A record of the life and times of one brown shirt-wearing university student, struggling to escape his fear of intimacy, overcome his hunger for eternal supremacy in every aspect, and never have to write a description of his life like this again.
Thursday, October 31, 2002
Surprise!
Erin fucking betrayted me. Shen went to a party that she said she wasn't going to go to , and I thought we wereg oing to spend halloween togeher becaue we're BEST FRIEWNDS but apparently she'd rather hang out with her gentlemenf friends. and she's going to parpparty that i was going to drive us to but she got me trashed and nowobviously uii can't drive so yeah. I'm mildly pissed. off. i wished i would have stayed in my room because then i could be angrty and not be drunk. Oh well. And so it goes.
Erin fucking betrayted me. Shen went to a party that she said she wasn't going to go to , and I thought we wereg oing to spend halloween togeher becaue we're BEST FRIEWNDS but apparently she'd rather hang out with her gentlemenf friends. and she's going to parpparty that i was going to drive us to but she got me trashed and nowobviously uii can't drive so yeah. I'm mildly pissed. off. i wished i would have stayed in my room because then i could be angrty and not be drunk. Oh well. And so it goes.
Holiday
It's Halloween, everyone. In case you were unaware.
I "dressed up" like Eurotrash for a good part of the day. I dried my hair with a hair dryer, which made it 1970s porn-star curly. I wore my Diesels, which were, for some reason, really loose around the waist today, and a tan-ish tunic-ish shirt-ish piece of fabric I purchased in Rome. Oh, and to identify that I was, in fact, not only queer today, but also Eurotrash, I made nametags and placed them on my body. It was fun. Sort of.
My glorious Astronomy professor, Dr. Angela Speck, dressed up like a mysteriously sexy witch. As a bit of backstory, Dr. Speck dresses up like a witch for Halloween every year because, well, she likes it. (I think she's a closet wiccan, but that's mere speculation.) So, of course, her outfit was quite intricate, and had that "I dressed myself in the dark" British flare. She passed by me during class, glanced for several moments at me and my "Eurotrash" nametag, and said that it was "inventive." I imagine she was being sarcastic.
Theo is writing in his Blog again, for those of you who would like to know.
I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing tonight, so when I wake up tomorrow (or rather, after class), I will update.
It's Halloween, everyone. In case you were unaware.
I "dressed up" like Eurotrash for a good part of the day. I dried my hair with a hair dryer, which made it 1970s porn-star curly. I wore my Diesels, which were, for some reason, really loose around the waist today, and a tan-ish tunic-ish shirt-ish piece of fabric I purchased in Rome. Oh, and to identify that I was, in fact, not only queer today, but also Eurotrash, I made nametags and placed them on my body. It was fun. Sort of.
My glorious Astronomy professor, Dr. Angela Speck, dressed up like a mysteriously sexy witch. As a bit of backstory, Dr. Speck dresses up like a witch for Halloween every year because, well, she likes it. (I think she's a closet wiccan, but that's mere speculation.) So, of course, her outfit was quite intricate, and had that "I dressed myself in the dark" British flare. She passed by me during class, glanced for several moments at me and my "Eurotrash" nametag, and said that it was "inventive." I imagine she was being sarcastic.
Theo is writing in his Blog again, for those of you who would like to know.
I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing tonight, so when I wake up tomorrow (or rather, after class), I will update.
Tuesday, October 29, 2002
Where do you stand?
Hopefully not on my foot.
I did not just type that. I promise. Go here to determine your position on the Political Compass.
My results:
Economic Left/Right: -5.62
Authoritarian/Libertarian: -5.85
(Liberal democrat/leftist)
Get back to me about what your test results were.
Hopefully not on my foot.
I did not just type that. I promise. Go here to determine your position on the Political Compass.
My results:
Economic Left/Right: -5.62
Authoritarian/Libertarian: -5.85
(Liberal democrat/leftist)
Get back to me about what your test results were.
Do yourself a favour...
...and puchase Christina Aguilera's "Stripped." It's surprisingly amazing. She's delved, and rightfully so, into the world of soul/jazz, where her voice can be utilized to its highest potential. I adore it/her. Bob and I determined that her look could be...revised. But, like a book shan't be judged by its cover, don't judge a performer by her Cruella DeVil hair and leather chaps.
...and puchase Christina Aguilera's "Stripped." It's surprisingly amazing. She's delved, and rightfully so, into the world of soul/jazz, where her voice can be utilized to its highest potential. I adore it/her. Bob and I determined that her look could be...revised. But, like a book shan't be judged by its cover, don't judge a performer by her Cruella DeVil hair and leather chaps.
Catharsis
While my mood change is not as drastic as Chris', I have experienced a wide scope of emotions these past twenty-four hours. Last night, upon returning from the car hospital, I suddenly felt trapped/imprisoned without my car. I never realized how much how I depended upon my ugly, beat-up old vehicle. In theory, it provides me with a bubble in which I can float around the city, county, state and just be myself, by myself. I can think, listen to music, and in essence, escape reality. I felt so alone and helpless last night; it was possibly the lowest of lows I've felt in this new stage of my life. I just wanted to cease from existing. It was terrible.
(Randomly: Do you all know that five-minute period of time after waking up that you simply cannot and do not remember anything horrible that hppened the day before? I love that. Those are my favourite five minutes of every day. I woke up this morning without remembering any of the radical thoughts I had last night.)
But then, this morning, I was awoken to a phone call from University Chrysler, telling me my car was all better and I can pick it up whenever. And so, walking back to my room from class (a twenty minute walk, as a non-sequitur), I actually started thinking about staying at Missouri. This idea will most likely fly away like an abandoned balloon, but it gives some indication to how content I have been today. Me and my car. What a perfect couple.
While my mood change is not as drastic as Chris', I have experienced a wide scope of emotions these past twenty-four hours. Last night, upon returning from the car hospital, I suddenly felt trapped/imprisoned without my car. I never realized how much how I depended upon my ugly, beat-up old vehicle. In theory, it provides me with a bubble in which I can float around the city, county, state and just be myself, by myself. I can think, listen to music, and in essence, escape reality. I felt so alone and helpless last night; it was possibly the lowest of lows I've felt in this new stage of my life. I just wanted to cease from existing. It was terrible.
(Randomly: Do you all know that five-minute period of time after waking up that you simply cannot and do not remember anything horrible that hppened the day before? I love that. Those are my favourite five minutes of every day. I woke up this morning without remembering any of the radical thoughts I had last night.)
But then, this morning, I was awoken to a phone call from University Chrysler, telling me my car was all better and I can pick it up whenever. And so, walking back to my room from class (a twenty minute walk, as a non-sequitur), I actually started thinking about staying at Missouri. This idea will most likely fly away like an abandoned balloon, but it gives some indication to how content I have been today. Me and my car. What a perfect couple.
Monday, October 28, 2002
Morte
My car is officially in an intensive care unit. Apparently, the "spindle" of my rear driver's side wheel broke or something...basically, from what I witnessed, little metal teeth were falling out of my wheel and that is bad or something. I don't understand cars, and I'm not going to pretend to. So, it's going to be at least three days until I can have my car back. Three days. This means I have to walk to class from practically St. Louis (priss, you think to yourself) and eat...shudder...by myself in public. After reading Orwell's "Down and out in Paris and London," I've decided that starving is not that horrible. I can do it. It'll be fun. Three days...and holy hell, I have lots of junk food in my room. I'm fine. Two bottles of water...I'm set. SET.
