An Amusing E-mail

"Sounds like you have an acceptable life-style. Good!!!
Love, from you grandparents"

My grandparents are from Union, South Carolina--their ancestors had slaves and plantations. My mother fondly recalls Bertha, a servant in her grandmother's house, who served them whilst they visited the massive, white house my great-grandparents occupied. My grandparents--my grandfather in particular--are conservative, staunch Republicans. They have no idea how much their message amuses me.

"The leaden circles dissolved in the air."

A friend was right--I am entranced by Virginia Woolf's Mrs. Dalloway. She reminds me of Sylvia Plath--her characters bear defeatist, honest attitudes, which is a refreshing change from typical early 20th century English novels. I don't know if that's a good analysis, but I do not care.

I've made a conscious decision to stop reading Lauren's journal. She writes things in her Blog that offend and disturb me, and since I wouldn't like to get my cyberhead bitten off once again about commenting on her musings, I'm simply not going to read it anymore. Why should I subject myself to the tactless beratement of myself and my friends?

And then, I think about the Blog in itself. I feel like this is just another fad--one of my circles of friends, reading each other's scribblings and getting tiffed. Eventually, we'll all get so frustrated with each other and delete our Blogs altogether. (I probably won't.) At least Blogger.com has given people a taste of the fruit one bears when writing in a journal.

I'm going shopping tonight (mostly returns--no money will be spent), and watching 8 Femmes, finally.

Under Pressure

So, Tripp and I are no more. I decided to end it today, and I did. It was sort of mutual--we agreed that we aren't really the same kind of person. Tripp is a really fun, great guy--the problem is, we're almost exact opposites. He asked me last night if I thought I'd ever fall in love with him, and I realized that I probably wouldn't. So, another page turns in this boy's novel.

I was initially under pressure about that matter (I detest breaking up with people), and now all I can think about is the plethora of schoolwork I have to complete over the next couple of weeks. I feel like I'm so behind, even though in reality, I'm sure I'm not.

Tonight, I'm going out with a friend from sort-of theater, sort of a mutual friend.

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Bloody Bad-Aids

First and foremost, I'd like to give a "shout out" to my "brothers" in France, Germany, and Russia for trying to block a U.N.-backed Iraqattack. You rock.

So, I'll be honest. I didn't want to go to this theater party last night with Tripp and Catherine. I was tired, it was wretched outside, and quite frankly, I just wanted to watch a movie with my man friend and relax after a seven-hour drive. But, because either I have no spine, or I have this desire to make everyone happy (esp. when I'm dating them), or a miserable combination of the two, I went with. Usually, I think it's pretty obvious to someone when you do something you don't want to do, and then that person accommodates you so that you think, "Golly, I'm glad I decided to do that." But, instead, my driving skills were insulted over and over again, and I ended up sitting on a couch by myself for the majority of the evening, while Tripp was spreading his wings like only the most colourful social butterflies can. Pissed was I.

Today, today was a good day. Tripp slept over last night, so after sleeping for most of the afternoon, we drove back to LUC, where I picked up my friend Zoe. She and I went out to dinner at a Thai place in Evanston, saw The Life of David Gale (brief review later), and ate what perhaps is the best ice cream I've ever had at Marble Slab. It was a good night--I really enjoyed myself.

I'll say it--I don't really like Kevin Spacey. His post-American Beauty work has been shit. I mean, c'mon--no one does a film about being an alien when one has an Academy Award sitting on his desk. But, I digress. The Life of David Gale is a film made for capital punishment opposers and Texas-haters. Therefore, I loved it. As Zoe so wisely pointed out, the director chose to include some unnecessarily "suspenseful" moments in the film, and the scenes have a bothersome, contrived transitional element. But, I did like it. And Kate Winslet is a great actress, if you disregard the fact that she was in that boat movie.

About friends--I have some. I don't have very many, according to society's standards. And quite fucking frankly, that's fine with me. I really value solitude, and the connection you make with people when you're gathering with them one-on-one. But, because everyone's "supposed" to have a horde of friends during college, I feel stupid when people incinuate that I need friends or something. Because I don't. I will make a connection with a person when it's appropriate to do so. Otherwise, I don't need to be the queen bee of the collegiate hive.

Going home tomorrow, sleeping there tomorrow night, returning Friday or Saturday. Wish me luck whilst I battle my parents and their numerous lectures.

(Ambient cat noises)

Well, I'm "home" now. My roommates are being very strange to me...I'm not sure why/what's going on.

I've never felt freer than I did today--I decided that, in light of the nice(r) weather in Missouri/southern Illinois, I would drive as far as I can home with my top down. On my car, mind you. It was so liberating--I forgot how connected I feel with earth when I have the top down, and I'm driving through vast expanses of nothing, with the sun warming my shoulders by day and the moon sending its glitter down to earth by night, giving everything a dream-like gleam.

I had a great weekend with Erin--no matter how far apart we may live or how infrequently we speak these days, we just have a connection that transcends reality.

I heard a fun phrase on NPR this evening, while driving through the clumpy, dense snow Chicago was graced with tonight (top up, of course). "That's more rhetoric than reality." I think a lot of my writing (unfortunately) falls into that category. I tend to make things seem "larger than life" in my blog, and in my journals. But, at least I'll remember things being better than they were when I go back in ten, five years and read everything over!

One thing of note that Erin and I did this weekend was see El Crimen del Padre Amaro (The Crime of Father Amaro) at Ragtag. The film starred one of the gentlemen from Y Tu Mama, Tambien and was about a "Scarlet Letter"-esque romance between a priest and a congregation member, all set to the backdrop of Mexico's drug trade. It was not great--we both were expecting more from it. As in, more skin. More sex. Oh well. Mexican films have a tendency to be very real, very gritty, very grotesque almost--I like that.

Off to eat mousakka and watch the first episode of "Six Feet Under," while waiting for Trippers to be done with rehearsal.

(Ambient banjo music)

It's been so long since I've posted--I doubt anyone but myself noticed.

Friday, Tripp and I saw a play at Loyola--"Servant of Two Masters." While I didn't enjoy the plot at all, and it was mortifyingly long, I thought it was well-performed. Then, after waking up much much earlier on Saturday than I wanted, I took the train home, grabbed my car, and headed off to Missouri (with a brief detour to Chicago to gather a bunch of dirty clothes to wear this weekend...which I still have not washed).

Oh, before I talk briefly about Missouri, I'm reading The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold. It's another one of those NYTimes bestselling books that "everyone's" reading. So far, it's interesting, but it seems like something a teenage girl would read. Why are people drawn to books like this? It's not extraordinarily well-written, the plot isn't very inventive (dead girl speaking from heaven about her death, etc.), and it doesn't seem like it'll have much depth. Oh well. I will finish this, because it seems much more promising than Salinger's Frannie and Zooey. Talk about crap.

So, MIssouri has been good so far. Unlike high school, which I dread returning to, I didn't hate Mizzou at all, so I don't have any real feelings about being back here. It's odd, because I feel like I still go to school here. Until, of course, instead of returning to my room at the end of an Erinevening, I sleep in her bed. Hmm.

We watched Devil's Playground, a documentary about the Amish's rumspringa (when Amish children turn 16, they are sent into the "english" world to see what they'd be missing in common society, before they commit themselves to the church for life). It was really strange, and left more questions unanswered than answered. I now have a strange fascination with all things Amish, and am unable to find substantial information online about these people.

That's all for now--I'm going back to Chicago on Tuesday.

Hate: A Strong Word

So, last night, I posted about how I hate living here, yadda yadda. I decided to delete most of that, just because it was a bit too offensive. Basically, I didn't get to sleep until well beyond 4AM last night, because of people being inconsiderate. That's all. I would have ideally liked to go to bed when I was ready to go to bed, so that I could have been more focused on my midterms this morning, but hey--it's just not my style to tell someone and his friends to not be loud at 3:30 on a school night. *sigh*

I really wouldn't mind living on my own next semester, but that probably won't happen, thanks to financial constraints.

Talk of pastries

I am frantically trying to write this English paper that's due tomorrow, with, so far, no success. I know what I want to write, but the words just won't come to me.

Last night, I saw Theo for the second time since February 1. He insisted that I Blog about it first, without actually putting it into those words. So, I'll comply. We had dinner at a Tapas restaurant in Evanston, and upon missing our movie, we went to Cafe Express on Dempster (?). There, we chatted (much like we did at the restaturant, of course), and played Scrabble--a first for Theo. Not surprisingly, we talked a lot about the thing that used to be "us," and aside from about 20 minutes of small talk at the restaurant ("How's school? How's your family? How's your job? How's your sig. other?"), that's basically all we discussed. We both acknowledged that being friends immediately after breaking up may not be healthy, but that we're doing things our own way. I want to have my cake and eat it too--I no longer want to be tied down to Theo, but at the same time I want him in my life in some capacity. And yes, I do realize the selfishness in that.

Tuesday I had to go with my roomie Shannon (Drunk Shannon, for those of you who began reading this months ago) to her psychology class. She was giving a presentation about families dealing with homosexuality. I talked about coming out to my parents, how I felt about the social stigmas homosexuals are subject to, and so on. According to D. Shannon, I "saved [her] ass."

Tonight, class/writing this paper/studying for my midterms some more.

Celebrity

Perhaps I should've stayed at Mizzou after all...an article Erin wrote for the Maneater, the University of Missouri-Columbia's student-run newspaper, is on the New York Times' website.

Fucking Ebola virus. Ick.

Je deteste ma vie

Whene'er I get ill physically, I also get ill mentally. I just become very withdrawn and introspective and sensitive and ultimately, depressed. So, here are my uncensored thoughts, in a conveniently-numbered list.

