the following post was written yesterday at around 5:00. Needless to say, I was in a helter-skelter mood. Things are better now than they were yesterday. Not great, but better.

So, I’m alone. Just me, in my “dorm room,” with my computer that does not connect to the Internet yet (this will be posted later) and a fan that is keeping the 100-degree Missouri weather at bay. While this residence hall has air conditioning, there may as well be a space heater at full blast in the corner for all I know...being on the top floor (no elevator) allows all the wonderful heat to rise in my direction. Hooray for me, Mr. College Man!

I’m not sure how I feel about all of this, regardless of how forlorn my tone may have been above. This may be a quasi-fun year for me; I can’t predict right now. In the wake of a tearful goodbye to my parents and sister, all that’s keeping me together right now is the knowledge that I can form a path out of this World Trade Center basement! When the dawn breaks and I receive an acceptance letter from GW or NW for next year, I will know that no terrorist, no toothless bigot, no drawling professor will be
able to deny me my right to a great education, surrounded by liberal inteligent peers. Peers. Hmm. I know I should be out, wandering the halls of my building, introducing myself to my fellow Hillcrest-ians, but I don’t want to.

I cried about Theo and leaving from Dundee to DeKalb.

I'm currently typing in the "computer lab" (Read: four old computers in the back of the lobby). I'll post more soon, when i get my computer set up. For now, I'll leave you with this: I miss Theo, love that Erin is here, and am sort of scared about the whole coming out process with my roommate. Write more later.

Brian is only one 45 dollar ticket, 5 and half hours and a short car journey (or so he says) away from me. That's good to know.

I'm leaving. I've cried all day--first, when I left Theo's house this morning. Sobbed all the way home. then, my father gave me a sort of "pep talk," and he got choked up and had to go inside. (We were on the front porch.) Then, my mother gave me a hug, and I "bawled" for several moments. I'm sure that won't be the last time I cry today. I'll post when I get settled in.

If any of you would like to have my school address, for a legitimate reason, please E-mail me at Boyinbrownshirt@aol.com. I have a REALLY long day tomorrow.

Aah, the wonders of technology–I’m currently sitting in my massive Grand Marquis; to grandmother’s house I go. (I’ll actually post this later.)

Yesterday, I woke up early to meet Theo in the city. Things never go as planned; transportation was an issue because I wanted to take the blue line in, while he opted for the train. It was confusing. But, we made it in and toured Bucktown (Wicker Park) for several hours. After dining at Earwax (By far, the sketchiest bathroom I’ve ever witnessed) and purchasing fun recordable CDs at Orange Skin, we took the Blue Line back to my car and drove to his house for an evening of...well, in case James’ mother is reading this again, I’ll refrain from delving into tawdry details.

I was originally planning on going straight home after our meal at Panera last night, but as I was driving home, my friend Lauren called me. Lauren and I used to be the best of friends, but as most friendships deteriorate with age and separation, so did ours. But, I still think she’s a very fun and great person. (Should I have said “nice ‘n cool” instead?) We met at AMC 30 and saw “The Bourne Identity,” after I shot down her suggested idea, “Blue Crush.” Sorry, but no. Just no.

The Matt Damon flick was alright–unplausible, but alright.

Today, I delivered my little church choir solo with precision and drowsy ease. Funny–smoking has not changed my voice much at all–my range is still exactly the same, and my tone quality hasn’t depleted a bit. (Knocking on plastic wood trim in car)

I'd post exensively about the trip to Bucktown, good sex with Theo, and surprising trip to see "The Bourne Identity" with my friend Lauren, but I'm quite tired and have a solo to sing at the aforementioned never-before-attended church. I'll be back tomorrow.

Indeed.

Oh yes--new CDs I've purchased are as follows:

Verve-Remixed
Ani's Revelling/Reckoning
Ani's Dilate

Pretty basic. I guess it seemed more fun before I typed it out.

I'm currently writing to you all from my new, shiny HP notebook computer. Sorry, it's no Powerbook G4, but it will serve its purpose well.

I haven't posted in days; much has happened.

My car began to dramatically overheat on my return trip from CB2 with Theo. Thus, it took us four hours to return to Woodfield, and ultimately six hours for me to return home. We had to pull over every ten minutes; it was rediculous. Never before, however, have I witnessed how innocently only-childlike Theo is. I think there's a definite level of patience one acquires when dealing with siblings; when we pulled into the Woodfield Nordstrom parking lot, Theo bolted out of my car faster than one could utter "carborator." It was fine, though--I was able to read a very interesting article about September 11 in this month's Esquire.

I had the Midas gentlemen repair my car in no time--the thermostat that allows coolant into the engine snapped in half and refused to work. Sixty-five dollars later, I'm speeding around the greaer Dundee area like never before.

Today, I lunched with the choir teacher's daughter--and what a surprise/coincidence! The choir teacher herself just happened to be having lunch with HER middle-aged friends at the same restaurant--at the table facing ours! Horray for fun times like that. I survived--that's all I'm saying.

This keyboard will take some getting used to.

I worked for the last time tonight. Tres uneventful. Don't want to return for Christmas. (Don't want to work at the Missouri Gap the day after I move in either, but, whatever.)

Tomorrow, I'm spending the day and night with Theo. Sunday, I'm singing a solo in a church at which I've never attended a service, visiting my Waukegan grandparents and maternal side of the extended family, and seeing Erin Donnelly and possibly a cast of others as I attempt to piece together a group to see "TMLMTBGB."

College shopping mostly done. I just need a wine rack, Williams & Sonoma cutlery set, and some antique furniture pieces to replace the beachwood shit they supply me with. Practical, right?

Another night of watching B-movies with the Drunk Shannon clan ensued, because apparently not one else wishes to do anything with me. Hmm.

College shopping ensues. Lots of college shopping. Too much college shopping.

So, my roommate.

Intersting facts about Christian include:
--6'3" tall
--Enrolled in Navy/ROTC
--Older brother has paralyzing spinal injury
--Went to all-boys private high school
--Lifeguards (Self proclaimed "water rat")
--Into martial arts

I can't really tell if we're going to get along right now. Obviously, with his aspirations to go into the Navy, he's not going to like my homosexuality. This is not going to be cool. I don't want another high school experience in college. But, he seems reall nice and cool. 6'3"--that's TALL!

Off shopping for college.