And no, I didn't make that up.
My car is officially in an intensive care unit. Apparently, the "spindle" of my rear driver's side wheel broke or something...basically, from what I witnessed, little metal teeth were falling out of my wheel and that is bad or something. I don't understand cars, and I'm not going to pretend to. So, it's going to be at least three days until I can have my car back. Three days. This means I have to walk to class from practically St. Louis (priss, you think to yourself) and eat...shudder...by myself in public. After reading Orwell's "Down and out in Paris and London," I've decided that starving is not that horrible. I can do it. It'll be fun. Three days...and holy hell, I have lots of junk food in my room. I'm fine. Two bottles of water...I'm set. SET.
And no, I didn't make that up.
Sunday, October 27, 2002
Headache
I have one. Do you? Did you drink a dozen bottles of Mike's Hard Lemonade last night? Thought not.
My sister is SO reading this right now and getting angry/confused/upset.
While I trekked back from D-town to C-town, my car threw its iron arms up in rebellion. It began to murmur noises of utter pain, a grinding bellow. I know she was faking it. Or I thought she was faking it, until she started flailing around on I-54, making her owner look like he had consumed the aforementioned bottles of wonder minutes ago, not hours. Fearing my life, I pulled over a few times, kicked the tires and smelled them (just in case...it seemed like the right thing to do). I made it home, fortunately, but my car will have to go to the hospital tomorrow. That'll "learn" her.
Reoccuring thought of the weekend-all of my old friends/aquaintances are getting to be big boys and girls. Jenny Way has her own CD, two of my friends are getting married...everyone's graduating college and moving on into the big bad world. Where did it all go? The time, that is.
So tired.
I have one. Do you? Did you drink a dozen bottles of Mike's Hard Lemonade last night? Thought not.
My sister is SO reading this right now and getting angry/confused/upset.
While I trekked back from D-town to C-town, my car threw its iron arms up in rebellion. It began to murmur noises of utter pain, a grinding bellow. I know she was faking it. Or I thought she was faking it, until she started flailing around on I-54, making her owner look like he had consumed the aforementioned bottles of wonder minutes ago, not hours. Fearing my life, I pulled over a few times, kicked the tires and smelled them (just in case...it seemed like the right thing to do). I made it home, fortunately, but my car will have to go to the hospital tomorrow. That'll "learn" her.
Reoccuring thought of the weekend-all of my old friends/aquaintances are getting to be big boys and girls. Jenny Way has her own CD, two of my friends are getting married...everyone's graduating college and moving on into the big bad world. Where did it all go? The time, that is.
So tired.
Weekend-ing
I am at Millikin University right now, waiting for the bathroom to be unoccupied so I can urinate. Lala...I haven't drank since Europe, and even though that should have meant my resistance was down, I didn't vomit or do anything illegal/stupid! I now have Jenny Way's CD and that makes me happy.
The football game yesterday was actually really fun. I had a great time, which surprised me. We (Missouri) played against kU, our arch rivals, for our homecoming game. After our brutal defeat of the Jayhawks, about 3.2 million people in the stands decided to rush the field and, you guessed it, tear down the goalpost. It took the mob a while to succeed in their quest--they just don't make goalposts like they used to. It was entertaining to watch the police officers running around and such.
I need to pee. Now.
I am at Millikin University right now, waiting for the bathroom to be unoccupied so I can urinate. Lala...I haven't drank since Europe, and even though that should have meant my resistance was down, I didn't vomit or do anything illegal/stupid! I now have Jenny Way's CD and that makes me happy.
The football game yesterday was actually really fun. I had a great time, which surprised me. We (Missouri) played against kU, our arch rivals, for our homecoming game. After our brutal defeat of the Jayhawks, about 3.2 million people in the stands decided to rush the field and, you guessed it, tear down the goalpost. It took the mob a while to succeed in their quest--they just don't make goalposts like they used to. It was entertaining to watch the police officers running around and such.
I need to pee. Now.
Saturday, October 26, 2002
Une excursion du Missouri
I've decided not to waste my lonely free time sitting in my room, sleeping away the depresion and masturbating. Instead, starting this evening, I will report on the joys and wonders that grand old Missouri beholds.
Leçon 1: Jefferson City
What better place to begin my tour of Missouri than in its capitol, Jefferson City. Named after Thomas Jefferson, who had probably never been to Missouri, Jeff City, as the proleteriates refer to it as, stands as a fixture of Missourian tradition and glory. Centered around its majestic capitol building, Jeff City has looked the same for undoutedly decades and decades. Its main street is kitched up to the extreme, with its old-school department stores, jewelers, and eateries. Decked out in 1940s kitch, I was surprised to find that modern cars speckled its streets, instead of wind-up Model Ts. It was a treat to step back in time and find the place as quaint and warm as it may have been during the Roosevelt administration.
Seeing as how I arrived in this pearl of Missouri's oyster at 11:00PM, my options as far as entertainment, dining, and tourism were somewhat limited. I was delighted to find that the sidewalks weren't completely rolled up, and was able to purchase some beverages from Gerbes Supermarket. Gerbes smelled pleasantly of rotting produce, sweat, and floor cleaner. The cashier was skeptical about my purchase of a can of Red Bull.
For my main course, I ventured to the Convenient Mart but blocks away, and feasted on a delightfully sweet glazed pastry commonly referred to as a "Hostess Peach Pie."
Overall, I give this town a 9 for breads and a 6.47 for circuses. A photo essay will be posted shortly.
The next reservoir of paint I will dip my paintbrush into will most likely be St. Louis, since I hope to find a suitable therapist somewhere under the mysterious shadow of the Great Arch.
I've decided not to waste my lonely free time sitting in my room, sleeping away the depresion and masturbating. Instead, starting this evening, I will report on the joys and wonders that grand old Missouri beholds.
Leçon 1: Jefferson City
What better place to begin my tour of Missouri than in its capitol, Jefferson City. Named after Thomas Jefferson, who had probably never been to Missouri, Jeff City, as the proleteriates refer to it as, stands as a fixture of Missourian tradition and glory. Centered around its majestic capitol building, Jeff City has looked the same for undoutedly decades and decades. Its main street is kitched up to the extreme, with its old-school department stores, jewelers, and eateries. Decked out in 1940s kitch, I was surprised to find that modern cars speckled its streets, instead of wind-up Model Ts. It was a treat to step back in time and find the place as quaint and warm as it may have been during the Roosevelt administration.
Seeing as how I arrived in this pearl of Missouri's oyster at 11:00PM, my options as far as entertainment, dining, and tourism were somewhat limited. I was delighted to find that the sidewalks weren't completely rolled up, and was able to purchase some beverages from Gerbes Supermarket. Gerbes smelled pleasantly of rotting produce, sweat, and floor cleaner. The cashier was skeptical about my purchase of a can of Red Bull.
For my main course, I ventured to the Convenient Mart but blocks away, and feasted on a delightfully sweet glazed pastry commonly referred to as a "Hostess Peach Pie."
Overall, I give this town a 9 for breads and a 6.47 for circuses. A photo essay will be posted shortly.
The next reservoir of paint I will dip my paintbrush into will most likely be St. Louis, since I hope to find a suitable therapist somewhere under the mysterious shadow of the Great Arch.
Friday, October 25, 2002
Pieces of this
I am quite self-involved, I suppose.
I'm also quite tired.