1. I haven't spoken to my "best friend" in days and days, and yet I'm supposed to visit her at the tail end of the week. Something about THAT bothers me. I understand that people get busy--I too, believe it or not, get bogged down with elements ouside of my realm of control. But a simple phone call or response to a silly IM once in awhile seems appropos.

2. I haven't spoken to my boyfriend in days and days, and that also has gotten me down. It really shouldn't, though, because our relationship is in the fetus stage still. When I get sick, i subconsciously expect everyone to be there for me, and of course, that can't be the case. I need more attention than I've been given, perhaps. It just makes it hard when considering I've spoken less to him lately than...

3. ...Theo, my former. Seeing his PNO Profile today really put things into perspective, even though I was already mostly comfortable with our breakup. I don't know. It's just a strange situation, that's all. We're going to see "The Pianist" on Wednesday in Evanston.

4. I have no friends. I have always had trouble making friends, but I feel like things should be different now that I'm in the perfect medium for making friends--i liberal campus surrounded by a liberal city. Oh well.

I WOULD go to sleep, but I know that if I go to sleep now I'll wake up at 4AM and not be able to fall asleep again. So, i'll just stick it out.

Blech

I spent half of last night waiting to throw up, and after I succeeded in vomiting profusely, I spent the other half trying unsuccessfully getting to sleep. I'm really not feeling well. Hopefully this will all be over by tomorrow morning.

"The Sound of Music" wasn't great. Not at all. It was the longest musical I've ever had to sit through uncomfortably (Jacobs' auditorium is a collection of the most uncomfortable seats I've ever had to sit on). Three hours--a bit extreme, especially for a show whose greatest part consisted of a chorus of nuns that was not present for most of the show.

Sharp pains...must go to bed.

Sarcasm

Boy, am I glad I came home this weekend.

Restless

I decided tonight that, in the event of a grandparent's death while I'm in college (not that I'd lake that to happen), I'm going to move to London and live there for a year or two. I'd spend my inheritance on a tiny, inexpensive flat somewhere, and attend a shabby community college, while working at a restaurant or in retail. While I was riding the L home from visiting Tripp, who's ill right now (poor guy), I wished more than anything to abandon Chicago altogether and move to London. I felt life and energy eminating from its squat, old buildings, from its lackadaisical streets, from its beautiful, waspy, odiferous people, from its winding, expansive mass transportation system (hence the thought coming to me while riding the L). I sometimes wish I hadn't gone to Europe so soon in my life--I now long for that sense of freedom, that sense of exploration, that sense of newness and discovery every day.

And that speaks very poorly on behalf of my character. Ever since I moved to West Dundee six years ago, I've had the urge to move about and never stay in the same environment for too terribly long. Whenever I have a problem, I immediately assume that if I changed my location, it would fix itself. I longed daily to transfer schools while in high school. When Mizzou wasn't satisfactory, what did I do? Transfer to Loyola. It's a pattern. Hell, if I continue in this trend, I'll attend eight schools throughout my collegiate career.

It disgusts me to say it, but day by day, Chicago's novelty wears off, flake by flake. A homeless person asking for money is nothing more than that--while before I thought it was a beautiful facet of Chicago's multi-class society, I now just see it as a commonplace reality. The CTA just pisses me off now; my university does have its flaws; my apartment situation, while ideal in nature, has lost its glossy sheen.

Hell--in retrospect, I'd probably get tired of London's weather and population density after a month.

I've always wanted my social situations to remain constant, like friendships and romantic relationships. But I've always wanted to experience them in new mediums, new environments. Aye, a restless spirit is what I have.

Pinot Groggio

I woke up at 5:45 this morning, because I was thirsty. So, like any good neanderthal, I slurped a few litres of water out of my sink tap. I then woke up again at 7:30, due again to thirst. I decided to actually fetch a GLASS of water from the kitchen. In my absence, the cat overtook my room, wreaking havoc on my headphones and, I think, everything on my desk shelf. So, I decided to abort the original mission (sleep) and just get ready for the day.

I was horribly offended during choir today. Saul, a queer fellow who I befriended at the beginning of the semester, and have subsequently been hit upon at any given moment, decided to "insult" me in front of a large group of people by calling me "gay man." That may have been the most awkward moment I've experienced in awhile...well, since I forgot my roommate's boyfriend's name right in front of him. I know that I'm gay, and while I don't mind the ten people in the vicinity of my beratement knowing that I'm gay, I thought that his comment was ostentatiously rude and uncalled-for. My level of respect for Saul (which stooped to new lows every time he tried to touch me//introduce the idea of he and I becoming an item) has plummeted to an ungodly level.

Tripp graced me with his presence this evening--we had dinner and watched "My Big Fat Greek Wedding." I don't like spending profuse amounts of time away from my significant other--he's going to the Sleater-Kinney concert this weekend in Champaign--but that's just something I'll have to get used to. I never really realized how acerbic my humour can be sometimes--oh, no, I did actually. When people tell me that all the time. Nevermind. I suppose that's something I'll have to control, especially when dating supersensitive men.

I have trust issues with most people, but actors in particular. I'm too cynical to believe that everything they say is sincere--knowing full well that I, an actor at one point in my life, frequently am insincere. I like double-standards, like, for example, how I should be allowed to say things that aren't true, but no one else is. I just want to get to the essence of Tripp--and no, not in that way. I feel like, while I know a lot of facts about his life ("our pasts and presents"), I really don't know if I know him as a person just yet. I suppose only time will tell.

My playlist, as of late:
1. Clair de Lune
2. Vespertine, Bjork
3. Erik Satie--the best piano composer ever
4. From Detroit to St. Germain, St. Germain
5. Erin's V-Day gift
6. Mulholland Drive score

Nothing too exciting//nouveau.

Sigh

Let's all take a brief moment and recognize the sheer honesty that is expunged thanks to copious amounts of alcohol. My posts are always (when they are able to be followed/read) much more "from the heart" than my usual ramblings because while I know that this is MY journal, and that I should only be writing for myself, I also have to recognize the fifty other people that read this superfluous drivel every day, and self-censor my thoughts. 'Tis a shame, but that is why I have other journals in which I unleash the REAL nitty-gritty.

It doesn't look like I'm going to be able to see "Rent" in Columbia, MO next week. My plan was to leave Thursday morning, after taking all of my mid-terms early (my spring break, as uncanny as it seems, begins the first day of March). But, since my cultural anthropology professor is "too busy" to allow me to take the exam in advance, I'm not going to be able to see the show and will instead drive down to the Land of the Lost on Friday.

Are any of you familiar with "Lemmings," a semi-popular computer game that was introduced at least 8 years ago? Well, I was enthralled with the simple game as a youngster, and now that I've recently downloaded it, I spend much too much time playing it. If any of you know what game I'm talking about, you'll be nodding your head in understanding right now.

Choir, then another choir, then dinner with Tripp.

Untitled

I cannot think of a title for the life of me. I've drank about (looks at bottle perched on his computer) 4/5 of a bottle of wine this evening, and am a bit tired. Bear with me--this will be brief.

How accurate are instincts? Should we follow them always? I suppose this just makes me think of Plato and his notion of the soul--how Reason controls Emotion and The Passions. But when does one determine when his emotions and desires are unreasonable? I just don't know. There's so much uncertainty in life, and while I told Theo last night that I like being free and not having commitments and boundaries in my life, I think about it right now, and perhaps I do like having constants in my life. Like my relationship with Tripp, for example. That is something that could not at all be called a constant--I never have any idea what's going on, in my mind and CERTAINLY not in his. Perhaps that's just how I deal with relationships (with Theo too)--worry and sweat and lose (some) sleep over not having a guarantee, a guarantee that things will always be the way I would like them to be. I'm just a very controlling person, I think--I must dominate every situation. I've ruined my sister's life by dictating, essentially, what she should think about everything; I NEVER work well in group projects; sometimes I think about the things I do around the apartment and wonder if I do them just so I have some subconscious level of dominance over my roommates. So strange, I am.

I'm digressing.

And another thing that, for some reason, I've been thinking about all day--why are Chris Jensen and I no longer friends, let alone acquaintances? We simply stopped corresponding with each other. So strange. I certainly hope I haven't offended.

Which is what I think I did to Jesse. I think he's really angry with me for some reason. Every one of our conversations, of late, ends in a huff on one of our parts. I don't understand.

Going outside//going to bed.

Relief

I wish I hadn't read Theo's journal before posting, because then I may have had a few pieces of original thought to share here. He essentially stared everything that I had to say. Theo and I had an hour-and-a-half conversation about close to everything--our past relationship, our new friendship, our current relationships with other people. We talked about things that were never brought up during the 1.2-year course of our relationship that would have explained so much. My elation is overflowing; I actually sat down at the piano and played for a bit tonight after our conversation. I'm very very optimistic about what my newfound friendship with Theo could behold.

My day even before that was fairly good. I received an A on my first Philosophy paper, and while at first, my professor's copious comments were almost insulting, I reread them on the bus and could tell that she found great depth in my piece. Stimulating discussions ensued in both my Philo. and English classes. I was mildly offended by my English prof.'s comments on date rape--he essentially took the chauvanistic male approach and decided to regale us with theoretical anecdotes about girls who decide the morning after they say "yes" to press sexual assault charges against their suitors. I was really shocked that he said what he said, and am curious if he's going to get away with his agressive commentary, with Loyola's obvious stance against sexual violence.

Tripp and I had another Monday session--lunch (this time with Sarah, Tripp's friend who I adore almost as much as Tripp himself) and a nap. As always, a treat.

Good dinner again tonight--cooking can be such a treat. Oh, last night--about the only good thing that happened yesterday was this: I cleaned off/out an old wine bottle, put a fresh branch of rosemary in it, as well as a few garlic cloves, and filled the bottle up with some extra virgin olive oil. I'm Martha Stewart, everybody. Good Christ.