I had the absolute worst day at work yesterday. I saw way too many people I know and despise. Then, because we were very un-busy and had 14 employees working the sales floor, they started cutting people, and even though I told them I needed to do college shopping with my mother, they refused to let me go. I don't think I'm going back to Spring Hill during my winter break. This weekend was Friends and Family weekend--while Deer Park made $100,000 and Michigan Ave. made $160,000 on Saturday alone, SpringHill made around $8,000, which was a grand short of our goal for the day. Who knows if my Gap will even exist when I return from school.

My roommate called while I was in the shower yesterday. The poor chap--he had to deal with the overbearing fool that is my mother upon first interaction with me. I called him back when I got home from work at 8:30, but he was away. He left a message on my machine this morning--he seems like someone who wouldn't like me--i.e. heterosexual football player "big man on campus." I'll call him after I'm done posting. (I'm really scared/nervous.)

I thought Erin, Cyndi and I were supposed to meet to depart for the city around 3:00 this afternoon, but apparently they didn't say that. I don't really know if I even want to go in.

I'm feeling better today. I've thought it over,and I'm pretty sure I'll just suffer. If I really hate it, I can always come home for winter semester. We'll see--I may even transfer out of my prison-esque digs before the fall semester is over.

I hate working. Especially for Friends and Family weekend. Not only is work not a fun thing to do on the weekend, but my schedule negates the possibility of traveling to teh city to enjoy Market Days. Whatever...I need the money.

Well, it doesn't look like I'm going away to school after all. I'm pretty sure it's fucking rediculous that I have to go to a school I don't even want to go to, live on some OTHER shitty college's campus, not have cable television or Ethernet, have to eat at the OTHER really shitty college's shitty cafeterias--I don't even know if using Mizzouri's bathrooms would be acceptable, since I'm not even a goddamned resident at their fucking shitty-ass college. So, I'm not going. We're calling Missouri today, my mother and I (the time what was going to be spent buying things for college will be spent canceling my registration at Mizzou). I'll just figure something else out for the fall semester. Fuck that. Fuck that hard and bloodily.

And I'm really sick of all the passive-aggression that happens on Blogs. Like, "Oh, well if I just post about it, I don't actually have to SAY anything to that person--they'll get it." Fuck passive-aggressionists.

I am so unspeakably pissed right now.

The only good thing of late is that Theo and I now have matching Tiffany's rings.

I don't even know what to type, I'm in such a funk. I feel like everything in my life is changing colours--it'll all be the same stress, pressure, disappointment, and overall unhappiness, but with a different colored piece of mylar in front of the spotlight. I'll still be working for some faceless, forgotten fossil of a corporation, just with new people I'll inevetably dislike. I'll still be going to school, except this time I may actually have to study or something. I'll still have Theo, I suppose, but he certainly doesn't seem very hopeful or interested in his contract for next season's episodes. Why should I feel guilty for accidentally slipping a "what's up?" into a phone conversation with him? Oh, golly, that's right--because I'll always be the submissive bitch. Of this relationship, or any relationship.

Moving on...

The only things that will be constant in my life are Erin and cigarettes. They will eventually betray me, too--Erin will make shiny new friends, and leave me to fend for myself among the GLBT remains, while cigarettes will ruin my voice, decrease my breathing capabilities, and further disappoint my parents, who, by the way, hate me. (My mother reamed me out on my cell this afternoon while I was driving to the city about my smoking, my oration to my parents about my desire for a decent computer, and generally how I'm destined to be a fuckup.)

I hate crying when I cry, but for some reason I always long to cry when I can't.

I don't think I've ever felt so confused about this relationship. Last night was...very bizarre and irrational, and I'm still trying to understand how everything came to pass. Otherwise, everything else is old and nothing else is new.

I am so unspeakably, frustratingly pissed right now. I'm really stressed, I need a CIGARETTE, I had to spend the entire day with my utterly neurotic/schizophrenic family today in Chciago, and other things that I'm not going to type about. I need to talk to someone.

Ravinia was grand, as it always should be. it was not, as I suspected, the CSO's last performance. Oh, Shannon.

Call me insensitive, but I am sick of this overplayed news story about the nine rescued miners. Every commentator on NPR is constantly hearalding the story as one "the nation really needed in the wake of September 11." There's that hackeneyed phrase I despise--the wake of September 11. I'm glad they were rescued, but is it really necessary for the media to engulf this story and paint it as a wonderful, miraculous act of God-granted heroism? Let's not make it out as something it's not, just so as a nation, WE can feel catharsized or something about this. It happened at least a week ago, and yet the Chicago Tribune website (my homepage) still features an extensive link to the pictures and stories on their main page. I have no heart, what can I say.

I was supposed to go to Ravinia tonight with C. Shannon, to witness the CSO's last performance of the season. But, instead, it looks like she may be going to a wedding early...I don't know what's going on, and I'd like to get these thigns ironed out soon so I can make backup plans if necessary.

Oh, and one last thing. If I ever have to make a PlanetOut profile again, I will certainly include "Waking Life" as one of my favourite films. This independent animation film was essentially a dissertation on dreams and their relation to death and our jaded sense of reality, set to the most amazing animation I have ever seen. It wasn't a traditional, fluid motion animation style--it was more like someone painted each animation cell without comparing it to the last cell he drew, so it has a non-cohesive, non-linear style, which I found to be amazing. I could have muted the film and just enjoyed the animation, but the score and dream-related discussions were much too intense. I reccommend all of you to see it.

I'm still having issues, except now, I've been thinking about them all non-stop, so their viscosity has intensified. I'm having sleepless nights followed by mornings I should be waking up early to greet. I hate this.

Oh, and it's confirmed--I'm officially staying in a residence hall NOT located on my university's campus. Yes, my dorm is located several blocks away from Mizzou's campus on a really shitty college's three-yard sprawl, Stephens College. So, my mother's pissed, Erin's pissed, and I'm certainly "pissed."

Tonight, I get to work during some teenage night at the mall spectacle--as if the teenyboppers aren't already on the prowl at Spring Hill every other night. Apparently, some female named Kaci will be performing. No clue.

Oh, the good thing (ONLY good thing) that I've done or has happened is as follows: I blew half of my traveler's checks shopping in the city yesterday. Yes, in three hours, I tore through...well, a lot of money. I'm not going to get specific.

I'm having a few issues as of late. Namely, in order of importance, Theo (more like the other way around--I'm the one causing issues), my housing for the fall semester, work and how I don't know when I work next, and the fact that I'm literally nauseous from lack of sleep. (Why am I not remedying this by being asleep at 1:30AM, you ask? Shut the fuck up.)