This Blog has slipped into a drought of interesting things. (Whether or not this Blog ever has interesting things in it, is a question you may be asking yourself right now.) No relationship quabbles, no homophobic Jacobs alum--just a steady stream of depression. Lalala...
I am quite self-involved, I suppose.
I'm also quite tired.
This Blog has slipped into a drought of interesting things. (Whether or not this Blog ever has interesting things in it, is a question you may be asking yourself right now.) No relationship quabbles, no homophobic Jacobs alum--just a steady stream of depression. Lalala...
Thursday, October 24, 2002
Bright lights, big book
I have a lot to study tonight. Namely, 200 pages of a condescending, elitist American Government book, a hoard of NYT articles, and some Federalist papers.
I just got off the phone with my parents. I've come to the conclusion that it is imperative that I seek some sort of psychological assistance with my ever-deteriorating emtional status. I shared that information with my mother, only to be "soothed" by her for 1/2 hour. Apparently, she and my father have been discussing this for weeks, but didn't know how to suggest to me that I needed therapy. And of course, my mother just assumes that the only issue I could ever have in my life is my sexuality. "Find someone who understands what you're going through, and isn't going to mess you up." I have to remember that they mean well. I cannot, unfortunately, imagine that Columbia has a wealth of psychiatrists. I may have to drive to St. Louis for all of my emtional needs. Who knows.
Zoloft, anyone?
I have a lot to study tonight. Namely, 200 pages of a condescending, elitist American Government book, a hoard of NYT articles, and some Federalist papers.
I just got off the phone with my parents. I've come to the conclusion that it is imperative that I seek some sort of psychological assistance with my ever-deteriorating emtional status. I shared that information with my mother, only to be "soothed" by her for 1/2 hour. Apparently, she and my father have been discussing this for weeks, but didn't know how to suggest to me that I needed therapy. And of course, my mother just assumes that the only issue I could ever have in my life is my sexuality. "Find someone who understands what you're going through, and isn't going to mess you up." I have to remember that they mean well. I cannot, unfortunately, imagine that Columbia has a wealth of psychiatrists. I may have to drive to St. Louis for all of my emtional needs. Who knows.
Zoloft, anyone?
Wednesday, October 23, 2002
I got nothing
Hump day came and went without any sort of interesting things to write about. Quelle surprise.
I took a nap for a few hours, and had at least a dozen dreams about Gwyneth Paltrow. Oh, and Erin has officially "quit" smoking. I'm skeptical about this, though, like I'm skeptical about every other person's vow to quit something that seems a necessary and enjoyable part of their life. Hmm.
That was the extent of my daily excitement. Keep reading, though! More fun to come!
Hump day came and went without any sort of interesting things to write about. Quelle surprise.
I took a nap for a few hours, and had at least a dozen dreams about Gwyneth Paltrow. Oh, and Erin has officially "quit" smoking. I'm skeptical about this, though, like I'm skeptical about every other person's vow to quit something that seems a necessary and enjoyable part of their life. Hmm.
That was the extent of my daily excitement. Keep reading, though! More fun to come!
Tuesday, October 22, 2002
News tighty-whities
It's a pun.
My last shift of work in grand 'ol Columbia's Gap store has been completed, as of 10:45 this evening. It was sort of bittersweet--while I was glad to be rid of their conservatism, double-standards, and long hours, I feel like I made a connection to everyone that works there--even the strange hyper-obsessive managers. I spoke to three of them over the past few days, and they all sounded disappointed--my store manager even asked if I would come back, and she hoped I'd change my mind about quitting soon. I don't think I will.
My good friend (although he'd beg to differ) Jesse has been called back to audition for Paula and the gang for the next season of "American Idol." This is uber-amazing, and I am both thrilled for him, and jealous of his success. Out of all of my friends, aquainances, and enemies, though, I am glad that he was the one to first taste glory and pride in his talents.
I spoke to Jillian, my best high-school friend, last night. She's hard to read, but I think she's relatively happy at Columbia (Chicago). if I can't get into Shannon's three-bedroom flat on Lake Shore Dr., I'd like to find an apartment to share with her.
Today, I purchased a heated blanket, a hairdryer and some curl-enhancing hair serum at the "mall." That's really not important though.
I always hear this random thumping on one of the lower floors in my building. It's really obnoxious, and I don't know what it is. Hammering at 11:30PM? I think not.
It's a pun.
My last shift of work in grand 'ol Columbia's Gap store has been completed, as of 10:45 this evening. It was sort of bittersweet--while I was glad to be rid of their conservatism, double-standards, and long hours, I feel like I made a connection to everyone that works there--even the strange hyper-obsessive managers. I spoke to three of them over the past few days, and they all sounded disappointed--my store manager even asked if I would come back, and she hoped I'd change my mind about quitting soon. I don't think I will.
My good friend (although he'd beg to differ) Jesse has been called back to audition for Paula and the gang for the next season of "American Idol." This is uber-amazing, and I am both thrilled for him, and jealous of his success. Out of all of my friends, aquainances, and enemies, though, I am glad that he was the one to first taste glory and pride in his talents.
I spoke to Jillian, my best high-school friend, last night. She's hard to read, but I think she's relatively happy at Columbia (Chicago). if I can't get into Shannon's three-bedroom flat on Lake Shore Dr., I'd like to find an apartment to share with her.
Today, I purchased a heated blanket, a hairdryer and some curl-enhancing hair serum at the "mall." That's really not important though.
I always hear this random thumping on one of the lower floors in my building. It's really obnoxious, and I don't know what it is. Hammering at 11:30PM? I think not.
"I Saved Public Radio"
I am now an official patron of Chicago Public Radio, and will be receiving fun things in the mail soon for my generous (as generous as a student budget can allow) donation, including a subscription to Newsweek and a membership card, which will entitle me to discounts at many of Chicago's cultural outlets. Plus, as an employee of the Gap Corporation, whatever I donate to WBEZ is matched in full. That in mind, I am contributing quite a bit to the future of NPR. Why don't you donate?
Don't I feel fratastic--I purchased, and am in love with, the Tenacious D album. Not only are they amusing, but their music would be great even if they didn't sing about gently fucking and wonderboy. I'm always interested in an artist at least six months after they've had their heyday--to most people, Tenacious D's novelty has already faded, but now I suddenly like them.
I have plans on Friday! A Missouri first!
I am now an official patron of Chicago Public Radio, and will be receiving fun things in the mail soon for my generous (as generous as a student budget can allow) donation, including a subscription to Newsweek and a membership card, which will entitle me to discounts at many of Chicago's cultural outlets. Plus, as an employee of the Gap Corporation, whatever I donate to WBEZ is matched in full. That in mind, I am contributing quite a bit to the future of NPR. Why don't you donate?
Don't I feel fratastic--I purchased, and am in love with, the Tenacious D album. Not only are they amusing, but their music would be great even if they didn't sing about gently fucking and wonderboy. I'm always interested in an artist at least six months after they've had their heyday--to most people, Tenacious D's novelty has already faded, but now I suddenly like them.
I have plans on Friday! A Missouri first!
Monday, October 21, 2002
Stephen King's playground
My seven hour drive back to Missouri ("home") with Erin was quite possibly the strangest experience ever. It included nice police officers, wrong turns everywhere that somehow led us on the right path, and large dead animals on the side of the road--three things that could never exist in real life. But, I'm back now, and for the first time, my bed here actually felt comforting and familiar.