Pictures will have to wait--I'm experiencing technical difficulties with my D: drive. The "D" standing for Durr.

The Hellmouth Opens

But, I'm not allowed to discuss these things, because we made a house pact, of sorts, to not discuss each other behind our backs. (Could write SO much here but won't.)

This was one of the worst days I've had in 2003 so far.

First, I met Theo in Shag Park to give him back his air mattress. I abhor the situation we're in right now. I yearn so much to be his friend, but know that I cannot. And that really bothers me. I acknowledge that I've done this to myself, to us, but I'm still really upset about it. I just want everything to be the same as before, but as deeply close confidantes. And while the cynical part of me wants to believe that he's abstaining from renewing some connection with me just to hurt me, the realistic part of me knows that I've broken this one-of-a-kind art piece, and it'll never be recreated, not even by the artists themselves.

Then, I drove home, in anticipation of a pleasant, relaxed afternoon with my family. But, oh, no. Instead, we spent 10 minutes eating cake and opening presents, while the remaining four hours involved me receiving lecture after lecture about how we have no money, and how I need to get beaucoup de scholarships, and how I'm irresponsible. My mother and father literally made a list of all the things they needed to lecture me about. I was offended beyond belief, and then moreso when my father insisted I fix everything on the computer that he destroyed. I looked through my Theo bag, we dined, we drove me back to Chicago. I thought my worries were over.

But no.

I then had to deal with a hellacious witch-hunt in my living room. La la la.

I am 42 minutes past my bedtime. Must sleep off the day. More pictures will come tomorrow.

St. Valentine's Day

My mother lost her 26-year-old job this week. Provena St. Joseph Hospital had been making drastic cuts in all of its departments over the past several years, due to a decrease in funds, but as the head of the hospital's largest off-site hematology laboratory, we hoped that her position would not be affected by these changes in her long-withstanding occupation. On Tuesday, she received notice, along with her conpatriates in her lab, as well as three others in the greater Fox Valley area, that all off-site enterprises would be no more.

She's handling it surprisingly well--my mother has experienced relatively few shanges in her job for so long, and as she put it, "[her] job became so much a part of [her.]" She has already received an offer of equal (if not higher) prominence at Lutheran General Hospital in Park Ridge, but is put off by the hour-long commute.

I'm rather concerned, myself--she explicitly stated that my collegiate future is in jeopardy, and if adequate financial offerings are not made by Loyola, I may need to switch schools for the fall semester and beyond. Things just aren't going well for us.

My bed is only half asleep--I must go make it whole.

Weblogs Wanted.

I encourage all of you who cannot read an entry in my journal without fidgeting to go to the above link. I've submitted my Blog to a person (man? woman? robot?) who runs a website that essentially just snips random sentences from online journals and pastes them together to form a surprisingly pseudo-linear entry. Go there and see for yourself. (Thank you Cyndi)

Tuesdays and Thursdays are generally droll days. I have one class on Thursdays, and that's about it. I moved my car, took a 30-minute shower, ate the leftover mousakka, and went to class.

I'm so uninspired right now--perhaps it's a result of writing pages and pages in my Moleskine on various bus trips I had today.

Isn't it odd how we, as humans, inherit the role established by our most recent exes when in subsequent relationships? Sometimes, with Tripp, I feel the way I imagine Theo felt at he beginning of our relationship. And I can see that Tripp has feelings (very) similar to my own when I began to date Theo. It's one of those inherent traits humans posess, I think, so that we can see what we didn't like about situations we were in, how other people feel about us, and ultimately, so that we make less mistakes in succeeding relationships. It's a really good thing to have.

Isn't it amusing that, even though we've all but dismissed each other from our lives, Theo still knows how to dig the toe of his Prada shoe into my side? He must be very proud, to have such limitless power.

DWB

I hope you all have that one special relative that you look up to, admire, and otherwise love spending hours with. I do--it's my Aunt Jennifer. I've described her here before--she's a fortysomething single woman who lives in Evanston. She's cute, in my opinion, and knows something about everything interesting. I've learned so much from her, and tonight I had the great fortune of dining with her.

She called me and asked if I'd like to come over for a "small meal." Of course, having no other plans, I agreed. When I, and most other people think of a small meal, we think sandwiches, maybe some sort of simple pasta dish. No, no...my aunt bakes bread, the most delicious moussakka, garlic potatoes, a bountiful plate of apertifs, wine, and some French chocolate and a beautiful fruit caketart thing. I was bowled over. So, I'm spendingtime with a truly inspirational woman, plus I'm eating the best meal I've had in months, plus, as I was leaving, she gives me most of the leftover food, and FOUR BAGS of random kitchen supplies and cookbooks. I love her more than words could possibly recognize.

(DWB = Driving While Buzzed...I had a few glasses of wine and drove. Not good. I controlled myself, though.)

I took a nap with Tripp this afternoon. It was, to no one's surprise, quite pleasant.

After my Trippafternoon, I waited for 20 minutes for my bus. It never came, in the grand tradition of Chicago Public Transportation. So, I decided to just take the L and hike the three or four blocks to my apartment. As I'm waiting on the platform, the wind bashing me left and right, up walks Jesus Christ. No, not the Son of God--the Jesus Christ of Loyola, Joe Carlin. I hardly recognized him for some reason, but then we both stared each other down for a few minutes and started talking. We chatted--him loudly, me more subdued--for the duration of my L trip. It was strange just talking to him, but even stranger when, as I deboarded my train, I realized that I don't have anyone to tell this story to. Sad.

Tuesday, Tuesday

Today was such a nice day, for a Chicago winter, until about 5:00 when all meteorological hell broke loose and snow was soaring through the air at the insistance of the lovely 50 MPH winds. I was cold throughout the day, however, even when the sun was shining and the wind was not bludgeoning the Chicago skyline to death, because I didn't have a single pair of clean underwear to sport. So, freeballing became the game of choice today.

I have spent three of the past four nights with a sleeping companion. How bizarre is that, for me, if you know me well enough. Fortunately, those nights were all shared with the same (great) person, so I don't feel too terribly icky.

Theo and I had been conversing for the past week or so--nothing too deep, just "how are you?" sorts of things. I will admit, at first it did make me uncomfortble, because after all, we now exist without the warm blanket of a relationship to caress our conversation. But, I assumed that everything was alright. Today, after not really communicating with him for a few days, I IMd him, just to make sure everything was alright. We treaded through the waters of awkwardness, and I left to go prepare some food for dinner. I returned, only to receive a long IM from him, stating that he and I could no longer converse. I fear that Theo and I will never have a friendship--and I realize that the "I'd like to be your friend" is a literary kick in the junk, but I sincerely mean it. And now, I'm sad about the possibility that Theo's presence in my life has really come to an end.

I spent the better part of my day (after buying my scarf AGAIN, after a Wendy's employee took mine, and a fun poster in Evanston) trying to construct a photo album, of sorts, to show some pictures of a roll that I just had developed. Shannon's scanner is broken for some reason, and that's why there are mysterious purple stripes across the majority of the photos. Enjoy.

Pictures of a day in the life.

The Rediculously Immature Life of my Apartment

I'm tired, and so I'm going to elaborate on the more frustrating aspect of living here: my passive-aggressive roommates. I am partially guilty of the same sin, but not nearly to the extent of my fellow Cornelians. When one person has a problem with another, he or she generally complains about it with everyone but the person he/she has a problem with. This usually involves the petitioning roommate gathering the remaining three roommates in a room and complaining to them about the fifth roommate. Then, the angered roommate carries on with the offending roommate as if nothing is wrong. Everyone has at least three qualms about each roommate. But, we rediculously carry on with our Mary Sunshine lives while with that person, often giving an offensive glare to the hated roommate behind his/her back. It's quite rediculous. We're all semi-intelligent adults, and yet we still resort to these childish outlets of frustration. Basically, none of us posess the cojones to stick up for himself/herself, so nothing will ever change. I sometimes hate it here.

(In response to Tracy, Shannon, Nick and Lauren complaining about one of my few habits just within earshot)

Good Weekend

So, aside from the fact that I am psychologically broken in ways that very few know about, and that aspect of my personal life came out (but not really) several times, most in-opportunely, this weekend, I really enjoyed my birthday weekend.

The "surprise party" I was supposed to receive was a bust. I was embarassed/mildly pissed. But, Lauren made me a beautiful birthday cake and a soft, fun blanket, so that was pleasing. Nick gave me a gift certificate, and ERIN, my love, gave us tickets to see "Tick...Tick...BOOM!" at the Shubert this spring and dinner at Soul Kitchen. I really love her, and was most disappointed that she really had to go to NYC this weekend. [Her stepmother breeds Boston Terriers and Standard Poodles (caps?), and one of them was selected to compete for the Westminster Cup in New York City this weekend. So, of course, like anyone would, Erin went to the Big Apple with them.]

Tripp and I spent most of the weekend together. I sincerely enjoy his company--he's just very friendly and interesting and energetic. I like it.

I have my first paper to write for English 106 today--I really should take a nap before starting that.

Oh--and it's recently been announced, by one of Tripp's friends after reading my journal, that I have a "mean semicolon." I'm quite flattered.

Another year, another day

I've been anticipating the arrival of my birthday for some time now, and while the first hour or two of the day were pleasant, the rest of the day just slipped into the category of "Ordinary Day." Woke up around 1:30, ate, swept my porch (when I refer to my "porch," really I just mean the expanded stairwell outside of the kitchen. Nothing special.). Typical things. I took a shower around 5:00PM, and upon stepping out of my shower, which already has its own infirmities, I placed my foot in a quickly-growing puddle of water. A circlar piece of metal, which is screwed to my floor, was pouring copious amounts of water all over my tiny bathroom. It must be connected to my shower, because this past week, when I've started the shower water, a slow gurgle of water, no more than a cup, has seeped from the screwhole and edges. But today...it was rushing like a spring in the ground. Brahnco, the super, is supposed to fix it tomorrow.

