Marathon Madness

Once upon a time, the fates got together and conspired to make a special day. This day is April 20th, which this year happened to fall on a Monday. And not just any Monday... but Marathon Monday.

For those of you who do not (or have never) lived in the Greater Boston area, this is the day of the Boston Marathon. While some athletes work toward this moment their entire lives... the rest of us use this as an excuse to drink and party. The day is even called "Patriot's Day," but no one observes April 20th for that purpose.

This year, we have the distinct pleasure of not only dealing with hundreds of thousands of belligerent drunks, but also pot-heads as 4/20 is pretty much their holy day. Throw skinheads (today is Hitler's birthday) and psychos (today is also the Columbine anniversary), and you have a full cast of shenanigans just itching to happen.

I want to point out that I am lame. While festivities were raging, I was sitting around sober. I'm also in our school's computer lab doing homework now... at 6:20 in the afternoon.

Happy Marathon Monday, world.

A tool grows in Brooklyn

My roommate is phail. He's in our business school, and he's a complete and utter tool.
To add insult to injury, he is the least self-aware person I know.

I realize this every afternoon when I get back from class. He listens to über-ghetto, hardcore rap that he knows less than half the words of... and tries to sing along in his tone-deaf, milk-toast white voice.

Note: He's an extreme conversative. I.e. He's a minority-hating, baby-killing, ghetto-abhoring, poverty-indifferent toolbox who speaks in ebonics and literally calls himself "gangsta'."

Skin-check.


P.s. Rainman and I have begun speaking again. While still awkward, I think it's slowly on the road to recovery. Ever so slowly.

So cute

This is my new feel-good video of the month. It's so cute - I can't even get over it. Whenever I am down, I shall simply watch this and feel infinitely better :D



I feel like Ellen would either be an awesome human being to know... or she'd be a raging bitch. I'm almost sure it's the latter; no one can be that nice and funny all the time.

Summer prospects = 0

So I didn't get the Student Adviser position... nor did I get the Undergraduate Coordinator of Programs gig. And it sucks.

I had been banking so heavily on getting at least one of the two, especially the second. I always thought that they were looking for bubbly, personable people for those jobs. Apparently... they weren't?

Eh - I am in feels-like-worthless-crap phase at the moment, which isn't awesome at all. Thank God I don't have to apply for jobs in this market (like my Senior friends - poor guys). I don't think I could handle getting turned down by potential employers as often as I'm sure it happens. That would just... kill me.

Ugh.



Tonight, my friends are doing what they do best: consoling. And by consoling, I mean they are bringing over "refreshments" for us to consume. God damn it, I'm turning this frown upside down, albeit with a little liquid-happy.

Like taking a bullet

I am working on a revision for a paper on a book I haven't opened since early last semester (early Octoberish). Little did I know that a certain someone had slipped a note into said book for me to find later that day.
Unfortunately, I never found it... until today. I opened the book, and there it was.

I really was like taking a bullet in the stomach. I legitimately sat down onto the ground and just stared at it. It's amazing how such a cute and loving gesture can, only a few months later, cause such pain.

Fuck.

P.s. Valentine's Day was really good - Wren enjoyed the movie+dinner, and it was very cute. I kind of wish I hadn't overshadowed yesterday with today, though.

These are my confessions

Today, Wren and I are going to see Confessions of a Shopaholic. On the surface, looks like a deliciously bad movie that makes you happy because... it's so bad. We'll also probably be the only men in there other than the straight ones who get dragged there by their girlfriends.

I order you all to see it as well so that you can come back here and tell me what you thought about it. We'll make it a race.

Extra points to whoever spots Isla Fisher's camel-toe first!

Update on the Rainman thing. It's dull and depressing - don't read it!

You bitch! You fucking opened the can of worms! Well I hope you're sitting down because (as Kathy would say), we got a lot of shit to cover:

So I got a number of very good emails from him yesterday - all of which insulting to the nth degree. He was kind enough to clarify a few things for me:

• When he said I was emotionally undeveloped, he meant that I could never understand, and that I am not emotionally capable of loving someone without cheating on him (ouch).


• When he said he was angry at Wren, not me, he meant that I wasn't to blame because he expected such a thing from a whore like me.