My day was blurred by my (literally) painful lack of proper sleep.
I'm not in the mood to discuss the status of my relationship with a certain Duck...and, more than likely, anything I typed in my journal would be misconstrued. Essentially, as the cliche goes, trust is the foundation of a helathy relationship.
Off to Barnes and Noble to watch Erin and Jen study.
My seven hour drive back to Missouri ("home") with Erin was quite possibly the strangest experience ever. It included nice police officers, wrong turns everywhere that somehow led us on the right path, and large dead animals on the side of the road--three things that could never exist in real life. But, I'm back now, and for the first time, my bed here actually felt comforting and familiar.
My day was blurred by my (literally) painful lack of proper sleep.
I'm not in the mood to discuss the status of my relationship with a certain Duck...and, more than likely, anything I typed in my journal would be misconstrued. Essentially, as the cliche goes, trust is the foundation of a helathy relationship.
Off to Barnes and Noble to watch Erin and Jen study.
Sunday, October 20, 2002
Changing winds
I think Theo and I are on a "break," a far as the popular term goes. I'm a moody prick who can't support my boyfriend, so I've deservedly been dismissed from the relationship. Theo belives that I'm not willing to accept that he's changing things in his life that make me morbidly unhappy, and my cynicism in this matter is unberable for him. He doesn't want to be in another dysfunctional relationship, and that seems to be where this partnership is heading.
After spending several weeks fretting about things that Theo does that are detrimental to our safety and our relationship, I realized that, as Theo has expounded upon for the duration of this relationship, he and I really do live two seperate lives. I shouldn't be upset about things that I have no jurisdiction over. But, now Theo doesn't like that and wants me to support his goals that include changing things in his life that have upset me. He gave me back the Tiffany's ring, and it's all a big mess right now...but, I suppose some commendation is necessary, since he and I have gone for almost a year with nary a quarrel.
I don't feel like talking about the rest of my day, because it bears little importance in comparison.
I think Theo and I are on a "break," a far as the popular term goes. I'm a moody prick who can't support my boyfriend, so I've deservedly been dismissed from the relationship. Theo belives that I'm not willing to accept that he's changing things in his life that make me morbidly unhappy, and my cynicism in this matter is unberable for him. He doesn't want to be in another dysfunctional relationship, and that seems to be where this partnership is heading.
After spending several weeks fretting about things that Theo does that are detrimental to our safety and our relationship, I realized that, as Theo has expounded upon for the duration of this relationship, he and I really do live two seperate lives. I shouldn't be upset about things that I have no jurisdiction over. But, now Theo doesn't like that and wants me to support his goals that include changing things in his life that have upset me. He gave me back the Tiffany's ring, and it's all a big mess right now...but, I suppose some commendation is necessary, since he and I have gone for almost a year with nary a quarrel.
I don't feel like talking about the rest of my day, because it bears little importance in comparison.
Saturday, October 19, 2002
For Theo's benefit...
...I will post about my impressions of his friends, Joe and Michael. Joe seems like a great, congenial fellow. He's adorably innocent, and seems like someone I'd like to get to know better more, and hopefully will via AIM. Mike seems like a typical queen--in a good way. He seems like an endless source of fun, and always has something amusing to say about minorities and "cultured queers." I like them both.
I visited Lauren tonight, and she gave me a really great lunchbox-type mangbagbox thing. It's decked out in 1940s London Tube advertising. It's uber-fun and I'm taking it with me everywhere. She really knows me.
I accomplished much today, including visiting the source of 65% of my insecurities and psychological ruin (JHS), picked up my new glasses (they're very strong), went shopping at St. Charles' new outdoor shopping center (Anthropologie still ferme), arranged to work at my REAL Gap over Thanksgiving break, and picked up some Krispy Kremes.
Tomorrow, I'm dining with Kim for breakfast, and then going to Chicago to shop for a winter coat, meet up with D. Shannon, and eventually go out with Theo.
...I will post about my impressions of his friends, Joe and Michael. Joe seems like a great, congenial fellow. He's adorably innocent, and seems like someone I'd like to get to know better more, and hopefully will via AIM. Mike seems like a typical queen--in a good way. He seems like an endless source of fun, and always has something amusing to say about minorities and "cultured queers." I like them both.
I visited Lauren tonight, and she gave me a really great lunchbox-type mangbagbox thing. It's decked out in 1940s London Tube advertising. It's uber-fun and I'm taking it with me everywhere. She really knows me.
I accomplished much today, including visiting the source of 65% of my insecurities and psychological ruin (JHS), picked up my new glasses (they're very strong), went shopping at St. Charles' new outdoor shopping center (Anthropologie still ferme), arranged to work at my REAL Gap over Thanksgiving break, and picked up some Krispy Kremes.
Tomorrow, I'm dining with Kim for breakfast, and then going to Chicago to shop for a winter coat, meet up with D. Shannon, and eventually go out with Theo.
Friday, October 18, 2002
Guilty pleasures
Is it wrong for me to look at showering without wearing foot apparel a luxury? Or even having one's sleeping quarters be kept at a temperature above 45 degrees Farenheit? Or being able to use my cell phone without unruly roaming charges? I think they shouldn't be.
The drive home took longer than Erin and I expected. I went to Royal, a seedy but entertaining club in Chicago, with Theo and his friends Joe and Mike. The highlight of the evening was probably seeing Brad Deron. I forgot how much I enjoyed exchanging awkward, all-knowing glances and "How are you"s with him in high school.
Must go to Maggiano's with family now.
Is it wrong for me to look at showering without wearing foot apparel a luxury? Or even having one's sleeping quarters be kept at a temperature above 45 degrees Farenheit? Or being able to use my cell phone without unruly roaming charges? I think they shouldn't be.
The drive home took longer than Erin and I expected. I went to Royal, a seedy but entertaining club in Chicago, with Theo and his friends Joe and Mike. The highlight of the evening was probably seeing Brad Deron. I forgot how much I enjoyed exchanging awkward, all-knowing glances and "How are you"s with him in high school.
Must go to Maggiano's with family now.
Wednesday, October 16, 2002
Home again, home again
In about 15 hours, I'll be on my way home. This makes me happy. There are so many people I want to see while I'm home, but I won't even get to see half of them. Highlights include Royal tomorrow, picking up my new glasses, going back to Jacobs, and dining with my family at Maggiano's Friday, breakfasting and shopping and other strange things Saturday, and hopefully seeing my grandparents on Sunday. Full, full.
Like most people, I have my good emotional days and my bad emotional days. Today was definitely a bad emotional day. Every day brings me new revelations about the life I've developed for myself. If I had friends, I wouldn't be allowed to think so much about things because I'd be too preoccupied with the mindless banter that is, conversation with a Missourian. A boy from Erin's floor already dropped out. That just seems very stupid.
Theo had to get his alternator replaced, and departed from sunny CoMo Tuesday morning.
Last night, I had to work at the Gap until clse to 3:00am. I befriended a girl from Colorado, however. That will develop into literally nothing, since I am no longer an employee at Gap.
Off to bed.
In about 15 hours, I'll be on my way home. This makes me happy. There are so many people I want to see while I'm home, but I won't even get to see half of them. Highlights include Royal tomorrow, picking up my new glasses, going back to Jacobs, and dining with my family at Maggiano's Friday, breakfasting and shopping and other strange things Saturday, and hopefully seeing my grandparents on Sunday. Full, full.