It appears that others are having issues as well, namely Britney Spears. At least I'm not the only diva in distress. (I cannot believe I even contemplated thinking about perhaps typing that phrase. Forgiveness, please.)

I enjoyed "Annie Hall." I have a great respect for Woody Allen, in that "I am amazed that you're so incredibly incoherent and neurotic and incestuous, and that you play yourself in the same situations in every film you've ever made/been in" kind of way. Really.

A good weekend, overall.

Friday, Theo slept over. Our day began with a trip to Ikea, where I purchased some inexpensive candles (more about candles later) and theo gorged on some chicken. We saw "Goldmember" late-afternoon. I'll spare you the review; if you know me well, you can easily guess how I felt about it. I then made dinner, which roughly consisted of bruschetta and pasta. Pretty bland--it would have been more fun and fancy-free, but Theo wasn't very hungry. Dinner was followed by some trampolining, and admiration of the moon.

While Theo was reliving his childhood in my backyard, I cleaned the kitchen and set up the "jacuzzi room" (sounds much better than "my parent's bathroom," n'est-ce pas?) for a pseudo-cliche romantic evening. There were candles everywhere, and the "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon" soundtrack was playing in the background. We put a rose-and-lavender fizzy ball in and enjoyed the warmish water, massaging jet pulses, and each other's bodies. Naturally, sex followed.

Saturday, Th. and I ate at...Friday's...and shopped a bit at Deer Park. With mydiscount, I bought him this HINDEOUS (yes, I purposely spelled it like that, read ahead) collarless linen button-down shirt. I was embarassed to purchase such an unattractive frock. For myself, I nabbed a black t-shirt and WAY too small mancapris from Gap. Oh, one mustn't forget the L'Occitane soap. Pronounce it howsoever you choose.

I then dropped him off and spent the mid-evening "working" (read: analyze English language with fun British manager Louise).

Following my four hours of work-free work, I went to a party at Drunk Shannon's house. (Th. and I refer to her as such; I have several friends named shannon, and she spoke to him on the phone while...need I explain?) I realized that it's not fun being at a drinking party if you aren't pissed. So, I drove Jesse home (he's allergic to Shannno's three hundred cats), gave him his birthday gift, and made frozen strawberry souffles at 3:15AM.

Today, I woke up (late), cleaned the rose petals out of my parents' Jacuzzi, and headed for Rock Island to watch my sister be the stereotypical beauty queen at the Miss Teen of Illinois pageant.

Talk about Republican.

Evey girl named George W. Bush (in their twangy southern accents) as her hero, or the person they looked up to.

My sister won nothing (there were nearly 200 girls running for the title), cried a lot, and divulged to my family that "it's not worth doing anything if you don't win." (Wonder where she picked up that doctrine?) She's currently cleaning the laundry room, "to pay off the $500+ she wasted by being in the pageant." Neurotic, what?

I then drove home, panicking the entire drive that I was going to get pulled over and have my car searched. You see, I had something in my car I'm not allowed to discuss with the general reading audience, and when one gets pulled over anywhere outside of a 75-mile radius of Chicago, it seems their car is subject to an intense search.

But, I made it home.

Which leaves me where I am now--sitting at my computer in my Gap linen sleeping pants and my orange "Courageous Kids" tee I aquired by leading Vacation Bible school ages ago, eating the strawberry souffle, listening to songs from the Devdas soundtrack, and typing here. I was originally dreading having to type all this out, but once you light the coals of the Thought Train, it doesn't seem so painful.

Oh, and Nick--I too have an intense Tighty Whitey "thing."

I'm currently preparing for this weekend's festivities stealthily under my parents' noses. My sister is a contestant in the Miss Teen of Illinois pageant this weekend in Rock Island, and therefore, the lot of them will be away for the weekend. So, Theo's sleeping over tonight.

When the cats [are] away, the mice will play.

Yes, I apologize--it's another film review.

For my first Bollywood experience, I chose a fairly entertaining film. Devdas, the story of a son's return home, and his eventual self-destruction over his childhood lover, Paro, delighted me. It was very incoherent at times, and the English subtitles were often unintelligible. I'll remember to never see a 3+ hour Indian film at 10:00PM ever again--you see, every Bollywood film must be at lrast three hours long, or else the audience feels "gypped." (My apologies; I couldn't think of a more PC word.) Theo and I were both amused by the striking resemblence between the female heroine, Paro, and Will & Grace's Debra Messing. Even now, as I recall last evening's events (which also involved dog feces brought into my car via someone's Birkenstock) I am convinced Debra suddenly picked up Hindi, learned to dance, and participated in this whimsical film.

Last night, I rented L.I.E. after trekking cross-county to DuPage, only to find that Oak Brook's shops were mostly ferme. The video boy, on whom I'd always had an idyllic plautonic interest in, described this film as "very interesting." A winner of a few awards, L.I.E. was just plain sick, in a must-slow-down-car-to-get-good-look-at-bad-accident way. What an appropriate segue--L.I.E. stands for Long Island Expressway, and the film revolved around the twisted, homoerotic activities of a 15-year-old "rebel." While none of you will believe this, I actually didn't realize the movie was queer-related in any way whenI rented it. What a surprise--teenage prostitution, daddies, and boners in police station waiting rooms ensued. I didn't really get into the film, though--it was well done, but I like a film that's graphic and raw for a reason--this film was all actions with no purposes.

I need to contact the following people:
1. Kim
2. Chris
3. Jillian
4. Lauren
5. Betsy
6. Catherine
7. Erin

Thanks for letting me waste some kbs with my mental-turned-digital to-do list.

Oh yes--I don't feel like I have anything to apologize about in either of these situations.

My two dearest friends are irate with me as of this post.

I must be reading from the wrong booklist or something. You see, I always thought that when two humans are "friends," as we have come to know the term, they offer each other advice. Especially friends who earn the sacred "best friend" title. So, perhaps as a solution to my rediculous obsession with helping others, namely these "friends" of whom I speak, I shan't ever strive to make someone else happy again by offering them innocent advice.

As far as Erin goes, she's angry with me because (from what I gathered) while she was supposed to accompany Theo and me to "About Face," she had to work until 6:00PM, which meant our time frame would have been shredded and we would have been later to the queer spectacle than we already were. So, I'm not sure I understand the latter justification for being angry with me. Nor the former.

"About Face" was alright. I bought a T-shirt.