• When he said he expected it from me, he meant that he thinks all I ever care about is getting an orgasm wherever and whenever I can.

You can't make this shit up - you want the emails? I think I'll post them later today or tomorrow. These are... priceless.

I sent him back a quick email in return. I don't know where the old Rainman went, but this is not him. The old Rainman would never say such things to anyone, let alone someone he purports to still love. He chastised me about blocking him on facebook, etc... but really, how couldn't I?

I don't want to know this new Rainman - he scares me. He's taken over. I don't like him. And I will never want this new "thing" back. When old Rainman inhabits his body again, then we'll talk.

Now we're in a Cold War similar to Wren-versus-Rainman's. I refuse to speak to him first. Given the things he said to me, I think an apology is in order first. Until then, I will not speak to him.

If my mother taught me anything, it's bitchiness. She never spoke first after we fought, and I will do the same. I will not budge on this. Not after what he said.

Rainman goes insane

Apparently, Rainman reads my blog(s). He doesn't like the content. He sends angry texts. How about a snippet, yes, in response to my blog posting:

You're a complete idiot and clearly didn't listen to anything I said to you the other night. Don't bother coming over tonight.

I get this while I'm freaking out in a midterm. Awesome. So I text him back for context, argue a little, and then call him. He proceeds to lay these little gems on me:

"You know, it's a matter of class" (which I apparently don't have), "I wasn't mad at you - I expected this of you... if you were 'emotionally developed' you would have known better," and "I don't want either of you coming over ever anyway."

So that's it. This man, who I still love, and who has always been the rational, calm, selfless center to my life... has lost his mind. He's driven over the deep end. He's gone insane.

I would expect such a reaction out of me - I'm ridiculously impetuous and irrational. But I never though that Rainman would ever show himself to be, dare I say it... selfish.

Ugh - why do the ones I actually want in my life turn out to be such divas.


I pulled him off my facebook, AIM list, contact list, etc. I don't want to bother him anymore if he's going to insult me.

Really, I'm kind of getting ready to cry into a pint of ice cream in my room for a while. The things he said... I don't know what I'm going to do.

Apparently Twitch hasn't seen this side of Rainman. Someone better warn him.

Fightin' over little ol' me?

Actually, the title of this blog is a complete misnomer. To assume that these two people are fighting over me gives me just a bit too much credit - even I'm not that self-involved. And trust me... I'm pretty bad at that. I have 250 people that read about the minute details of my life daily, after all.

*Ego swells with blood*

Anyway, I didn't know it, but when Rainman said he's pissed that Wren for starting to date me... he actually meant it. He legitimately was/is/will be pissed about this for a while. I didn't find out about it until I saw the text conversation between them - there were some pretty vicious words flying around.

Not lady gay-like language, at all.

On the one hand, I totally get it. It is a little weird because Wren and Rainman have been friends for a while; we all met at a capture-the-flag/fag game a year ago right when Rainman and I first started dating. On the other hand, I didn't know that Rainman's "restrictions" were actually serious. By now he's forbidden me from getting with any of his gay friends or acquaintances, which pretty much leaves me with the World of Warcraft-gays, the slobby disgusting pseudo-straight gays, and women.

I'm sure he'll forgive Wren eventually; I don't even think Rainman's "beef" is with me. By that same token, had I known that he would get this upset, I probably would have avoided anything with Wren. (That's a total lie - Wren is conversational and funny as hell... my two weaknesses).

For this moment, at least, I'm going to let my imagination get the best of me. In fact, I'm going to indulge in it.

In my mind, they are having an honor fight in my name. I hope it turns into a fight to the death. Nothing like seeing a skinny white boy from Connecticut battle it out with an even skinnier Mexican boy from El Paso.

JOLENE!

100th post + celebration!

It's only fitting that the 100th post celebration be of the same spirit as some news I have to share - happy, but not completely consequential (just yet).

It seems that I have, finally, made it through a hundred meaningless, unimportant, but somewhat interesting snippets from my life. You are now a hundred-times more aware of the subtleties of my life. Those 252 active visitors that read this blog from as far away as Saudi Arabia and Sudan are now that much more enriched with my gaiety.

Maybe those are poor closeted gays, looking to express themselves through the blogs they read... maybe it's just the Saudi government keeping an eye on me just in case.
Anyway - now the news!