Like most people, I have my good emotional days and my bad emotional days. Today was definitely a bad emotional day. Every day brings me new revelations about the life I've developed for myself. If I had friends, I wouldn't be allowed to think so much about things because I'd be too preoccupied with the mindless banter that is, conversation with a Missourian. A boy from Erin's floor already dropped out. That just seems very stupid.
Theo had to get his alternator replaced, and departed from sunny CoMo Tuesday morning.
Last night, I had to work at the Gap until clse to 3:00am. I befriended a girl from Colorado, however. That will develop into literally nothing, since I am no longer an employee at Gap.
Off to bed.
Monday, October 14, 2002
50 words about my weekend
...Because that's all Theo will allow me to write. He's still here, because his car's damaged somewhat. We went to St. Louis yesterday, and are about to leave for lunch at Jimmy John's (Theo doesn't want to eat dorm food becaus he's "on vacation"). Besides the occasional game of Rummy and a lot of driving about, we didn't do much in this "one-horse town." I have 8 words left. Oh, and the bed is too small for both of us. That's it.
...Because that's all Theo will allow me to write. He's still here, because his car's damaged somewhat. We went to St. Louis yesterday, and are about to leave for lunch at Jimmy John's (Theo doesn't want to eat dorm food becaus he's "on vacation"). Besides the occasional game of Rummy and a lot of driving about, we didn't do much in this "one-horse town." I have 8 words left. Oh, and the bed is too small for both of us. That's it.
Friday, October 11, 2002
Read the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth
I'm not going to kill myself. It is just a current peroccupation. No warning signs here--I'm not giving any of you my things, I'm not madly scribbling down suicide letters, I'm not dressing in (all) black. I'm not suddenly "cherful and optomistic" like I would be if I were to off myself.
Today is National Coming Out day. Doesn't that make you sick? My fellow Mizzou queers were out queening around in Speaker's Circle today, with an irrationally-appointed loudspeaker. i avoided it like the plague...it just seems horrible. "Hey, all you breeders! You 'clit lickers!' This is our week to prove that we actually do like everything you think we do, we are, in fact, the stereotypes you think we are, and are just as bizarre as we seem! Come gawk at us. Now." As Erin and I stelathily walked far enough around the Speaker's Circle to not be seen, we overheard some small man shrieking: "Now we're going to sing some RuPaul!" I think I've had enough.
Theo is hopefully driving down tonight. That makes me happy.
I'm not going to kill myself. It is just a current peroccupation. No warning signs here--I'm not giving any of you my things, I'm not madly scribbling down suicide letters, I'm not dressing in (all) black. I'm not suddenly "cherful and optomistic" like I would be if I were to off myself.
Today is National Coming Out day. Doesn't that make you sick? My fellow Mizzou queers were out queening around in Speaker's Circle today, with an irrationally-appointed loudspeaker. i avoided it like the plague...it just seems horrible. "Hey, all you breeders! You 'clit lickers!' This is our week to prove that we actually do like everything you think we do, we are, in fact, the stereotypes you think we are, and are just as bizarre as we seem! Come gawk at us. Now." As Erin and I stelathily walked far enough around the Speaker's Circle to not be seen, we overheard some small man shrieking: "Now we're going to sing some RuPaul!" I think I've had enough.
Theo is hopefully driving down tonight. That makes me happy.
C'est tres morbide, ma vie.
Nothing to report. I've had this preoccupation with suicide lately--not to actually do it to myself, per se, but with the idea in general. I'm reading Bret Easton Ellis' "The Rules of Attraction," and have just finished the suicide-laden "The Bell Jar" by the wonderful Sylvia Plath.
I think if I were to do it, I would have a glass of wine with a few sleeping pills or tabs of codeine, slit my wrists with the shards of the crystal of the aforementioned goblet, and climb into a warm bathtub with one of my Bath Bombs from Lush in London, while listening to classical music or Jazzanova or Cibo Matto. I'd like to do this in some romantic place, like a four-star hotel in Paris, with ball-and-claw tubs. I would write several suicide letters on nice stationary, and have one addressed to my sister, my mother, my father, Theo, Erin, my Aunt Jennifer, and perhaps Lauren and Jill and C. Shannon (even though I'm quite apathetic about my friendship with the latter). I'd leave them on the unused bed. Don't worry, readers--we don't have bathtubs here, or wine or nice, expensive wine glasses. Just big ugly dirty showers, bathtub gin, and red plastc Solo cups. Not much damage can/will be done.
The thing that has kept me from suicide all these years has been my parents. I don't ever want to force my parents to see me floating around in a pool of blood and death, or ganging from a well-tied noose. That would break them. When I really wanted to do it, circa sophomore year and beyond, I thought I would hang myself in my closet, and put a big black garbage bag over my body with a note saying, "I love you. Don't look under this bag; I'm dead. Just call the paramedics and have them deal with it. I'm sorry." I don't want them to have to tell their friends and relatives that I was a weak little brat and killed myself, nor do I want them to have to bury me and deal with all of that emotional/financial trouble. I would hate that. I don't want to ravage my family's namesake.
Fuck, who am I--Mulan?
I think I want to study opera writing/music theory/musical theater writing/journalism/music performance at Columbia College.
Nothing to report. I've had this preoccupation with suicide lately--not to actually do it to myself, per se, but with the idea in general. I'm reading Bret Easton Ellis' "The Rules of Attraction," and have just finished the suicide-laden "The Bell Jar" by the wonderful Sylvia Plath.
I think if I were to do it, I would have a glass of wine with a few sleeping pills or tabs of codeine, slit my wrists with the shards of the crystal of the aforementioned goblet, and climb into a warm bathtub with one of my Bath Bombs from Lush in London, while listening to classical music or Jazzanova or Cibo Matto. I'd like to do this in some romantic place, like a four-star hotel in Paris, with ball-and-claw tubs. I would write several suicide letters on nice stationary, and have one addressed to my sister, my mother, my father, Theo, Erin, my Aunt Jennifer, and perhaps Lauren and Jill and C. Shannon (even though I'm quite apathetic about my friendship with the latter). I'd leave them on the unused bed. Don't worry, readers--we don't have bathtubs here, or wine or nice, expensive wine glasses. Just big ugly dirty showers, bathtub gin, and red plastc Solo cups. Not much damage can/will be done.
The thing that has kept me from suicide all these years has been my parents. I don't ever want to force my parents to see me floating around in a pool of blood and death, or ganging from a well-tied noose. That would break them. When I really wanted to do it, circa sophomore year and beyond, I thought I would hang myself in my closet, and put a big black garbage bag over my body with a note saying, "I love you. Don't look under this bag; I'm dead. Just call the paramedics and have them deal with it. I'm sorry." I don't want them to have to tell their friends and relatives that I was a weak little brat and killed myself, nor do I want them to have to bury me and deal with all of that emotional/financial trouble. I would hate that. I don't want to ravage my family's namesake.
Fuck, who am I--Mulan?
I think I want to study opera writing/music theory/musical theater writing/journalism/music performance at Columbia College.
Wednesday, October 09, 2002
Impass
I feel, suddenly, like my life really has no direction. I arrange my life around horribly absurd plans I have, make these naively conditional statements (if...then), and overall hope for some outlandish "best" that really never occurs in entirety. Why do I even hope that one day, my life is going to make some magnificent turnaround, and this yellow school bus to hell will put its red flashers on and let me off at the next suburban intersection? I didn't see the "Express" sign when I boarded, so please, Fate, just give me one chance to right my wrongs.