I just read an archive in Charlie's journal, concerning the "Pee-shy" theory. I, too, suffer from that malady. Most recently, during the intermission of "Bombay Dreams" in London, I figured it was about time for me to shed some dead cells, and so I head into this crowded men's room on the mezzanine. With all the commotion, the waiting theatre-goers, and this poorly-placed door that swung open to allow no movement in the bathroom, I just stood there, squeezed a bit, sighed, gave up, and washed my hands. It's an embarassing complex, especially if one's fellow fellows notices that no urine actually penetrated the porcelain basin. Perhaps I will follow Charlie's advice in the future and just use stalls.

What a putrid-flesh day.

I woke up with a mild hangover, thanks to a wine cooler I finished off before I went to bed last night. I've been having a lot of dreams with a reoccuring theme--I'm on a rollercoaster, or some other dangerous-if-not-strapped-in attraction, and I'm not secure to the apparatus. I'm just holding on with every square-centimeter of my twinkish frame, hoping I'm not going to die. Last night, this dream was preceded byt a dream involving my French teacher, Madame Siewert, a class of people I don't remember, and some project involving finding some object in this large library-of-sorts building. I became frustrated and just went outside of this building, to smoke a cigarette. Then, I went to the carnival (a theme-park/carnival that has played a role in many of my dreams).

Do any of you have certain places that you've never seen before become prominent fixtures in your dreams? I have a town, actually. Most prominently, there's a neo-futuristic movie theater with very tall rooms and a ceiling structure my mind lifted from Doom II. I also have an expansive grocery store, with an impressive produce department, a shopping mall I've NEVER seen before, with many fun entrances, and an apartment building. Finally, I have a dark, hilly, black-tree-filled forest that pops up at least once a week. Usually, it's not a nice forest. There's some sort of shack in the forest I've enver been into.

Why am I blathering on about this...

Then, my mother doscovered that I have a LOT more alcohol from Europe than I let on. She described my room as a "bar." That's probably because I brought out my Aftershock and Pucker, and just set them in a pile with my other alcohol after cleaning my closet out for some rummage sale at a church we DON'T EVEN ATTEND. She was pissed, and gave me a lecture about drinking and driving. (Yawn...I'm not that ill-witted...)

Gap called me in, even though they cut my hours. Apparently, Neftali, our newest male employee, called in for the 47 thousandth time. *grimace* After work, which I clocked out of twenty minutes late because they underscheduled tonight and I had to dress and set up mannequins, I looked at my paycheck, mainly to see how much of a raise I aquired. (Oh, before I get to the shitty part, I have to talk about Alex, this boy who works in the cosmetics department of Marshall Field's and comes in to the Gap on a semi-daily basis. He has collagen-implanted lips. That tells you all you need to know about Alex. He, for the first time ever, flirted his bottom ass off with me, asking me to help him "find something to wear tonight." We chatted about Express for men, Gap
s oversized clothing, Prada, and other assorted things. He ended this conversation with, "Well, is this all you can offer me?" Obviously, he meant more than clothes. I told him to come back in a week, when we'll have all-new products, shunning his double-entendre.)

Alright, back to my "raise." Basically, it was more like a hiccup in my pay--I'm making exactly twenty cents more than I used to. Yes, me, adorable me, who garnered the Best Salesman award for the fall 2001 season (hey, it's a big deal in retail) and whom all the managers dote over and love dearly. I consistently get the most (and best) hours each week. What gives? The Gap cannot be doing THAT poorly, if they can afford to start peopel off (last year) at $7.00 (not me, obviously).

There were too many parentheses in that paragraph.

I'm almost done.

I came home, after renting Dancer in the Dark and purchasing some corn chips and soy milk, to find that my mother was being suspicious...yadda yadda yadda...she knows about everything. (not being gay; she's known about my queerness for a year) She was in a very whatever-mood. So, that was my day, in 666 words.

Just a typical Thursday--shopping on Oak Street, nap with my boyfriend, trip to the ever-decaying Royal.

I decided last night, while not enjoying the aforementioned queer club, that it reminds me of a high school dance. There's a moderately poor DJ mixing it up in the corner, the light effects are weak (and that's being polite), everyone has his or her own group of friends, and no one dances until EVERYONE dances. And the room that this club is in--yes, it's just a room--reminds me of a miniscular banquet hall one would have a prom in. Very non-clubby, if you ask me. But, Theo and I will inevetably return frequently.

The highlight of last evening was seeing a horde of aquaintances and one stranger who I feel like I partially know. We ran into Nic, Jesse's Nic, who was wearing a very cute shirt. We saw Alicia, whose hair Theo decribed as "retro chic." (It's a compliment.) THeo saw several people he knew from various things. BUt, he pinnacle of the evening was seeing Dale (my first time) in the flesh. Dale is this Orland Park-dwelling queer boy who has a fat fetish, even though he's unhumanly attractive (not so much in person). He walked in with his Krispy Kreme boyfriend and some other compatriots, as Theo and I burst out laughing. It was funny. I am now no longer even REMOTELY interested in getting to know this Dale character. (Deletes link to Dale's journal)

Finally, she works! I apologize...no, no. I don't apologize. I invite Blogger.com to apologize to all of you who have been anxiously awaiting my update. I invite you all to read the many posts I've added, while Blogger has been a feisty little cad.

I finally came out to Conservative Shannon today. I had to--she wanted to hear about my Europe trip, and I'm done hiding behind a machismo-laden 200 thread count sheet of lies. So, just as I expected, she was supportive, but didn't really want to hear about it. Which is fine.

We dined at Stir Crazy, and I think I did some serious damage to my throat and tongue, because I ate a chili pepper, and had no water to extinguish the fires of hell doing the hokey-pokey in my throat. A trip to Woodfield and Ikea followed, and the day ended with us dining on Ben and Jerry's and a stroll through Tower.

I found some great, inxpensive Hindi music at Tower, but couldn't decide what I wanted.

Why won't Blogger just cooperate with me.

I don't even know why I bother trying to get Blogger to work. Why am I even posting.

Briefly, last night, after not getting phoned by Theo (off smoking...) and becoming irate with my family, I drove around and met up with Erin and my new friend Cyndi at Steak & Shake. We then loitered for a bit in an Elgin-area park, and I loitered for a bit with Erin at her house. Shortly thereafter, I purchased 1/2 dozen Krispy Kremes for beautiful Cyndi and wonderful Erin and left them on their respective doorsteps. See, I CAN be a quasi-nice person sometimes.

Not today.

