "to celebrate my acceptance at American University." Following the Doubletree-hosted affair, during which I decided I have to go there, no matter what, my father announced "I need to look at another alternative." So, just as I forced up last night's dinner into the toilet, I now have no choice but to bid farewell to my future as well, and disperse it across the porcelain bowl of water known as University of Missouri-Columbia.

I'm sorry, but they just don't make state schools for queers. I don't play a sport or enjoy anything pertaining to fraternities (aside from voyeuristic fantasies), which means I'm apt to not fit in. And Columbia, being in the middle of practically nowhere, is not the type of place one readily makes "connections" with to people in the realm of political affairs. Fuck it. As David Sedaris' youngest brother Paul would say, "Fuck it, motherfucker. That shit don't mean fuck to me."

Y Tu Mama Tambien also made me think about things, not necessarily what the director may have wanted, but a key element of the film held onto my attention for the remainder of the evening.

Ugh..."movie night" tonight with an obligatory friend--my choir teacher's daughter. Luckily, Lauren will be here to keep the pre-teen at bay.

Foolishness--I'm scouring my "art cabinet" for the Crayola crayon which resembles the reported colour of my Lincoln prom date's dress. Alas, there isn't a fashion faux-pas more severe than two dissimilar royal blues clashing with one another.

I feared my parents were pursuing a second mortgage on our house as of late, after finding several pieces of evidence leading to that unalterable fate--I questioned them about it tonight and they promptly cleared it up, like the finale of an episode of "The Brady Bunch." [Cue laugh track.]

I'm a lot more worried not knowing than knowing, I'll have you know. You think I'd "friek out" if I knew? You have NO IDEA what I'm feeling right now. But...that's fine.

To "Mr. Peterson:" Thank you for your succinct correction of the misspelling of the word "facade" in my April 1 posting. Please, sir, reveal your true identity--toss off this "facade," if you will, so that I may adequately mock your (inevetable) everyday errs in spelling and grammar. Furthermore, I encourage any and all of my readers to report back to me if you see any misspellings, grammatical flubs, poor diction, or awkward sentence structure in my postings henceforth. For example, the word "know" is used thrice in the opening non-sequitorial sentence of today's Blog. How utterly obnoxious is that?

I'm having issues with Blogging, now...don't you hate it when smug, surly little fourteen-year-old twats get in your way? I may have to relocate to another URL.

I was apprehensive at first--maybe a bit angry, or almost regretful. But, after thinking about it for most of the day, I've decided that it's not THAT bad that a fellow Jacobs student will be attending American University come fall. I found this out today on my field trip to the...drumroll please...Judson College Library. Let me set the scene--an old, rundown building, with almost as many books as men I've slept with. (Since most of you don't know me that well, that isn't very many books. At all.) Essentially, I just read Kafka's Metamorphosis all day, and socialized. I found out that Ms. Jennifer White is also hoping to attend AU. She is a rather overzealously-political antsy-pants who just loves rubbing all of her "connections" in people's faces. I, however, hardly believe she A.) Has ANY connections to the FBI, CIA, or any reputable law firms in Virginia, DC, or Chicago; or B.) Knows much of ANYTHING about local or national politics, other than names and parties. Now, I will be the first to admit that, as much as I'd love to be well-versed in the book of la politique, I am a veritable virgin in the field. but at least I don't wear a fossod of intelligence to condescend to people. So, that may be what I have to look forward to for the next four years. (If I even go there.)

ISO: 1 family, pref. upper class. One preference: does NOT opt to spend evenings at home watching America's Funniest Home Videos at the loudest volume level while chortling about the misfortunes of pets, small children, and any and all residents of the following states: Arkansas, Kentucky, Florida, Nevada, and/or Wisconsin.

I don't know how it happens, but somehow the most horrible days in theory turn out to be pretty tolerable, almost pleasant. I sometimes cannot help but think that He is involved.