But then, I realize, I can't change myself; I can't change the situations I will encounter. Not because there is a fate, but because I am "destined" to act upon future experiences in a Freudian textbook way, based upon my past experiences and memories. A tree can't change its rings, the fruit it produces, the shape and colour of its foliage, its permanent resting ground. Why should I have ever thought...
Sometimes, I wish that bird had never nested in my branches. Sure, it's great to have a companion, to exist in some primal, deleriously sublime symbiosis with a brightly-painted, winged deity. But one day, the bird will not come back to lay more bits of stuff down in its settled, comfortable nest. It will not produce more eggs of wisdom and insight in my tree. It will fly off, into a sunset the tree will never really know, never touch, never experience. And then, what is left? A downyfluff part here, a meticulously-placed branch there. While all physical evidence is gone, while the nest slowly joins the breeze in an endless dance, while the eggshells of moments lost join the grass, the rings tell the story. The rings felt it all, and stored those experiences deep in its painted lines, its structure, its soul. Those moments cannot be cast from the somber, cold ellipses.
This featheryou have (or have not) been reading, made of fluffy words and birdshit, did have somewhere to land, but now it's stuck to the bottom of a Lincoln's Skecher shoe. In conclusion...ugh.
I feel, suddenly, like my life really has no direction. I arrange my life around horribly absurd plans I have, make these naively conditional statements (if...then), and overall hope for some outlandish "best" that really never occurs in entirety. Why do I even hope that one day, my life is going to make some magnificent turnaround, and this yellow school bus to hell will put its red flashers on and let me off at the next suburban intersection? I didn't see the "Express" sign when I boarded, so please, Fate, just give me one chance to right my wrongs.
But then, I realize, I can't change myself; I can't change the situations I will encounter. Not because there is a fate, but because I am "destined" to act upon future experiences in a Freudian textbook way, based upon my past experiences and memories. A tree can't change its rings, the fruit it produces, the shape and colour of its foliage, its permanent resting ground. Why should I have ever thought...
Sometimes, I wish that bird had never nested in my branches. Sure, it's great to have a companion, to exist in some primal, deleriously sublime symbiosis with a brightly-painted, winged deity. But one day, the bird will not come back to lay more bits of stuff down in its settled, comfortable nest. It will not produce more eggs of wisdom and insight in my tree. It will fly off, into a sunset the tree will never really know, never touch, never experience. And then, what is left? A downyfluff part here, a meticulously-placed branch there. While all physical evidence is gone, while the nest slowly joins the breeze in an endless dance, while the eggshells of moments lost join the grass, the rings tell the story. The rings felt it all, and stored those experiences deep in its painted lines, its structure, its soul. Those moments cannot be cast from the somber, cold ellipses.
This featheryou have (or have not) been reading, made of fluffy words and birdshit, did have somewhere to land, but now it's stuck to the bottom of a Lincoln's Skecher shoe. In conclusion...ugh.
Tuesday, October 08, 2002
Jack Shafer needs to tell you something! He needs to tell you right now, and you need to listen!
Read this article if you have any interest in journalism or going to a J-school. Right now.
Read this article if you have any interest in journalism or going to a J-school. Right now.
The queer man is gone, the queer man is gone--HALLELUJAH--the queer man is gone.
I finally quit the Gap today. I was very unsure about it all, because I would like the money, and I'm worried they aren't going to let me finish up the next two weeks out of anger or something. But, I went in to buy socks this evening and everyone was very cold to me. That was my first sign that my absence would be advantageous to me. Then, I tried on a new brown suede coat with that furry cotton interior in size small, and it was much too large. That was ironic sign number two. As I gave my letter of resignation to my manager, I overheard the redundant Gap tape: Shakira's "Objection (Tango)" was blaring, and the Latin lass was screaming "Get away...get away!" I knew then that my decision was of great benefit to me, even though I now will have no money and nothing to do in the evenings. Sacrifices must be made.
My beatiful freshman sister is going to homecoming! With a senior! In her beautiful strapless Jessica McClintock gown! I'm really excited, and upset that I couldn't come home this weekend to witness my sister's first big step into high school. Two weeks, Brian...two weeks.
Erin has started a blog, but I don't think she'd like me to put up a link to it. Just in case.
I finally quit the Gap today. I was very unsure about it all, because I would like the money, and I'm worried they aren't going to let me finish up the next two weeks out of anger or something. But, I went in to buy socks this evening and everyone was very cold to me. That was my first sign that my absence would be advantageous to me. Then, I tried on a new brown suede coat with that furry cotton interior in size small, and it was much too large. That was ironic sign number two. As I gave my letter of resignation to my manager, I overheard the redundant Gap tape: Shakira's "Objection (Tango)" was blaring, and the Latin lass was screaming "Get away...get away!" I knew then that my decision was of great benefit to me, even though I now will have no money and nothing to do in the evenings. Sacrifices must be made.
My beatiful freshman sister is going to homecoming! With a senior! In her beautiful strapless Jessica McClintock gown! I'm really excited, and upset that I couldn't come home this weekend to witness my sister's first big step into high school. Two weeks, Brian...two weeks.
Erin has started a blog, but I don't think she'd like me to put up a link to it. Just in case.
Comment dit-ons...stereotyping?
Tuesday is generally my favourite day of the week--I only have one class, French. But today, in la classe de Francaise, we were divided up into les hommes and les femmes to "describe what the perfect boy/girl would be like." Is that right? Can she really do that? I don't want to describe the "perfect girl" in a romantic sense. I felt awkward and betrayed, as I sat with Missouri's finest genteman discussing whether we want our girl to be really young, submissive, "hard-working," or short. Itwas immediately decided that she shouldn't talk very much. This is rediculous.
How do we feel about the headers preceding every entry? I think it's kind of convenient.
Tuesday is generally my favourite day of the week--I only have one class, French. But today, in la classe de Francaise, we were divided up into les hommes and les femmes to "describe what the perfect boy/girl would be like." Is that right? Can she really do that? I don't want to describe the "perfect girl" in a romantic sense. I felt awkward and betrayed, as I sat with Missouri's finest genteman discussing whether we want our girl to be really young, submissive, "hard-working," or short. Itwas immediately decided that she shouldn't talk very much. This is rediculous.
How do we feel about the headers preceding every entry? I think it's kind of convenient.
Monday, October 07, 2002
Drawing Blanks
Aside from "making" a B on my Philosophy midterm (Missourified English yeah!) and doing laundry, I have nothing to report. I'm writing a few letters now, but that's all. I puchased Monsoon Wedding at Wal-Mart today. Pardon me...the SUPER Wal-Mart. Sierra, my cashier, charged me (somehow) for two DVDs. If I hadn't have muttered something to Erin about the high price for my otherwise nominal groceries, it would have gone uncorrected. I have never had so much fun in Wal-Mart before, by the way.
I want to be able to fly. I really do.
Aside from "making" a B on my Philosophy midterm (Missourified English yeah!) and doing laundry, I have nothing to report. I'm writing a few letters now, but that's all. I puchased Monsoon Wedding at Wal-Mart today. Pardon me...the SUPER Wal-Mart. Sierra, my cashier, charged me (somehow) for two DVDs. If I hadn't have muttered something to Erin about the high price for my otherwise nominal groceries, it would have gone uncorrected. I have never had so much fun in Wal-Mart before, by the way.
I want to be able to fly. I really do.