I had my physical with a "new doctor" this morning at 9:00AM. After doing the routine hernia check (I still don't understand the coughing), my doctor nonchalantly (ha) mentioned that he was not only a general practitioner, but a specialist in random diseases as well. It turns out that my mother chose him specially because of this characteristic. He then nervously, "subtlely" told me that my mother had explained to him everything (without actually saying the "g" word) and that if I have any questions related to "that," he "treat(s) a lot of gay men," so if I wanted to ask him something, I may.

Is it just me and my overly defensive personality, or has my mother just invaded my privacy and stirred my life up with a pitchfork? How fucking awkward is that? Am I being unreasonable about all of this, or can anyone understand why this offends me?

And then, I'm angry because I didn't see/speak to Jesse yesterday, to wish him a happy 20th birthday. I give up. But none of you will know that because, guess what--Blogger fucking sucks.

Why can I not post...

This is getting rediculous.

I was finally able to meet Nick, Theo's former love interest, last night. Strangely enough, we were walking out of Blind Faith, and a slew of Evanston Pride kids were sitting on the surrounding benches, waiting for Nick to arrive. So, Theo and I put his lemon seitan in the car, stalled for a few minutes (to avoid any awkward Nick-anticipation conversation with his cohorts), and returned to Blind Faith, as Nick bounded out of the restaurant to greet Theo.

The meeting, from an observer's view, seemed about as awkward and unsure as a twelve-year-old Catholic girl sucking cock for coke. But, what can one expect?

I'm not going to do a commentary on this. Whatever. It was bound to happen, and it did. Yadda ya.

We then watched Changing Rooms on BBC and rented Sliding Doors. Th. fell asleep in the middle. Excitement, eh?

Alright, so I've temporarily abandoned this Blog. But, never fear, I've taken it back into my loving arms, and am now ready to fill it with my daily malarkey.

Orientation was interesting. I'll essentially be going to school with 5% Chicago-born journalism majors and 95% Missouri-(in)bred farmhands. The campus is fairly nice--it has its good and its bad traits. It seems as though I have a lot of ground to cover in my first four semesters if I want to earn my way into the J-school. If I still dislike the school by the end of first semester, I'm transferring. Any suggestions?

I've had to work an obnoxiously large amount this weekend--and we've been terribly un-busy. On Saturday, we didn't even gross half of our predicted earnings for that day. I'm working practically every night this week.

I'm starting to be forced to see people again...why can I not just be invisible, or have everyone think I'm still in Europe or dead or something? No, I have to choose the Gap as my workplace, where EVERYONE and their monkey shops.

Today, I'm going out for coffee with Christine (obligatory) and then ideally having dinner/North Shore activity with Theodore. I wonder what's going on at Ravinia tonight...

I use "-ly" words much too frequently. (Ugh...)

Off to orientation with dear 'ol dad...we haven't even packed, and yet he and I are already fighting. This is an experience I'm really dreading.

I'm glad I can easily be classified as one who is "not understood." If everyone were able to understand everyone, how would life exist as the endless enigma it is? I like being...I can't believe I'm typing this..."mizundastood."

I spent the bulk of my first Monday back with one of my favourite people in the known universe--Erin. I couldn't be happier that we're spending the next four years together. That number may and can be changed, depending on my liking of Mizzou.

Which, as perfect of a segue as that may be, I will soon cultivate. I leave tomorrow for orientation at UM-C. With my father. With whom conversation is generally and regretfully stilted. I hope everything goes well.

I'll never understand Theo's preoccupation with talking to other queer teens in the northwest suburbs. It's very curious.

Speaking of "Ted," he and I saw "My Big Fat Greek Wedding" last night in Evanston. It was unspeakably amusing...I reccommend anyone with a sense of humor to see it.

He's back...after a juxtaposition of every nightmare involving commercial airlines lasting a mind-numbing twenty-four hours.

I woke up at seven AM, did some quick shopping, and departed from my overly-expensive Glochester Road hotel. of course, the Circle line was not running westbound, meaning I couldn't get on the superquick Heathrow Express, so I had to take the hour-long Picadilly line trip to the airport.

I arrived at Heathrow around 11:30, and found the check-in desk I was SUPPOSED to check in to for my flight. Unfortunately, they require their passengers to arrive at least 80 minutes in advance, and since my flight was in forty minutes, they said "no." So, I had to reschedule for the 2:35 flight to Chicago, which I flew standby in.

Waiting, waiting, eating, shopping, waiting.

So, I boarded after impatiently waiting for my name to get called off the doomed "standby" list. I didn't get a chance to call my parents, but I assumed they would figure out that I had switched to the other flight.

Four hours into the flight, while we were careening thousands of miles above a crisp, foggy northern Canada, many of the passengers (not including myself) started smelling smoke. The crew was in hysyterics--I thought they were trained to handle such situations?--and the predominantly-geriatric passengers made a communally soiled their Depends, no doubt. (I have never been on a flight so dominated by dinosaurs before...I hated it.)

So, we made an emergency landing in TORONTO, CANADA after the entire cabin filled with the odor of an electrical burn.

SIX HOURS LATER...

Yes, we waited there for six hours. They gave us food by the fifth hour, while most of us were hungry within the first. I sat alone, and stared into the vast nothingness that is Toronto. I had nothing with me--they told us to leave our carry-ons on the plane. It was horrible. My body, keep in mind, was telling me that we arrived in Toronto at 11:00 PM. We didn't depart (from another plane, of course) until my 5:00AM. I got this horrid feeling of having a big bubble in my temple while on the one-hour plane trip to Chicago. My ears were killing me. I just wanted to go to sleep.

So, after customs, baggage, and the drive home, I went to sleep around 3:30AM Chicago time...which was 9:30AM my time. Yay for 24 hours of no sleep!

It's good to be back, though.

Oh...one quick thing. In a few years, a musical created and produced by Andrew Lloyd Webber will come to Chicago. It will be called "Bombay Dreams," and it will be a mildly farcical love story set in the heart of Bollywood--India's answer to Hollywood, and the US' booming film industry. I think Bollywood, by quantity, produces more films per year than the US, but as far as quality...think three hours of campy musical numbers and dancing, and that's a standard BW movie.

Regardless, when this show comes to Chicago, or broadway (this fall), go see it. It's very...fun. It's no "Phantom of the Opera;" I'll be honest. If theatre were food, "Bombay Dreams" would be a piece of bread--light, satisfying, gets the job done. The music is fun--middle eastern-inspired, with the bass beat of today's pop. There was an abundance of humor in this show, and the actors were all proficient singers and actors. I didn't love it, but it was a wonderful way to end a wonderful trip.