I went shopping, bought three fun shirts on sale, and ate a surprisingly filling meal at Zoom. usually, I take the 151 bus downtown, and I did. But, on my return trip, I threw chance to the wind in a very "N25 in London" sort of way (Questions? Refer to first entry in A Summer in Europe) and took the 146 bus I was home, from 900 N. Michigan to 525 W. Cornelia, in about 5 minutes. I was uber-pleased.

While I was on the porch, for various reasons, I had a conversation with one of my neighbours. He's lived in he building for three years, and he told me an interesting story about how last summer, there was a bomb scare at Temple Shalom (the synagogue next to my apt.) and a swarm of police came and evacuated all the neighbouring buildings. Excitement!

That's all for now. Cute "Will and Grace" tonight.

It's my birfday...

I feel guilty stealing that from JC. Oh well.

It's my birthday. Well, as of 10:30AM--my mother had a caesarian, so she plan out the process of giving birth to me, something that generally involves a lot of rushing around the house and racing at top speeds down othewise-tranquil residential streets. Which must have been convenient for her--none of that 4:42AM bullshit that a lot of bitchy fetuses pull. I can see my mother now--waking up around 8, having a cup of coffee, perhaps a breakfast pastry of some sort that my father so lovingly purchased for her. Reading "Life" or some other relaxing magazine. Having my father drive her, effortlessly, at a reasonable speed, to Lutheran General Hospital in Park Ridge. She had the doctors play Handel's "Water Music" while I was ripped from the warm gelatinous shelter that was her womb.

Okay, I've crossed the line.

Last night, for the first time in 18 (19?) years, I literally did not sleep at all last night. Initially, I went to bed around midnight, to get my quota of nine hours of sleep. But, as the hours rolled on, I just couldn't fall asleep. I tried everything--eating, drinking water, masturbating, ****ing, thinking about songs I'd learned as an elementary school student (a tip from my beloved mother), changing the temperature of my heated blanket--everything. I just watched the minute hand on my alarm clock swing around, around, and around. Eventually, the big hand hit the "twelve," and the little hand caressed the "nine," and my computer began to play "La valse d'Amelie," and I knew it was time for me not to wake up, but just get out of bed, as if I were a vampire emerging from his coffin. (Except in daylight.) I'm not sure why my heart was beating so fast, and so many thoughts were freighting through my head. So, I had a long day.

And now, on to what some of you were adamently sifting through my superfluous thoughts for: a summary of my date.

I feel incredibly guilty, because I must honestly say that I've never been on a better first date before. I met Tripp in his residence hall's lobby, and after he dropped off my copy of Monsoon Wedding in his room, we left. (I wish I could be more verbose about all of this, but I am REALLY tired.) After taking the L up to Evanston, I bought some more incense at Cost Plus, to kill time before our movie. We then saw Chicago, for my fourth time and his first. I still enjoyed it, strangely enough. There are some movies (Amelie) that I can see over and over again, and it doesn't lose any of its novelty value for me. After the film, we shiveringly strolled Evanston to find some Thai place one of his friends recommended to him. After that brief adventure, which involved nto finding the restaurant, we retreated to Clark's on Belmont. And it was there that we spent two hours conversing about the most grittily honest things. I think the key to our date was the level of honesty that we each came into it with. We discussed so many things--family, relationships, politics, music, friends. It was just so relieving to find that I could come into this with no secrets, no quirks that are discovered in only the most awkward ways. I made every attempt to avoid talking about Theo (failing at points), because I didn't want to be unfair to Tripp. Theo was perched not in the back of, but not in the front of my mind. I suppose that's to be expected.

As I reflect on the evening I've just enjoyed, I become even more wracked with guilt. If I didn't enjoy myself tonight, things would have been so much easier to deal with--I would've just classified it in the "Bad Dates" folder of my mind and moved on. But, instead, I'm presented with the guilt caused by my happiness. I just feel so...Catholic right now.

I just want everyone/Theo to be content in life.

Irony

So, as Theo prepares for his first post-Brownshirt date, I will be doing the same. I've consulted with many of my friends about the timeliness of this date, and gotten mixed responses. I decided then to throw caution to the winds of my mending state and take the chance. After all, when one is attracted to someone else, if one has nothing to lose, why shouldn't one act on his emotions?

(Note: While Theo, I suspect, thinks that it was this gentleman who served as the catalyst of the end of our relationship, it is really nothing of the sort. I did not even meet the soon-to-be described fellow until after my much-analyzed decision was made.)

His name is Tripp. While initially, I just thought it was a "fun" nickname he contrived for himself, I later came to learn that it does bear some significance; he's a "III," as in, his father and grandfather share his name. So, third, three, triple...you see the train of thought. He's a freshman at Loyola, hailing from the grand city of Atlanta, Georgia (And you thought after Mizzou, I'd be avoiding the South at all costs...). He's studying theater, and is in Loyola's production of "Chicago," a show I would have shed my right foot to be in (I didn't find out about auditions until after the fact). We share similar music and film tastes, and I'm trying to turn him onto David Sedaris and Ani DiFranco. He seems to epitomize the term "granola," without the general pretension that accompanies the title. He's just very down-to-earth. He has a mushroom cloud of curly dark hair on his head that even the great Mario Tricoci couldn't tame. But, I like it.

It's just strange, because now that Theo and I have parted, I feel like everything I do, everything I enjoy, from the music I like to the food I eat to the books I read to my decorating styles, I do so because of him. The only thing he excelled in above being a wonderful mentor was in being a wonderful companion and lover. I owe so, so much to him. In the beginning of our relationship when I ritualistically suspected that he didn't enjoy my company and was going to break up with me, I always told Erin, "At least it was one of the best learning experiences of my life--at least I've gained so much from him." His by-line belongs under much of my character traits and interests. I shudder when I think of what I could be like today, had we not spent our great time together.

What would you think of me now
So lucky? So strong? So proud?
I never did thank you for that
Now I'll never have the chance.
Jimmy Eat World, "Hear You Me"

Exerpts

From one of my many paper journals:

"I feel like someone has died. My friends, in my opinion, almost treated my relationship with Theo as its own person. They send me wishes of a speedy recovery, offer their condolences. And truly, it was that--we had a child together; our relationship was very alive and human. It had emotions, reason, temperance--and truly, it existed outside of us. We tookit everywhere we went together--it separated us from everyone else, like this glowing being that people recognized, and justas soon as it was acknowledged, the public sent it out of their minds. We took it everywhere with us, and when we were seperated, we had this child with us when we thought of each other."

"My ring just doesn't feel right on the opposing hand. Ironically, the right hand...right, being correct and proper. As if all of this was the only proper thing to have happened."

So, it's really over. I've cut my physical grieving in half every day since Saturday, and now I'm down to one tear session a day. The crying is not as violent as it once was, either--no writhing in my bed, no strugging to control my grief on the back stairs. I've gotten much more comfortable with my newfound singlehood. Singledom. Whatever.

Enough of that.

Today, I went a'shopping. Some Ragstock action--today was the first time I found clothes that I suspected might fit me. Since my parents are taking their long-held-captive credit card back this weekend, I decided to stock up on books for the semester. I'll talk about each of them as I read them. On the bus ride home, I started Jhumpa Lahiri's Interpreter of Maladies. A Pulitzer prize-winning book, it is a collection of fictional essays, all dealing with "characters seeking love beyond the barriers of nations and generations" (i.e., India and the US).

I'll post more once I return from the laundry room--I just realized I've had clothes down there since early this afternoon.

An Obituary

Theodore D. K. and Brian J. S.
Theodore D. K., 19 years of age, cherished son of all things liberal, independent and posessing inner beauty, and Brian J. S., of 18 years, fond offspring of a conservative environment comprised of delicate love, ignorant hate, and lots of theater, ended their fifteen-month relationship late this evening. Due to superfluous amounts of salty tears in his eyes, the coroner could not determine the exact time of death. Their partnership coupled K.'s endless knowledge of all things wonderful and S.'s limitless curiosity and love. Survivors include such phrases as "'Lil Louis" and "I'm full of love," a passion for NPR, The Green Chair, and an endless batch of memories dear and sacred. Funeral services will be held continuously, until S.'s box of facial tissues runs empty. In lieu of flowers, superfluous amounts of alcohol, filtered cigarettes, and boxes of facial tissues (with lotion) may be sent to S.'s apartment until further notice. Cash donations are also accepted with open arms.

On with the show

Empty spaces - what are we living for
Abandoned places - I guess we know the score
On and on, does anybody know what we are looking for...
Another hero, another mindless crime
Behind the curtain, in the pantomime
Hold the line, does anybody want to take it anymore
The show must go on,
The show must go on
Inside my heart is breaking
My make-up may be flaking
But my smile still stays on.
Whatever happens, I'll leave it all to chance
Another heartache, another failed romance
On and on, does anybody know what we are living for?
I guess I'm learning, I must be warmer now
I'll soon be turning, round the corner now
Outside the dawn is breaking
But inside in the dark I'm aching to be free
The show must go on
The show must go on
Inside my heart is breaking
My make-up may be flaking
But my smile still stays on
My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies
Fairytales of yesterday will grow but never die
I can fly - my friends
The show must go on
The show must go on
I'll face it with a grin
I'm never giving in
On - with the show -
I'll top the bill, I'll overkill
I have to find the will to carry on
On with the -
On with the show -
The show must go on...
Queen, "The Show Must Go On"

Deep Dish

Suddenly, the wind and chill doesn't seem so constricting. I had an evening that could make most other evenings turn shades of red out of embarassment. I've never felt so...liberated, alive, content. Several things in particular, things I dare not expound upon, made the dark din of early morning squint its eyes at their inherently strong glow.