Non-Sequitur
I suddenly had a memory wave over me--I remember, junior year, after I had broken up with Bob the first time and was really upset at myself for doing it, Erin writing on a piece of paper in green ink,
"Your heart will heal and you will love like this again."
Without Erin, I would be nobody today. I love her so much...more than I could love any man or any other friend. We are sympathetic overtones on a piano--when one of us vibrates, a perfect third or fifth is created by the other. She's helped me through a lot. I'm jst worried I'm going to forget that once I don't see her every day.
I can remember during "Crazy for You" we went through a fourteen-day period where we saw each other every single day. Which is hard for highschoolers, with transportation and all. But we did it.
I feel fortunate to have so many great people in my life, and have felt this way about all of my closest friends at some point. But this is the memory that came up first; the Lotto ball that was vaccumed from the plastic orb ahead of the others.
Good night.
I suddenly had a memory wave over me--I remember, junior year, after I had broken up with Bob the first time and was really upset at myself for doing it, Erin writing on a piece of paper in green ink,
"Your heart will heal and you will love like this again."
Without Erin, I would be nobody today. I love her so much...more than I could love any man or any other friend. We are sympathetic overtones on a piano--when one of us vibrates, a perfect third or fifth is created by the other. She's helped me through a lot. I'm jst worried I'm going to forget that once I don't see her every day.
I can remember during "Crazy for You" we went through a fourteen-day period where we saw each other every single day. Which is hard for highschoolers, with transportation and all. But we did it.
I feel fortunate to have so many great people in my life, and have felt this way about all of my closest friends at some point. But this is the memory that came up first; the Lotto ball that was vaccumed from the plastic orb ahead of the others.
Good night.
Sunday, October 06, 2002
Hall Meeting Excitement!
We had our second Hillcrest A-Wing meeting today. The "A-Wing" of Hillcrest probably has about fifty guys in it. There were seven residents at the meeting tonight. Hmm. But, I did "involve" myself by becoming the Publicity Chairman for our wing. This basically means I put up posters. But, it'll "look good on a resume." I was done with the meeting after the same trashy guy mentioned something about allotting hall funds to "get some strippers," and how "those fucking Mexican women" are cleaning the bathroom when he's in the shower. So, that about sums it up why I hate it here.
And, of course, surprisingly enough, Theo's mad at me. It's regarding the phone call I received yesterday morning. Apparently, me placing judgement upon him (...) is something he can't handle. Erin best analyzed this situation by saying, "There are two types of people: the people who, when someone is angry with them, lets it go, and the people who, when someone is angry with them, reciprocate those feelings and are angry back." That's all I'm going to say about that.
I'm awaiting a call from my parents about whether or not I have their support in quitting from Gap.
We had our second Hillcrest A-Wing meeting today. The "A-Wing" of Hillcrest probably has about fifty guys in it. There were seven residents at the meeting tonight. Hmm. But, I did "involve" myself by becoming the Publicity Chairman for our wing. This basically means I put up posters. But, it'll "look good on a resume." I was done with the meeting after the same trashy guy mentioned something about allotting hall funds to "get some strippers," and how "those fucking Mexican women" are cleaning the bathroom when he's in the shower. So, that about sums it up why I hate it here.
And, of course, surprisingly enough, Theo's mad at me. It's regarding the phone call I received yesterday morning. Apparently, me placing judgement upon him (...) is something he can't handle. Erin best analyzed this situation by saying, "There are two types of people: the people who, when someone is angry with them, lets it go, and the people who, when someone is angry with them, reciprocate those feelings and are angry back." That's all I'm going to say about that.
I'm awaiting a call from my parents about whether or not I have their support in quitting from Gap.
Saturday, October 05, 2002
When it rains...
My Saturday was quite unenjoyable. I was awoken both literally and metaphorically by a phone call. A phone call that quite disturbed me. A phone call I will not describe in detail, for purposes of confidentiality.
Work added another layer to the calorie-filled pastry of my life. I will not divulge why I am so angered, embarassed, and upset about my experience at work today, because it's incredibly horrible and embarassing. I will say this much: as a result of my experience today, and my general discontentment with my occupation, I am resigning from my position as an employee at Gap. This Gap, that is--I will resume work in West Dundee come winter break.
My Saturday ended on a high(er) note, as I watched "Sliding Doors" with Erin and Jen. I think I'll conclude there, unless there's something I'll need to complain about in my guestbook.
My Saturday was quite unenjoyable. I was awoken both literally and metaphorically by a phone call. A phone call that quite disturbed me. A phone call I will not describe in detail, for purposes of confidentiality.
Work added another layer to the calorie-filled pastry of my life. I will not divulge why I am so angered, embarassed, and upset about my experience at work today, because it's incredibly horrible and embarassing. I will say this much: as a result of my experience today, and my general discontentment with my occupation, I am resigning from my position as an employee at Gap. This Gap, that is--I will resume work in West Dundee come winter break.
My Saturday ended on a high(er) note, as I watched "Sliding Doors" with Erin and Jen. I think I'll conclude there, unless there's something I'll need to complain about in my guestbook.
Tragedy of the Commons
I'm pretty sure someone's going to die tonight. I'm sitting here, doing things that lack relevance to the story, while I hear screaming and shouting and crying coming from outside of my window, which provides a view of our lovely courtyard. Some assumably "white" girl is screaming about something. Then, she quiets down, when two obviously "black" men are shouting insults at each other, and threatening bodily harm and death on the other. Very strange. Oh well. Just as long as their bullets stay out of my room, I don't care who dies or loses a weave.
(I'll just apoogize about that one now.)
I'm pretty sure someone's going to die tonight. I'm sitting here, doing things that lack relevance to the story, while I hear screaming and shouting and crying coming from outside of my window, which provides a view of our lovely courtyard. Some assumably "white" girl is screaming about something. Then, she quiets down, when two obviously "black" men are shouting insults at each other, and threatening bodily harm and death on the other. Very strange. Oh well. Just as long as their bullets stay out of my room, I don't care who dies or loses a weave.
(I'll just apoogize about that one now.)
Friday, October 04, 2002
I'm going to make every attempt to return the state of my Blog to normal. Whatever that means.
My day was uneventful...that's no surprise. Highlights include getting yet another easy A on a Philo. quiz and a French test, studying at Denny's for Astronomy with Erin, switching to Menthol Milds, to be more economical (More nicotine = less smoking), and working. That's about all.
I cannot wait to move back to Chicago. Or to Chicago, I suppose, since I never really lived there before.
My day was uneventful...that's no surprise. Highlights include getting yet another easy A on a Philo. quiz and a French test, studying at Denny's for Astronomy with Erin, switching to Menthol Milds, to be more economical (More nicotine = less smoking), and working. That's about all.
I cannot wait to move back to Chicago. Or to Chicago, I suppose, since I never really lived there before.
Thursday, October 03, 2002
Wait...there are people in this world who can love me and accept that I'm a person, without focusing solely on my irrelevant sexual preference?
I'm glad my journal has become an outpost for all Brown Shirt loathers of the class of 2002. And to think, for all those years, I thought you all hated me because I was gay. I'm so relieved to know that it was just because I'm a "dick," a "stuck up bitch." Golly, and to think...
My day was clouded by the fact that unnamed peers have been abusing my Blog and my guestbook. Anyone else have anything to add, concerning your personal differences with me? You know where to go.