Ugh...this is NOT for parents, dear.

Because I depart for Europe in (checking watch) fifteen glorious hours, I will no longer be posting in this Blog. Wipe away your sorrowful tears, pussy--I will instead be posting in a new Blog, in conjunction with Theo. The link is as follows:

A Summer in Europe

Come visit us!

In other news, Theo and I had a rousing, intense sexual encounter this week. It was very enjoyable for me, and I hope he enjoyed it as well. We sort of...ahem...switched roles, and it was great to try my hand (or other appendage) at a different sport. Or rather, the same sport, but on the opposing team's side. Get the picture? Enough with the wasteful analogies.

I made about $3,000 from graduation, most of which came from my lucrative, yet hideous, graduation party on Saturday.

I'm pretty sure Erin's angry with me. Conversely, I'm angry at FremdErin, because she abandoned my party for a sudden choir trip to Toronto, and failed to tell me this until A.) I had driven to Inverness with Theo for her atrocious party, and B.) My party was in partial swing. I hate graduation parties, in principle and reality.

Hmm...nothing else. Lots to do tonight. Read the new journal.

Note to all--when planning international ventures, do NOT use STA Travel. At least, don't speak to their ignorant, rude staff.

Direct quotation from "Brandon": "What? They have curfews on these hostel places?"

I am not making this up.

It looks like my first night may be spent in the train station--the unwitting college student apparently could not find a single hostel in London for me on June 11. This shall be interesting.

T minus 24.5 hours until wretched party begins.
T minus 75 hours until wonderful Europe trip begins.

I'm under way too much pressure right now--disputes about Europe financing, car issues, the goddamn CAKE for the party...even lunch today caused a big uproar with my father, who couldn't understand why I wasn't hungry enough to eat a bratwurst link enveloped in "a cut-up hamburger bun." Perhaps I AM too spoiled. Why, however, should I change my dietary customs now? I'll have a month of starvation ahead of me...just let me have my CPK pizza, daddy.

And then Jesse's angry with me, and I'm sure most of my other friends are too--I havne't been able to spend much time socializing this week. I just can't wait to get on that flight (ignoring the fact that my french club and one of my managers from Gap will be joining me...lalala) and forget about the United States in its entirety.

Oh yes, and as the artificial whipped cream and toxic dye-ridden cherry on top of this frigid, unpleasant Mondae, I was subtlely informed today by my three best schoolish friends that I've "changed." This means, "I'm too homosexual."

Monday, Monday...la, la...la, la la la.

Aah, that's precisely why I didn't want to post first. I simply adore feeling foolish.

I've got a "case of the Mondays." And so did the woman whose car I struck this morning. It's been a long, long day.

And so it goes.

Theo and I have been hassling each other about posting about prom. I insisted that he post first, because I really wanted to know how he felt about the prom experience with me, but as always, I acquesced and am here now, to write a few brief things down about prom.

The day did NOT start off as perfectly as I'd hoped, nor was it any sort of foreshadowing of the evening's happenstances. After I got the flower issues out of the way (I decided to acquire his boutineer from A New Leaf on the north side of Chicago, which was a wretched idea), the evening transcended those technical difficulties.

We flirted helplessly throughout dinner with each other. He looked as dapper and handsome as I had imagined. Pictures will be posted shortly.

One of the most surreal and wonderful things I'll take from this experience was dancing with Theo. I have a feeling the up-tempo dancing will be less awkward in Europe, but slow dancing with him was a feeling like no other. I had never felt so close to another human being, ever. It was beyond sex, beyond love, beyond all other forces, emotions: it was unadulterated perfection. And I know that's such a naive, predictable reaction to the experience, but I cannot think of a more appropriate way to describe the feeling.

As I held Theo in my arms and gazed at the twinkling Chicago skyline from our post-midnight cruise, I realized something. And I know, my more cynical and, quite frankly, practical readers may scoff at this next comment, including Theo himself no less: I really wouldn't mind sharing a great portion of my future with Theo. While I've thrown the phrase around with as much uncertainty, hesitation, and lack of precision as I would throw a baseball (Sports declined what?), I feel like now, I really know what this balderdash notion of love really is. It isn't necessarily the feeling I get when I'm with him--that's just a general feeling of admiration and content(ness)--I think it's more the feeling I get when I'm not, and want to do nothing else but see him, hear his voice, touch his hand, and love him unconditonally for ages and ages henceforth.

So yeah, I guess you could say that prom was pretty good.

This is sort of forced and trite. I collected this off an aquaintance's journal. She and I attended high school together, and may have been mislabeled as friends, since we were together in publc so frequently.

You might be a conservative if...
-You've named your kids "Deduction one" and "Deduction two".
-You've tried to argue that poverty could be abolished if people were allowed to keep more of their minimum wage.
-You're a "pro-lifer", but support the death penalty.
-You don't let your kids watch Sesame Street because you suspect Bert and Ernie of "sexual deviance," and believe that Oscar the Grouch "lives in a trash can because he is lazy and doesn't want to contribute to society."
-You argue that you need 300 handguns, in case a bear ever attacks your home.
-You've ever said "civil liberties, schmivil schmiberties".
-You've ever said "Clean air? Looks clean to me".
-You've ever called education a luxury.
-You look down through a glass ceiling and chuckle.
-You've ever urged someone to pull themselves up by their bootstraps, when they don't even have shoes.

Foolish, foolish.

I'm not sure why I've been posting so sporadically as of late.

The rollercoaster ride of a high school career I've experienced has winded through its last corkscrew, and is slowing to a halt. I am now in that post-maniacal waiting period, as the cart creeps towards the station in preparation for another group of riders to board. Here I am, between the ephemeral ups and downs of the adventure and the inevetable trek from a ride I've been familiar with for ages to a new mechanical beast.

That was a really cliched, bad analogy. Forget you even read that.

I think I've lost the ability to cry. I don't know why, or what crime this is a punishment for. It's very unearthing, that I have no emotions.

I spent the day in Naperville today, helping my queer uncle and his partner (read: "Pardner"--I think it's more amusing that way) pack up the unusual lamps, African-inspired furniture, and tacky, impractical brick-a-brack that their store, Tiffany Lifestyles, is comprised of. Watching them together made me question the practicality and sincerity of long-term commitment. It seemed very stilted and awkward between them all day. I don't think I like that.

I collected my tuxedo for prom this evening. I will look amazing, hopefully. And I never say that about myself. Not even in a hopeful sense.