Weathered

Earlier this evening, I spun a spiderweb of words, detailing how I felt about my rebirth into a society I've come to know. But, the wind of Reality has ushered those thoughts offstage, with something much less than polite patronization. As of several hours ago, hours that have been downsized into states of deeper thought than one would expect from me, all that's left of my penaa is a few shimmering wisps of the mood I was once in today.

As I now perch over this machine in the chill of Winter, a Winter both literal and theoretical, only one Righteous Babe can put the vibrations of my soul to words, music, rhythm.

how sick of me
must you be
by now
while you're standing just outside
of what your pride will allow
always reaching into yourself
to find a new way to understand me
when i'm sure that there's no one else
in the world
who could withstand me

the first person in your life
to ever really matter
is saying the last thing
that you want to hear
and you are listening hard
through the splintering shards
of your life as it shatters
and you're standing firm
and you're staying close
and you're seeing clear

i took to the stage
with my outrage
in the bad old days
when you were the make-me-mad guy
but the songs
they come out more slowly
now that i am the bad guy
and i say, i'm sorry i'm so crazy
I am astounded by your patience
and you say, believe it or not, baby
the joy you bring me
still outweighs it

the first person in your life
to ever really matter
is saying the last thing
that you want to hear
and you are listening hard
through the splintering shards
of your life as it shatters

and you're standing firm
and you're staying close
and you're seeing clear

how sick of me
must you be
by now?
Ani DiFranco, "Sick of Me"

Quickly

I hate it when my friends are unhappy. And right now, I feel like so many of them are.

Working Backwards

Today: Was late to my first class, thanks to CTA mayhem. Ate another wonderful meal at Panini Panini while reading interesting articles about Jews and homosexuality. Made Loyola's Chamber Choir. Became disillusioned about collegiate singing. Went shopping, purchased some clothes and Bel Canto by Ann Patchett. (I've given up reading classical literature, unless required to for a class.) Came home, ate agonizingly expensive food, watched television, posted.

Sunday: Woke up to sounds of my parents having a brunch party in my living room. Great. Read more of the Rodriguez book. Went to last shift of work at Gap at 5, came home at midnight. Picked up clothes/toiletries, returned to Chicago with car. Went to sleep.

Saturday: De-comatized at around 11:45. Showered, drove back home with Lauren. Worked from 2:30-5:30. Re-introduced myself to Cres, who = cool guy. Went home, ate dinner with parental units. Went to Theo's house, then to Starbuck's, then to Internet cafe to play some morbidly fun game, then to Theo's neighbourhood to see the film set erected for Ben Affleck's new film "home for the holidays," then home to read as much as I could of Richard Rodriguez's autobiography. Fell asleep around 4AM.

Friday: Missed first class altogether, but made it to second and third classes alright. Was picked up from school by Shannon and Lauren. Went to DePaul, then Wendy's, then two doctoral institutions (neither for me, don't worry). Drove back to Lake Shore Local, parked after 20 mins. of waiting (which is a great plan), took cab to Belmont to go shopping, ate at decent Italian place, shopped more. Experienced a homeless man, youngish, call me a "beautiful blond boy." Called for police/apartment tenants after spotting an older-looking man who had clearly fallen down the stairs leading to his apartment on Halsted. Went back to apartment. Drank. Played a spiced up version of Truth-or-Dare Jenga. (Shudder) Ate ice cream. Drank. Played with Ouija board/AJ's wiccan supplies to contrive a spell against Shannon's John. Went to sleep.

If I feel like it, I'll edit this later with more details.

"The Gay Meeting"

The organization's real name is even worse: it's called "The Rainbow Connection." As in the Kermit the Frog song. But, I chose to allude to Greg's quick-and-dirty nickname. Every queer alliance/support group/coalition/organization is the same--five minutes of discussing upcoming events, then a quirky game that involves you having to speak to people, and then 1/2 hour of gossiping. It was enjoyable, for what it was--I re-met a cool guy, Saul, who is in my choir. I briefly spoke to Greg, and met some other interesting people there. I'll more than likely return to "Hussie Lounge" (Again, I am not making this up) for some flamboyant revelry.

I spent the afternoon with Nic, a friend through Jesse and such, who lives a few blocks away from me. We discussed random things while sitting on his couch. I enjoyed myself, and I'm certain that we're going to make this whole "hanging out" thing a habit.

I wish I spoke to Theo today. But, I didn't.

_____________________ (Insert title here)

It was 11:37PM. I'm sitting in my living room, having a conversation with Mariam (who may perhaps be the most beautiful woman I know) on my cell. It was great--we were discussing religion (she's Islamic) like big boys and girls, and really getting fired up. All of a sudden, my phone just dies. I cannot get reception anywhere, even outside. So not only is she angry with me, more than likely, but I've missed out on a great conversation.

Theo didn't tell me he loved me either time I spoke to him today. And I owe him $40.00 and a shirt from Ragstock, as payment from three bets. I am poor.

A restaurant review: Panini Panini, on Sheridan Ave., in Rogers Park. Great, reasonably priced food, friendly staff, the best coffee I've had in a while (two seperate customers actually came in to grab coffee and said that theirs was the best in the area). Overall, a great place to study, enjoy bottomless coffee/other, and keep warm from the mind-crystalizing cold.

Speaking of, tonight is supposed to be the coldest night of this season in Chicago. I know I've been overtaken with a sort of rigor mortis--I can only imagine how people without heat must feel.

Fischerspooner is a musical entity (band? single person? I don't know.) I've come to really enjoy--especially his remix of Kylie's "Come Into Your World." Okay, I'm done about "that GAY stuff," so that all of my Jacobs conpatriates don't drown in this glass of ice-cold liberalism. It's ok, guys--have a sip or two.

Warning: Curves in Road Ahead

I've forgotten that, along with living my dream of being an independent, beautiful city boy, I have to study and go to school and have those things called "responsibilities." And that's not cool.

Shannon asked me tonight if I was happy here. And I sort of got emotional, because I really am. I forget, from time to time, what happiness is and how it envelops you like a blanket fresh from the dryer. And while my room is frigid thanks to my single-pane windows, my soul simmers in a saucepan, prepared by my roommates, the city, my school, and Theo.

I'm just...gushily happy.

Everyone's got that one special thing...

I was friends with her, many years ago. And now look at what she's doing. Isn't that interesting? Quite frankly, I can't think of anyone else who would be a better candidate for Playboy--she's absolutely gorgeous, in that Mattell way.

Reflections

Why was I such a better writer a year ago? What has happened to me?

I've been scrolling through my archives for the past few minutes (hence the writing comment), and came across no berating comments regarding my high school's show choir. We were great, compared to prior choirs. We did the best that we could have ever done, and better than I could have imagined. That's really how I feel...so, to all of my naysaying readers: stop.

"RachelFlax" wrote me back today, to further explain the Algonquin phenomena surrounding my Blog. Which seems to have been blown out of proportion. I also received a pleasant E-mail from a current Jacobs student and close acquaintance. It made me feel better about things. I suppose I shouldn't concern myself with who reads what and how my readers take the things I write about. After all, these words and sentences are really for my benefit only--so that I may record my history. I shouldn't fret about who my readers may be (as mysterious as the whole thing is), because, after all, most of them reside on a thumbtack in the map I've long stored away. So, read on. If it really interests you that much...which also comes as a surprise to me.

I'm going to buy my books tomorrow, as well as enjoy my DSL and eat.

A week in the life.

"I'm really optimistic about this upcoming semester."
"I really like the people I'm living with--we get along great."
"I'm living my dream--this is what I'd fantasized about."

These are actual sentences I've said/typed to several people in the last week. I've unconsciously shed my pessimistic attitude, and this new outlook has been a great thing to have as I've begun this new phase in my life.

Oh, and to disclaim this post--I'm making it a priority to not become upset about recent discoveries I've made, thanks to Rachel Flax. Go ahead, read her entry. I'm not going to discuss it any longer here, until I have more information about this abuse against my journal. The damage is done already, I suppose.

I'm quite excited about the majority of my five classes (I dropped one, so that I had a day off). My philosophy professor (notice the use of the word "professor," as opposed to "TA") seems like a wonderful woman, and I enjoy philosophy anyways, so that class should be enjoyable. My Cultural Anthropology course consists of a class of 12 students and one high-strung professor, who seems nervous and excited at the same time. The most interesting of my courses, Judaism in the Modern World, is taught by a professor at Northwestern, who also serves as the head rabbi at NW's acclaimed Jewish center. (It has a name, a name i'm not sure of.) While the choir I'm enrolled in isn't that great, I think I'll enjoy it. No queers, as far as I can tell, which is odd. Last and certainly least on my list, my English class is led by a middle-aged blond man, who's clearly on a desperate hunt for his youth. So, that's that.

My non-scholastic activities this week have included drinking, going to an anti-war campaign at DePaul, drinking, buying groceries with which to make dinner at Treasure Island (a chain of European supermarkets...love it), drinking, cleaning my room, having Theo make dinner for me, drinking, going out with Greg and a handful of his friends, going to court in Pontiac and having all my troubles resolved, drinking, and purchasing the "Chicago" soundtrack.

I've now seen "Chicago" three times, the most recent being with Erin last night. It was our final horrah, before she jaunted back to Mizzou today. I got sort of worked up in my car, which served as our safety bubble, while listening to Joni Mitchell with her. She's been the best friend I've ever had, which says a lot since I've had several great best friends. As I type this out, I realize how much I'm going to miss her. I won't be able to see her until late February, if then. I wish she were living with me, and not going to Missouri any longer. But, alas...seeing as how I want her to be sublimely happy more than anything else, I wish my Katty-Kit a wonderful semester.