My day was clouded by the fact that unnamed peers have been abusing my Blog and my guestbook. Anyone else have anything to add, concerning your personal differences with me? You know where to go.
Holy fucking shit.
I invite you all to look at my guestbook. Go ahead, do it now. The first post is all you need to see.
Are you back? Good.
That is what I've had to deal with for the past four years. Nothing but blatant ignorance. Whoever posted that, and whoever is now reading this to mock my queer existence, fuck you. Didn't you do enough damage? I thought that once I received my diploma, it would all be over.
Thank you, though, for reminding me that I really am just a stupid fag. A big flaming faggot. For awhile, I thought the world was something more than sexuality, something more than ethnicity, something more than social status, something more than the permanent code passed on to us from generations prior.
But no. Clearly, I will never be more than a "flamer."
Thank you for telling me the truth. I needed that.
I invite you all to look at my guestbook. Go ahead, do it now. The first post is all you need to see.
Are you back? Good.
That is what I've had to deal with for the past four years. Nothing but blatant ignorance. Whoever posted that, and whoever is now reading this to mock my queer existence, fuck you. Didn't you do enough damage? I thought that once I received my diploma, it would all be over.
Thank you, though, for reminding me that I really am just a stupid fag. A big flaming faggot. For awhile, I thought the world was something more than sexuality, something more than ethnicity, something more than social status, something more than the permanent code passed on to us from generations prior.
But no. Clearly, I will never be more than a "flamer."
Thank you for telling me the truth. I needed that.
After speaking with my father, and trying to expertly weasel my way out of talking to an old friend but actually wanting to talk to him, or rather wanting him to want to talk to me, I have determined that I am a terrible person. I am an aspiring elitist, bu have absolutely no traits in my life to be proud of. I'm so underdeveloped socially, it's not even funny. I'm incredibly fickle and evil. I am condescending to everyone, and moreso to people who threaten my intelligence and sensibility. I just am a really horrible example of a human being.
Conservative Shannon. My heart goes out to her. My father told me that a girl on Shannon's floor slit her wrists, and then came into Shannon's room, bleeding all over. How traumatic is that. Even moreso, when considering this is not the first suicide CS has witnessed. As a freshman at Lake Forest Academy, Shannon was on the Model UN. While conferencing in Chicago, she and a few of her fellow UN-ers witnessed a woman leap from a skyscraper and fall mere yards from them. Why don't ungodly, horrible things like that happen to me? I'm the one who deserves to suffer, God--not Shannon.
But alas...my only punishment is the occasional mouse dropping I find scattered about my room.
Conservative Shannon. My heart goes out to her. My father told me that a girl on Shannon's floor slit her wrists, and then came into Shannon's room, bleeding all over. How traumatic is that. Even moreso, when considering this is not the first suicide CS has witnessed. As a freshman at Lake Forest Academy, Shannon was on the Model UN. While conferencing in Chicago, she and a few of her fellow UN-ers witnessed a woman leap from a skyscraper and fall mere yards from them. Why don't ungodly, horrible things like that happen to me? I'm the one who deserves to suffer, God--not Shannon.
But alas...my only punishment is the occasional mouse dropping I find scattered about my room.
Wednesday, October 02, 2002
Work last night went much, much better than forseen. My manager was chatting with the GapKids store manager when I arrived. She told me my absence was put in the system as just an absence, not a no-call no-show. So, I didn't get written up and everyone at Gap still loves me. Hooray. Or rather, horray.
While at the "cash wrap" (registers) last night, a short boy asked for my phone number. He told me it was for "his friend," but I'm almost certain, since I saw him at the Tri-Co meetingmy first visit, that he was asking for his own devices. I politely told him that I actually don't know my phone number, which is true. I was looking through my Caller ID and kept seeing what I thought was my number pop up. But, of course, it was Erin's number. Drat.
I spoke with Theo last night for an hour or so. I succeeded in irritating him over and over again.
I'm writing to all of you from the Artisan Cafe, a high-speed Intenet-friendly establishment I have spoken of before. Outside, there's a dreaful downpour occurring, washing away dust and grime this city contains, only for new dirt to fall upon the buildings, cars, and inhabitants anew tomorrow. The gentle Jazz music they're broadcasting through this quaint little find is soothing. Yet another escape from "CoMo."
While at the "cash wrap" (registers) last night, a short boy asked for my phone number. He told me it was for "his friend," but I'm almost certain, since I saw him at the Tri-Co meetingmy first visit, that he was asking for his own devices. I politely told him that I actually don't know my phone number, which is true. I was looking through my Caller ID and kept seeing what I thought was my number pop up. But, of course, it was Erin's number. Drat.
I spoke with Theo last night for an hour or so. I succeeded in irritating him over and over again.
I'm writing to all of you from the Artisan Cafe, a high-speed Intenet-friendly establishment I have spoken of before. Outside, there's a dreaful downpour occurring, washing away dust and grime this city contains, only for new dirt to fall upon the buildings, cars, and inhabitants anew tomorrow. The gentle Jazz music they're broadcasting through this quaint little find is soothing. Yet another escape from "CoMo."
Tuesday, October 01, 2002
Number eleven on my list may not be true for long.
Sigma Chi, a prominent fraternity on our campus, has just been suspended for four years, following a freshman's letter to the chancellor about hazing (which included ammonia being poured on pledge's heads, dry shaving, and being forced to drink from a used spittoon) and a month-long undercover investigation. So, now the 65 or so freshmen living in Sigma Chi's southern comfort mansion have to move into approved housing, per Residential Life edict. Since there's already a horrendous overcrowding issue on campus, I don't doubt these fratastic football-playing fools will have to move in here. Fuck fuck fuck.
I did, just a moment ago, discover why Christian moved out--the room accross the hallway was unoccupied, so now he and I both have our own rooms. Not too terrible.
Erin and I saw "Sweet Home Alabama" this evening. The ending was terrible, unrealistic and droll. People DO change, Mr. Screenwriter. Everyone changes, save for a few inherent, permanent traits. How many humans have successful life-long relationships with people they met before they experienced different culture, new environments, and people to match? Terrible, terrible.
I should stop reading books, seeing movies, going home, and dreaming while asleep. These hypnotic voyages from reality just make my real surroundings that much more to bear.
Work tomorrow. I'm scared. I don't know if I could bear getting fired.
Sigma Chi, a prominent fraternity on our campus, has just been suspended for four years, following a freshman's letter to the chancellor about hazing (which included ammonia being poured on pledge's heads, dry shaving, and being forced to drink from a used spittoon) and a month-long undercover investigation. So, now the 65 or so freshmen living in Sigma Chi's southern comfort mansion have to move into approved housing, per Residential Life edict. Since there's already a horrendous overcrowding issue on campus, I don't doubt these fratastic football-playing fools will have to move in here. Fuck fuck fuck.
I did, just a moment ago, discover why Christian moved out--the room accross the hallway was unoccupied, so now he and I both have our own rooms. Not too terrible.
Erin and I saw "Sweet Home Alabama" this evening. The ending was terrible, unrealistic and droll. People DO change, Mr. Screenwriter. Everyone changes, save for a few inherent, permanent traits. How many humans have successful life-long relationships with people they met before they experienced different culture, new environments, and people to match? Terrible, terrible.
I should stop reading books, seeing movies, going home, and dreaming while asleep. These hypnotic voyages from reality just make my real surroundings that much more to bear.
Work tomorrow. I'm scared. I don't know if I could bear getting fired.