Well, the fruitfly-esque winged insects prancing across my computer screen are starting to confuse me. Why is the punctuation flitting around the page, I wonder? Sigh.

Since I don't have her E-mail address, I would like to apologize to a certain verb I wrote about yesterday. It was simply a flippant allusion to an amusing situation I'd heard about, and no feelings were meant to be affected. So, from now on, I'll simply have to consult each and every verb before I use it in my postings. And that's alright.

Bozo button for you, Justin! You satisfied my evening.

So, new problem.

I think I'm leading the choir teacher's daughter on. I was OBLIGATED to take her out to Maggiano's for dinner tonight for her birthday, because I am a simp and she "surprised" me with a trip there for mine. She thinks we're practically best friends, whereas she knows very very VERY little about my real life. She's planning on visiting me "all the time" next year. Should I start up a fight with her so I don't have to be her friend anymore? I really cannot deal with her yammering on about issues I have no concern for, like her life. I wish I could just Allison this whole situation (Allison (v.): To blatantly make clear that a self-absorbed nuisance is no longer a friend), but I feel like I OWE it to her mother--after all, I did get the choir award. Aah, wonderful.

I'm getting increasingly excited about Europe. I need to speak with my traveling partner soon about the proposed itenerary I've fashioned. Prom is also an evening that holds much anticipation in my mind now.

So, basically, I said everything that I didn't want to say, and didn't need to say, to Theo. I'm just not a public speaker. Essentially, I just rambled on about the inconsequential, minute aspects of our relationship I was unhappy about. Most of it, I don't really even stand behind. He and I need to try this again. I just feel awkward and awful right now about all of this.

I'm finally Europe-bound.

I just purchased astonishingly inexpensive airfare from O-Hare to Heathrow. I'll be arriving two days ahead of Theo and leaving one day after, but that's perfectly alright, I think. Naivete rocks.

Now, to acquire a passport...

My guestbook sure feels...empty.

Call me a twat. Call me a hopeless, worthless imbecile who simply likes clothing. Hell, even call me a "country boy--" after all, because I don't live within five minutes of the nearest Diesel shop, that must mean I grow sun-ripened produce in my backyard, and my house is fashioned to resemble a log cabin. But, it is true...I sort of like my job.

Off to watch Vanilla Sky.

Oh, I must comment on yesterday's iniquitous farce of what a real show choir should sound/look like (the Show Choir concert). The highlight of the "show," amidst the Kyle-led tonedeaf tenor section, which ruined each and every song we sang, several jazz tunes which were far beyond the capabilities of members of my show choir, and a boy who actually said, into the muffled-sounding microphone "Oh, shit," after forgetting the words to his song, was definitely my duet with Jesse. Our voices blended impeccably, and while there were one or two issues, we would have been the headlining act of any show, regardless of with whom we woud have been competing for top billing. It was...amazing.

Prom is in full gear.

I chose my tuxedo today, and received a $50 discount from Gingiss. I also ordered Theo's boutineer (Fuck you if you know how that should be spelled.) a moment ago--it should bear some significance to our relationship. If he remembers.

I'm not sure if I even remember HOW to work at the Gap. I shall find out in a few minutes though, won't I?

Today was...awkward.

I don't think I've ever felt this unenthused for a concert. it will be horrible, except for my dangerously awesome duet with Jesse.

Today was better than these past two days. Last night, I sat in on a rehearsal at ECC for D-C's orchestra concert. My uber-conservative comrade Shannon is performing a Haydn concerto on her cello, and it was relatively wonderful in rehearsal. I only wish she weren't as nervous as she is. I then purchased some juice and books with Theo.

I wish I were able to quit work. I really do. I have to work on Graduation Day. How rediculous is that? Frustration ensues when I'm told I cannot switch with someone, because I have to train a new employee. This is not "kosher." But, in my life, what is these days. Good thing it's only a Jewish nose, and a sometimes-Christian body.

I feel disgusting for leaving that last post. But not embarassed enough to actually remove it altogether.

I am so frustrated and "stressed" at the current moment. The day just was not nearly as wonderful as I'd hoped. I would have normally had a cigarette HOURS ago, but unfortunately, I QUIT. (Insert shouted obscentites)

Off to NHS Induction....whatever the fuck for.

Who ISN'T queer these days? I just discovered tonight that a good friend from years ago, Kevin Ciacco, is gay. In fact, I believe it was Kevin who initiated my fasciation with all varieties of underwear. I recall, during some CTE show, he was changing, and he looked so amazingly beautiful and masculine in his white generic briefs. (He was a wrrestler, and had an impeccable body.) I will never forget that day--also because my then-best friend, Matt, either caught me, or thought I caught him staring at Kevin's brief-clad midsection. I've never been sure of it. Hmm...shall I E-mail him?

I cannot focus on this hid-eous research paper, which is due in 14 hours. H.G. Wells, you old scallywag--inspire me.

As my friend Kaitlin so eloquently stated, I was like "Titanic at the Oscars" tonight at the Music Recognition banquet. I received, from least to greatest: Senior Participation award, IMEA All-State Honors plaque, the student leadership award for Madrigal Singers, a sizable scholarship from the Vocal-Strings organization, and the much-anticipated National School Choral Award. My dining room table is beginning to feel claustrophobic, from the multitude of menial plaques and awards it has collected the past month or two.

Let me share with my readers a tale from a far away, mysteriously trashy land: Lincoln, Illinois. I had a prom to attend to this weekend, with my friend, whose name is, get this: Betsy. I enjoy her company greatly under most circumstances--she's the naive blonde farmgirl every boy wants as his friend, gay or straight. However, this weekend was an assault on my general sense of tolerance and politeness. Betsy wore, as the picture I have scanned will prove, a massive assemblage of tulle, sequins, and "flare" that, while some may mistake for a Volkswagen Beetle, a circus tent, or a large body of shimmering water, was actually just a motherfuckingly huge dress. The dress really bothered me. A lot. It collected trash, for Chrissakes.

I'll sum the weekend up in a few sentences, because I have a term paper to write. Essentially, Betsy simply didn't understand what sort of responsibility taking a date from another school to prom really is. She was galavanting through the crowded Knights of Columbus hall, dancing, obsessing over her dress, and "yukking it up" with people I had obviously never seen before, and hoped to God never would again. Humorous moment of the evening: in a purely Violet Beauregarde-esque sweep of fortune, Betsy succeeded in toppling over at her friend Carrie's house. Apparently, something happened with her plasticglass "slippers" and she found herself lying flat on her face in a muddy ditch of sorts, limbs flying everywhere, like a topheavy turtle, or a beached blue whalebeast. I couldn't laugh at the moment, of course, but the image of big country bumpkin Betsy's limbs swimming through the air entertained me throughout the night, as I stood alone, watching her dance.