Theo's Theo. We fight constantly.

My shower drain is still horrendously clogged. I've now gone through at least ten bottles of drain-clearing products. I don't know what to do any longer. Agh.

That's it for now. I'll post more shortly, including a report on my Jacobs HS scandal (At least I haven't received any contemptuous guestbook posts...yet), once my informant sends me more thorough findings.

Pre-cursor

Friskey01: I won't. so when are you going ot update your journal? I'm getting bored with nothing to read
Boyinbrownshirt: I know....i'll do it soon.
Boyinbrownshirt: i'm actually at the page right now, thinking about what to write
Friskey01: write about your unquenchable thirst for my love and attention.
Boyinbrownshirt: hahahaha...I'll try to include that

So, school.

After purchasing a bed at Ikea, not to mention countless other small but necessary necessities, I registered at Loyola for this upcoming semester. Which begins in less than 48 hours. I'm rather "stressed out" because not only do I have to work at Spring Hill Gap (1 hour + away from Chicago) Wednesday and Friday mornings, but also, I have to go to Pontiac, IL (2 hours + away from Chicago) for a court hearing about the icky speeding ticket I received what seems like years ago. So, Bria has some orchestrating to do.

About Loyola--so, I'm taking (currently) 16 hours of interesting-sounding courses. I'm enrolled in a philosophy course, Political Thought, Writing II, Cultural Anthropology, choir and my personal favorite, Judaeism (You think I know how to spell that?) in the Modern World. That I am seriously looking forward to. I bought some of my books and picked up my ID card, with me looking like a frumpier Bozo the Clown.

I saw Erin tonight--I really am going to miss my buddy, my "E." I do, in fact, think she's terriffic. As I told her, part of me wants her to hate a Missouri without her Will, but of course, since she is my best friend and I only want her to be happy, I hope that she has a good semester. As long as she transfers to a Chicago-area school. (Glares at Grace)

That's all for now--I'm going to move the remaining 6/13 of my things into my apt. tomorrow, and then school begins. So soon, so soon. I just need one more week. A single week.

Cement is good

So, I'm going to Loyola University, for sure, next semester. I'm trekking to the city tomorrow to register for classes and whatnot, and then set up my bed and clean my new bathroom. So, my weekend is pretty much cut out for me. With the bathroom alone. Ack.

My father, today, decided that he wants me to go to school in DC next year, so that I can live with their friend Carol and watch over her beautful house while she's off in African countries (which occupies 7/8 of her year). I like the idea, but when I told Theo (which I just spelled "toe"), he became very quiet. Something about how then he has nowhere to live next semester. What a GREAT reason for him to not want me to stay in the Chicagoland area.

Oh well.

Must pack.

You know what's scary?

My SAT score is substantially higher than our current president's.

I wish my sister didn't have to deal with the stigma of being my younger sibling. Among other things, my high school theater "director" made a really inappropriate quip about me to my sister in front of the cast of her musical today. He and I had many an issue my senior year, and ultimately, his unbearably wretched/bitter attitude benefitted to my decision to not audition for my senior musical. (Trivial, I know...) He said to my sister, "You know, I learned last year never to mess with a S(olem). They just get in your face and it's not good." He went on...when my sister told me this, I couldn't even speak. I'm offended, mostly because he's denying my sister her individuality. I think a letter will be written. Throw-away comment or not, that's simply not acceptable.

The remainder of my week will be filled with social lunches, Theo, buying a bed, and ultimately, moving in.

(Untitled)

I feel like, most of the time, my life takes on an accordion function. Most of the time, my life is in a state of inactive preparation, just as an accordion's bellows are expanded to let in air. But sometimes, like now, those handles are squeezed together, the bellows contract, and strange, sometimes unpleasant music (but music nonetheless) is uttered from the accordion/my life. Like now.

I'm going to begin working at the Gap on Broadway and Belmont in a few weeks, which makes me happy. I'll hear about Loyola (finally) by the end of the week--it seemed like they were going to apply me--they said something about how, now that they've received my fall grades, I'll be able to study as a transfer instead of a freshman. So, that's all settled. I'm moving into my apartment for real, bed and all, on Saturday. I like it when things go my way.

Theo and I saw "The Hours" last night. I would advise that, if you've read the book, you should see the film with an open mind, because there are some differences. Basically, novels are written with more grace han movies--when one writes a book, many of the facts and attitudes are implicity presented, while in film, everything is laid out in a paint-by-numbers fashion. I like "discovering" things for myself when I'm reading a book, while when I see a movie, the characters' thoughts are dictated. But, the movie was very tastefully done, and I enjoyed it as much as one could enjoy the depressing undertones.

I'm going to go watch a movie.

Comments

Can we all take Kelly's wonderful lead and post comments to the vapid, banal things I write about? Please? it'll make this journal much better and more bearable, I think.

Three things

The most exciting of 2003 thus far--I found out that I received (unintentionally, as the case may be) a raise of almost a dollar at Gap.

New Year's is hardly recallable, now. All I can remember is standing in the cold waiting for the bus to go to Navy Pier, while attempting to do a roundhouse in front of a synagogue, Theo talking to people about my "large penis," the 8:1 ratio of gay men to straight, me drinking a gin and tonic at Peter and Rob's gorgeous house (and feeling awkward), my derrier escaping my low-rise jeans for most of the evening, the threepenny whores primping all night in my room, Theo waking me up in the middle of the night out of concern for his air mattress, the roommates and I (emphasis on roommates) spending $240 on alcohol, hearing Lauren's loud voice for 5 of the 6 hours I was laying down, seeing people from my past, present and future, and the like.

Go see "Chicago" right now. It's wonderful--the best musical-turned-film I've ever seen. Catherine Zeta-Jones can get all her jazz on with me any time she wants.

I'm working very early in the morning, so I'm going to end this post there. More to come about Lincoln Betsy and her complete lack of scheduling abilities/consideration and my weekend as it unfolds like an Origami crane. Goodnight.

Briefly...

I have so many things to post about, once I have a moment. Briefly, New Year's Eve was quite uneventful and clouded in a mist of alcohol. I am ready to move into my apartment--I paid the first month's rent and have keys and whatnot. I had some sheduling issues this weekend. I will post in detail soon.

...

Nothing is progressing the way I'd like here. Marianna, the girl who is allegedly moving out of my room at Shannon's apartment, has not packed a single thing yet. We have a guest here--my parents' collegiate comrade from Washington DC, which just makes everything about nine times more tense and stressful. My hair is disgusting, and no one likes it, including myself, as of late. It's my sister's birthday, and nothing's moving forward. I want to die. But not really--I'd rather things just come together already.

So this is Christmas

As the years have progressed, I've felt more and more distant to this holiday. This year, my excitement was at an all-time low. I'm not sure why--I went through the usual motions, such as singing "O Holy Night" in some church last night, attending and hosting large family gatherings, receiving presents (all but one I purchased by myself, for myself), and the like. I don't know...I think I was just hideously tired and therefore drained of all Christmassy feelings of hope and glee. It's quite depressing--for so many years, I looked upon this season as the year's grandiose climax. Thanks to work, stress, and other factors, I was left feeling numb and listless. Nothing inspired me, nothing made me sublimely happy. I miss being naive and cheerful, even if those feelings were fed by an artificial tree, tiny impractical lights, and the overuse of one of our precious natural resources, trees.

Visually, "Catch me if you can" was a delightful haberdashery of nostalgia, color, and contrast. I really enjoyed the film, and would recommend it to anyone who has a few hours to take a break from their rampant returning sprees tomorrow.

I love how Theo thinks so poorly of me and everything I'm about. Tonight was the real kicker--he sums up my life in these belittling, patronizing comments, like "Well, I'm not going to two singing and dancing parties on new year's eve." The one time he met my D. Shannon friends, none of them sang, danced, performed monologues from Shakespearean plays, or played with lavish stage makeup. I'm frequently offended by the coarse, low things he says to me. And the worst part is, he doesn't even recognize the offensiveness of his own words. He thinks he can say whatever he wants to me, because either a.) I'll just take the lickin' and keep on tickin', b.) He thinks that I agree with him about me being a vapid, horrible person, or c.) His comments make him feel like the/a better person. All I really know, for certain, is that these actions do not constitute the makings of a long-term, content relationship.

Vachement: French, "cowishly."
Ex.: "C'est vachement facile." (It's cowishly simple.)

Identity Crisis

Do I really look that much like a woman?

I don't think so. But apparently, according to both Trashy IHOP Waitress and Trashy Krispy Kreme Cashier, I do. Last wednesday, Erin and I went out to breakfast at the IHOP in Columbia. We were sitting there, drinking coffee and whatnot, when this waitress who did not belong to us came up and asked, "Are you two ladies doing alright?" Shethen glanced at me and noticed that, horror of horrors, I have facial hair, no breasts, and armhair thicker than a Greek, John Goodman-looking bulldyke. (Pardon the expression, it's a Cho-ism.) She tried to redeem herself by saying something along the lines of "Oh, I only saw you from the back" and failed miserably.

Today, this evening, after shopping for my own birthday gifts at Geneva Commons and visiting Erin at Borders, I stopped to purchase some Krispy Kremes for my co-Gappers in honour of Christmas and whatnot. So, after SPEAKING TO HER IN MY MANVOICE THROUGH THE INTERCOM, I pull up to the window to pay the cashier, give her my credit card, which gave her ample time to LOOK AT MY FACE, and wait until she gives me the signaure slip, saying to me, "here you go, ma'am...oh...sorry." What is this? I really don't get it.

If this happens again, I'm shaving it all off and growing a big grisly beard.

What is this again?

It's been quite some time since I last updated. Alright...three days. That's a long time, for my standards. I really don't have much time to type--I've been scheduled to work at Gap at 7:00AM four days out of this week. One of them happens to be tomorrow. I may go into detail about these points later, but for now...

Things that have happened:
1. Erin and I haven't spoken to each other since Friday. I realize it's only Sunday, but that's odd for us. I think we had issues in the car and at Denny's. I hope what i think is going to happen doesn't happen.
2. I had dinner with Theo and his parents on Saturday to celebrate his birthday. We all met at Cafe Absinthe--I was hideously nervous about the whole thing, but I think the affair went quite well. I really enjoyed the company of Theo's father. I frequently felt like an imbecile, but I enjoyed it nevertheless.
3. Theo gave me a "Minimalist Duck," a French-esque "soup mug," and a set of eight beautiful, wonderful champagne flutes. Christmas has had a pleasant beginning this year.
4. Its end, however, will inevetably be a disappointment. My parents have yet to purchase a single gift for me. Who knows what's going on.
5. I'm working nearly forty hours this week--four hours more than my store manager, and I believe I'm working the most of all the other sales staff. I'm really not happy about that. I spoke to my store manager today about next semester, and as I was having trouble coming up with the most appropriate words, she said "we'll just keep our options open, alright?" So, basically I have full control of the job sit.
6. Everything else apartment related is insane.

That's all for now. Oh, and Theo and I might be fighting again.

Q. "Are you from Missouri?"
A. "Kaaaansas City."

Kansas City, Missouri is one of the more beautiful towns in the midwest (that I've witnessed), and certainly the best town in Missouri. I almost have respect for this state, after visiting its westernmost city. I spent the majority of my time in the Country Club Plaza, an expansive hub of fine shopping and beautiful Spanish-style buildings. KC is known (not to me) as "The City of Fountains;" the plethora of Roman-looking fountains was a pleasant change from the farms and Wal-Marts of the rest of Missouri. Kansas City is also known for its beauiful Christmas decorations--every building was tastefully adorned in lights; I became inebriated from the beauty of the center, and wore a goofy smile on my face for the majority of the trip. (My smile drooped on the way home as I counted at least two dozen adult video stores. What.)

The Plaza contained almost every lower-upper class store you could want--Z Gallerie, Anthropologie, Armani Exchange, Saks Fifth Avenue, Cole Haan, Mark Shale, and more, as well as your standard gigantic Gap, A&F, Banana Republic, and Pottery Barn. I finished all of my Christmas shopping today, aside from Jesse and Shannon. I'm pleased with each and every one of my purchases.

I HAVE TO WORK AT 7:00AM ON SATURDAY. How grossed out am I? Ack.

Marks

Final grades are coming back for my classes. I'm doing surprisingly well so far--still have to hear back from Poly Sci and Philosophy, but for now I'm alright. I think it would've been alright if I would have done poorly this semester, becaus after all, this is the very beginning of an entirely different learning process. I assume that everyone performs on a sub-par level their first semester of college, but the subsequent semesters' grades hammer out the dent in every college student's GPA.

BrownShirt's Book Club

So, I recently finished reading Mitch Albom's Tuesdays With Morrie. I was left feeling apathetic and uninspired. I was expecting a lot more--some prophetic thoughts on life, or at least a few stirring quotations or something. But, alas--the "novel" was trite and base.

I've moved on to Michael Cunningham's Pulitzer-garnered novel The Hours. I have this horribly bland habit of reading novels upon which films are based. So far, I've carved through the first hundred pages, and have been delighted. More to come soon. Oh, and since this is a "book club" (ha), I encourage you all to leave thoughts in the "comment" area. Oh, you know--that link that says "Comment (0)" on the bottom of each page that each and every one of you (save for Tata) has neglected to utilize.

Speaking of TaRa, she and I saw "Maid in Manhattan" this evening. Do I even need to explain to you how terrible it was? Ralph Fiennes is, even as I type this, scouring the want ads in the LA Times, because he will never be hired after this abomination to the American cinematic experience as we know it. My question is, if this film wasn't voted the worst film of the year, how gruesomely hid was "Swept Away?"

Theo and I = fighting again. Sigh.

Sommeil

I am so, so tired. Blech. I have gotten a combined 8 hours of sleep these past two nights--due, in part, by the imbeciles living on my floor. My RA clearly just took the position to make friends, not to be a leader or anything. (I'm really anal.) So it's 2:00AM, and certain ex-roommates of mine are yelling through the hall, "You white motherfucker" and yukking it up with his cohorts. I missed the joke.

Somehow in my eighteen years of existence, I assumed that it generally doesn't thunderstorm in December. But no...in Missouri it does. After it poured for several hours, the rain let up for about ten minutes, so that the clouds could prepare to unleash HAIL. It was so fucking loud. And then this morning, one week until Christmas, it's convertible weather--sunny, warm, dry. This is so insane.

My Astronomy final was alright--I'm not as confident as all-nighter Erin, but oh well. I'm really confident in two, and fairly confident in the other two.

Going out with Tara (I typed "Tata" again...jesus) tonight, then SLEEPING until tomorrow.

"Man, I gotta get out of this town;
man, I gotta get out of this pain..."

Ecstacy

I love how generally, when one has a horrible, shit-shoveling day, that day is generally followed by a really surreal day. Today is (has been at least) my good counterstriking day. I am so confident about the results of my Philosophy exam...so confident, in fact, that I'm even considering studying philosophy. I can be a journalist with a philo. degree, I think.

I'm a Hillcrest Hottie! Kelly's just one of those people here (like so few others) that I sincerely wish I would have gotten to know better over the course of the semester.

I'm going to study "hardcore" with Erin all day today for our Astronomy final. Then, I'm giving myself a wee vacation--I'm going to see "My Big Fat Greek Wedding" seul tomorrow night, going shopping in Kansas City seul Thursday, having devious fun with Erin and Sarah on Thursday night, and coming home Friday!

I'm really quite content now, if you can't tell. The exclamation points sort of give it away.

FrustratioN!

My frustrated self deemed the last "n" worthy of capitalization. It's futile trying to help people. For me, at least. I always feel like I subconsciously turn everything around onto myself, like I always have to commandeer every conversation. I was trying to help a friend this evening, who had had a few drinks (so it was hopeless), and I just went off on this tangent. He grew angry and hastily signed off. I really cannot help people, nor have I ever been able to help people, so no one shall ever ask for my advice/shoulder again. Thank you.

My blog is so dog-damned boring. Why do you even read this drivel.

Poly-Sci/Philosophy final tomorrow. I cannot sleep due to caffeine overdose. Everyone needs to have an Erin in their lives...unless they're really stupid and conservative and do not think beyond reality.

Ixnay on the uckingfay itshay

Everything's fixed! Hooty hoo!

Sarah...sign the goddamned guestbook. And that goes for everyone else, too.

Fucking shit fuck fuck

I did something really stupid today. Or rather, I didn't do something today. Either way, I'm fucked big time. I hatehatehate what I do to myself! Aaghh. Plus, I have to buy about 800 gifts this week.

My French final went well. Mlle. Cisse is writing a letter of recommendation for me--horray!

That's all. Studying much today.

Musings

How glad am I that I saved all of those triangular-shaped notes I received in my middle-school heyday. They kept me entertained for hours last night, while I was supposed to be cleaning out my closet. Things seemed so complicated back then--in a trivial way. Our letters could very well pass for soap opera fodder. Oh, and I was really into writing love letters to random girls, and luckily I saved a copy of most of them. I was just way too charming for my age. I'll scan one and post it here someday.

I'm in BIG trouble with the law. Ok, so not really big trouble. But enough trouble to make me angry/frustrated. I dont'e ver ever want to drive another car again. As long as I live.

My weekend at home was good--theo and I saw a superb film last night, "Personal Velocity." It was great--really made me realize that the best films are ones shot with a minimal budget, few locations, and a home camcorder. It really...made me think. Which is something a film hasn't done for quite some time.

I really enjoy driving my father's van. I feel so much safer, almost empowered, when I'm high above everyone else on the road. Erin and I never cease to amuse ourselves--for the last hour of the trip, we sang the blues like always--although this time, our songs were improved by a primo rhythm section, even though we didn't have Frisbee the Slinky to assist us in our musical endeavours. Who would have thought that we could transcend our past musical experiences in the car with clapping? It was great. I don't want this to be our last trip home.

French final--tomorrow--10:30AM. (I'll) be there.

A la maison

I'm home again. Just for the weekend. Not too thrilling.

Last night, after a long series of angry phone conversations, I went over to Theo's house and watched a bit of television. It was good.

Today began at around 12:30 for me, for some reason. Oh, yes--I was awoken at 5:30AM to help with some computer malfunction, so my sister could print some paper. My family will never learn how to use a computer...who knows what they'll do when I leave.

I went to Geneva Commons with Erin, did some Christmas shopping (Liz/Aunt J), ate at Cosi, and studied for about 87 hours at her house. Right now I'm watching "Monster's Ball."

Tomorrow, Chicago with Theo, and that's about it. This may be the most boring post I've ever conceived. Even I'm getting sleepy rereading it all.

Don't let the math scare you

I hate my life. I really do. I was reminded today (by Theo, who suddenly questioned my motives for leaving Mizzou) how I made the decision not to come to Missouri for school this semester, based on the rediculous notion that I would have to live in a dorm on another college's campus a mile away from the heart of my university. But, no...I resolved to put the negatives aside and focus on the known variables of this equation called college--learning new and interesting things(a), meeting people so similar to me and so different from me(+b), and overall having the best four years of my life(=c).