Cardinal Rule of Relationships #147.53 B--Thou shalt not reject lead roles in acclaimed musicals for significant others.

I'm sorry--who said that rules were meant to be broken? And why do I feel like I've "sold out?"

Now who has made sacrifices.

I discussed Europe this morning with my parents on a much more serious level (read: lots of yelling, father storming in and out of kitchen). I'm really going now, alone or with the companion I've been planning this whole trip with. I'm going. I'm getting my passport Monday, and staying between 2.5 and 3 weeks in Europe, leaving June 12. Pressure, pressure.

Off to Lincoln! I love Prom(s)! Number six for me! There's nothing I'd rather do today than go to Lincoln to their po-dunk Prom! All-righty! I'm off!

I just adore being the "Oh, sorry--I already have plans" guy.

I'm in a mood, and I shouldn't be--I just viewed a carefree, warms-the-cackles-of-one's-heart film whose (yes, poor choice of word--I cannot think what its properly-chosen counterpart should be) title I shan't reveal...I would never hear the end of it from a certain Shiva-replicating deity. I enjoyed myself, nevertheless.

I'm sorry, but the much-needed report from this weekend may be dealyed even further. It seems that, for some various reasons, I've decided to "buckle down" and actually quit smoking now. I want to cry and kill myself. It's not fun. This, however, thanks to an attractive South suburban beautiful queer athlete with a self-proclaimed "fat fetish," is.

Horray for U.S. News and World Report--the news magazine featured a piece on Blogging's popularity in a world that extends beyond the trite, typical occurences in a (this) teenager's life.

I strolled through a pleasantly busy day today, only to come home and remember all of the issues I had before the day began. Somehow, my subconscious allowed the general team of problems to take a field trip from my psyche all day, and the train just careened back into the station. Ugh. Go away.

After visiting my damaged mother in the hospital (she's not doing/looking too well), I decided to remedy my bout of depression by...buying things!

Purchases from Fox Valley Mall in Naperville:
1. Shirt from Abercrombie
2. Banana Republic cologne/lotion
3. Sunglasses
4. Venti Caramel Frappuccino
5. Fun fun fun 2(x)ist underwear
6. 1 dozen Krispy Kreme donuts

I do my best, and most morbidly pessimistic, thinking while dreadfully tired. So, I did a LOT of thinking.

My late night study session was for naught--the sentence outline I was scrambling to bullshit early this morning never was reviewed by Moeller. Now, I'm just moody and pseudo-depressed...that's how I get after not sleeping much.

Today, as all Mondays are, has been a pretty high-impact day. I had the AP test this morning, my mother's operation early this afternoon, and I ran into Allison Robson, an old friend from middle school with whom I haven't spoken since graduation day. Of course, i looked "hid," after not shaving all weekend/today, wearing an old Gap t-shirt and my scrubby tan "Safari" jacket. (Note: The current issue of GQ heralded the safari jacket as this spring's hot necessity. So ha.)

I have an enormous project to do tonight, but I don't even know where to start with it.

When Harry Met Sally + Theo's heavy breathing (he was sleeping) = Good evening

My parents met Theo last night. He was very quiet, which is understandable. Judging from their morning report, I think they liked him. "He seemed nice," quoth my mother.

You think I'm kidding when I say I live in the confines of a white-trash town? First, read this, and then read my commentary below.

Yes, yes...insane, is it not? Now, I am on the school board's side, considering these fools were completely conscious of their sacrifice of prom for their rehearsal. The director gave Alex Fanning the role only if she promised she wouldn't go to prom, and likewise with the prince, who I was once best friends with until the whole "gay" thing surfaced. I've never been so embarassed of my school, my friends, or my region in my life. What sort of credibility does a journalist have if she (Naomi Dillon, Daily Herald) chooses to write about such a blown-out-of-proportion topic, only to spar an interest in the major network television news shows and the Chicago Tribune, a news source I once had a strong affinity for? Well, being my fourth and final prom at Jacobs, I cannot say the experience didn't go out with a bang.

Jillian looked beautiful; her dress looked much better on her than on a hanger.

I had some severe issues with the tuxedo, in the fact that they didn't include half the necessary accessories, which I did not discover until I was already five minutes late for pictures. Ugh.

The only downside--I really, painfully missed Theo, and couldn't stop thinking about him all night.

He called my house.

Mr. Moeller, my archaeologically-revived AP English teacher, goddamn called my house. He left a message, asking my parents to call him about my "Senioritis." Yes, this dusty old man, who wets his pants and wears his trousers at least five inches away from the laces of his shoes, actually referred to my lack of turning in the past three essays as "Senioritis." I love it. He then stumbled over words, and alluded to the fact that I may not graduate if I keep doing horribly in his class. The truth, my friends, is this: I had all the mandatory English credits at the end of the first semester, in which I received As in his class.

I thought it would be over, since I figured he went to bed at 6:30 in the evening and my parents wouldn't have been able to speak with him until after that. But no, after what I alleged was five minutes of him dialing my phone number with his slow motor skills, he called again, after my mother and I had tittered about the phone message. Yes, she laughed. She doesn't really care about my mid-year grade situation, because she knows I'll always come through in the end. So, while I was cooking dinner, she played June Cleaver and spoke very solemnly with Moeller. (Haha--solemnly...) So, that's that. Entertainment.

Note to self and all: get your hair cut from the SAME stylist every time. Even if you get your hair shorn at Mario Tricoci. Hazardous results may ensue if you do not heed my warning.

I picked up my tuxedo today, avoiding the lines (read: masses of angry teens) by picking it up at 2:30, following the aforementioned haircut.

Why am I talking about these foolishly tedious things? My Blog's title isn't "Banality at its Best," after all.

Horray!

Even though I have the worst credit on the face of this earth (Yes, it is possible to have poor credit at the age of 18...it's called "I'm queer and have no concept of financing"), I was approved for a Platinum Plus Visa this afternoon. Aah...more debt to accrue...I am thoroughly looking forward to ruining my life dollar by dollar.

My day was otherwise horrid--I woke up late, the sunglasses Theo gave me last night combusted, and AP English is becoming quite a strain on me and my otherwise streak-free reputation.

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?