I did accomplish all of those things, ironically enough. Well, "a" and "b" at least. I learned new things, like intense conservatism and closedmindedness, and interesting things, like how to gut a possum and chew Spam with only 7.5 teeth. I met Tara (I spelled her name "Tata" originally and giggled) and Sarah, and of course my Erin, who are all (seemingly) very similar to me. Everyone else...well, I was exposed to new people and new "ideas." That's all I have to say. But unfortunately, these factors didn't constitute a complete "c."

So, I'm moving on. I made a mistake and I'm righting it, in what I would deem a very good way. I am, as of last night, getting increasingly more anxious/nervous about my new situation, including my place of living and as-of-yet unknown university (I lied, Jeff--my winter semester plans aren't QUITE in stone yet). I throw myself into these situations where I have little to no control, and just expect things to work themselves out in the end, like some modern, horrid Dickens tale.

I'm going to go move my car now.

*Furling brow*

I don't actually know why. So don't ponder.

This week, like the weeks preceding it, has flown by quite rapidly. Few interesting things have happened to me, I'm afraid. Monday, I finished Stephen King's most recent collection of short stories, "Everything's Eventual," which was fairly decent. I always feel like a teenage girl reading King...his works have become adolescent "scare me" fodder. Tuesday, which I must remind myself is (well, was) today, was even blander than Monday. I had fun with Tara at the bookstore, ate and studied with Erin, and wrote a paper about global economics. I'm so relieved I'm coming home in a few days--I have officially run out of clean socks, and have very few fun shirts left to wear. Sigh.

I've been packing my things up these past few days--I feel like I came here with a lot less than I'm leaving with. Two car trips may not be satisfactory.

My apartmental (ha) future is back on track! I spoke to Shannon today (Yesterday? Shit.) and everything's finalized. I'm so excited! I have two windows, my OWN BATHROOM with a BATHTUB, hardwood floors, and wonderful queer-friendly roommates! I'm really excited about this prospect, if you can't tell. I hope to move in by December 29 (my parents' wedding anniversary, consequently). I feel like, for once in my life, things are finally looking up.

Oh, and one administrative thing--I'm going to take the commenting program off my Blog--no one uses them, and they sully the demure elegance of my journal. So, there.

The History of...
"Boy in brown shirt"

Many have asked me these past few weeks about the origin of my screen name/E-mail address/Blog's URL. "Boy in brown shirt" is what Theo referred to me as in his Blog (November 3), after we met in person at a Prospect Pride meeting. (I'm not going to go into grave detail about the whole affair, as far as why he was writing about me in the first place...make something up.) I was wearing this courdoroy-type (that is SO not how that is spelled) tan button-down shirt that evening, and the name stuck. To this day, I have never worn that shirt again. In fact, I have cut it up and used it to adorn several gifts to Theo.

More history lessons to come...if anyone asks me any obscure questions.

Sunday, Sunday

it's getting harder and harder to come up with relevant headings for each posting. Have mercy.

Erin and I rented Pumpkin today, an accurately farcical indepedent film about a sorostitute who falls in love with a mentally impaired man. It was really enjoyable and sad and wonderful. Christina Ricci--rock on.

I only have four days left of class, and then I take half of my belongings home, and then I have a few finals, and then I come home for good. Every day, I feel more and more out of place here, like a can of Spam in a Louis Vuitton suitcase. Or rather, I feel like a Louis Vuitton suitcase stranded in some gravel-runway airport in Alabama. That's more accurate.

My future is so up in the air--my conversation with C. Shannon this evening really clarified that. I have ten days (starting Dec. 21) to:
1. Move into my apartment
2. Transfer to the Broadway Gap
3. Get into a university
4. Have Christmas/New Year's/etc.
5. Work at my current Gap

I'm sure there are more things that I've forgotten that I'll panic about in the middle of the night. Well, i should get on that.

Apathy in the form of a day

I spent the former part of my day (which began at1:30PM) convincing Erin that I wasn't angry or anything with her. Then, I spent the latter part of my day in St. Louis. First, shopping at the Galleria, and then to Chris Jensen's chmber choir concert. I'm a big musical homo, so of course I love all choir concerts like I was the parent to all 30 musicians onstage. The concert itself was long, but the music was amazing--the vocalists were well above-par, and the selections were brilliant in themselves. I've always had a soft spot for performing in/listening to choirs, and being there really made me want to be in choir again. As a baritone, this time around. None of that tenor-shmenor shit. One last thing about the concert: the last time I've seen this many Jews in one place was last month's storewide clearance sale at Neimann-Marcus. Oy.

Oh, and don't take offense to that. J'adore les juifs.

Misconceptions

There was a time, a time not long ago at all, that I thought Erin and I could do anything. There's a connection that best friends have that make each person feel invincible to all pain, better judgement, and reason. But, as I learned tonight, this is simply (cynically) not the case. We all live our own lives, and have to stand en guarde against our own fears and morals. Angry? Only at myself, I suppose, for being so naive to think that friendship is some wond'rous chastity belt against all the evil genitalia of the world, and that such an unseen, unprovable theory can enable people to ignore their own fears. Disappointed? Yes, but I'll get over it when Erin and I do something fun again in the future.

Idle Memory #902 (And some assorted musings)

We were discussing the bathroom/water closet principle in French class today. For some reason, I immediately was reminded of the Hotel Aphrodite in Rome. Theo and I arrived in Rome around 1:00AM (midnight, maybe?) and of course hadn't a single hotel reservation made. So, after fending off the evil hostel salesmen in Rome's train station, we plodded out and called several hotels. After about the eighth try, we finalyl found a horribly expensive place, ironically named the Hotel Aphrodite. This place was just horrible...80 Euros paid for two doll-sized beds, a disgusting floor, a "lovely" view of two naked prostitutes in a window opposite ours, a fan with ho oscilation, and (this is what jogged my memory) a bathroom with a shower. But, this was no ordinary shower: it was actually just a hose protruding from the wall. No bathtub, no curtain...just a drain hole in the middle of the bathroom floor. I think we tried to flood the bathroom, to show our disdain. Rome wasn't one of my favorite places on the trip.

My father is such a wax philosopher, or so he'd like to think. I get these e-mails that are just insane, but really "cute" and thoughtful. It is nice to have a sturdy home life.

Someone down the hall from me is playing the "Let's Get Soakin' Wet" song. Hmm...I don't understand.

Artiste!

Biggest accomplishment of the day/week thus far: making Drunk Shannon's fan-FUCKING-tastic birthday present. She is going to fill her panties with urine again and again over this. Who cares if her birthday was nearly a month ago...

My future (If I pass Poly-Sci)

This excites me.

Baise-moi

Aujourd'hui, j'ai commence le jour avec mauvais chance. Pour le cours de Francais, j'ai arrive avec ni mon cahier ni ma cerveau. Je suis tres stupide. Pendant le classe, j'ai ne sais pas rien. Je deteste etre non prepare. Donc, je suis ecriture dans ma Blog en le Francais. Vous allez a Babelfish pour traduire cette paragraphe. Merci.

(Babelfish fucks the shit out of real French. The translation looks like something David Sedaris would say.)

New W&G tonight.

Flatlined

Now that I'm back, Blogging my soul away, I have nothing to write about. Nothing exciting/dramatic/noteworthy happens anymore. I've decided to quit, for the third time in the span of a month. We'll see if it "takes." This weekend will inevetably involve me seeing a movie solo on Friday (it's not as depressing as it sounds, honestly), and heading over to Wash. U on Saturday for a concert. I do really live a mundane life. Does someone want to irritate me, so that I have something to kvetch about? That wouldn't be terribly bad.

Durr

Strike that last post from the record, your Honor. I stepped out of my residence hall this morning at 8:45, only to be bitchslapped by the freezing cold/SNOW. No more, no more.

Pro

The only reason (aside from Erin) I would consider staying in Missouri next semester is the state's weather. Monday was a gloriously sunny day--I was awoken by the bright sunlight washing into my room. I stepped outside, expecting another frigid winter day, only to be wrapped in the warmth of an Indian Fall. The entire day was beautiful.

Erin and I had a Dangerous Liasons day. After watching the majority of Valmont on AMC (A remake of the novel/film), she and I rented the original Glenn Close period film and watched it. I did enjoy it.

A brief list of films to rent:
1. Dangerous Liasons
2. The Anniversary Party
3. Italian for Beginners
4. Lovely and Amazing
5. Monsters, Inc.

I found the perfect bed on CB2's website. All I'm getting for Christmas is furniture, and some conservative Republican propaganda from my grandfather. Isn't that depressing? I suppose, yadda yadda yadda, children in Somalia/Harlem/Carpentersville are lucky if they even get to eat and shower (Cyndi!) on Christmas day. I'm done complaining, I suppose.

I'm really left with nothing to complain about, now that my future happiness is partially secure.

Idle Memory #859

Our first kiss--it was on Thanksgiving, a year ago. Theo and I had just seen "Amelie" at AMC30, and were strolling through his neighbourhood (it was not as chilly last year) at a late hour. I started driving away, headed for home and a horde of thinking, as his Saturn pulls up into the intersection.
"I turn left, correct?" I naively asked.
"Yes, but I was wondering if it would be alright if I kissed you."
"Sure," I replied, with an enthusiastic grin.

He hopped into my car, and we kissed. It was so foreign--not only a new mouth, but a completely different style. I was used to the passionate, frantic hunger of a kiss, with tongue, teeth, and lips all swirling into a dissonant symphony. But this, this was different: more careful, delicate, like a wet paint brush dancing across textured canvas. His nose was moist; I immediately endeared that perfectly flawed trait. I drove home and pondered even more than I planned to.