A few days ago, I finally asked Wren to go to Britney with me. For those that missed this point, I got Britney tickets for when she's in Boston on March 16. They were a gift for my birthday, and I have two... one for me, and one for a special friend.

I must say that it took forever to convince him to go. He felt bad about taking such a gift from me, and it was only when I reminded him that they had been a gift to me anyway that he decided to go. I can see it in his eyes. Like every gay, his heart burns for cheap divas that sing awesome music post-going-crazy-and-shaving-your-head-to-avoid-a-drug-test-during-custody-hearings.

Win.

This weekend, on V-Day, we're going to dinner and then seeing a commentary on the human condition as it relates to American consumerism.

It's a serious film for serious people, you see. Should be good and funny. Wow, and I thought I was going to spend V-Day getting drunk in my room and listening to Joni Mitchell.

Here's to fucking your brains out cute dinner-dates.

The right to remain silent

I have written on this before, perhaps, but I want to highlight it again: I can't stand when certain people talk to you. As I just got a haircut, the theme of my frustration is barbershops.

On the one hand, I get it. They must be lonely. Working all day, cutting people's hair. Plus, they probably assume that we, the customers, are looking for that fifteen minutes of riveting conversation with a stranger we probably won't remember in ten minutes.

On the other hand, I have definitely had the same barber three or four times in a row, and they ask the same questions every time. Conclusion? They aren't really listening - they are talking to fill gaps of blissful, otherwise wonderful silence.

Thankfully, I know who to get. The shop I go to has two barbers that I will work with and two I will not. I cleverly work my way around the two chatterboxes to get to these other two, less-known stylists.

They're both foreign, and they don't speak English. The way God intended it.

I wanna dance with somebody!

Feet... pain... hurt. Ouchie. Yesterday, my partner and I danced for eight straight hours.

I've been slowly realizing over the past year that I've been dancing with my partner that ballroom really is a sport. We say it is, but no one takes us seriously. Nights like this, however, really bring the idea home.
Ballroom is not a sprint; it's a fucking marathon. Eight hours of dance, and I came home with my lungs in my shoes. Dirt tired (however tired dirt is; no idea what that expression means).

Not only that, but it's also a contact sport. These bitches and their partners would sooner fist-fight you on the dance floor than let you get into their space. They push and shove, and someone invariably gets hit in the face with a "stray" hand.


They were playing excellent music last night, so my partner and I really got into the dance. Quicksteps were quick (too quick), and tangos were sexy. I don't know what "sexy" is with a woman, but if it's at all the same as with a penis man, then we were probably okay.


Saw Providence boy there too... it was delightfully awkward for pretty much the whole evening. I never wrote about why, but let's just say that an okay date turned into a fairly needy, long-distance post-date.

Maybe someday I'll recap it for you. Until then, however, I'm still imagining nothing ever happened there.

Boys' night-in

So yesterday, I had the most pleasantly awkward experience of my year.

Because of various drama and the need to see people, I held the usual Lost-watching party in my living room. Granted, I had never seen he show, and even now, I still don't understand what it's about. I think I'm a little late to the party on that one.

Anyway, the "guest list" was priceless. It was me, Rainman, Rainman's ex (Hoover), and a guy that I'm interested in (pseudonym forthcoming). To clarify, that's Rainman and his two ex-boyfriends sitting down to dinner/Lost with my current interest.

Awkward.

I think Rainman got upset partway through the night. This has been happening a lot; last week, when I went over to his place for the Superbowl, his new boytoy was there. Twitch, which is what I and everyone else call him, is the nice boy I wrote about before who I want to hate but can't.

Anyways, I got upset last week because they were cute together, and he got upset this week (I think). I think this is just how it's going to be for a while until one of us gets left again. (Let's hope it goes on forever, I suppose!).


Day update: Today, I have an interview for a position at my school to help with Orientation for new freshman next year. I want the job so badly; here's to hoping that I get it!

Thanks Adsense

I do not like Google Ads right now. They have been scanning my blog and came up with the following five titles when I looked just now:

• 2009 Cute Kid of the Year
  
• Make Out with Girls
  
• Fix Your Marriage
  
• Stumble
  
• Plus Size Intimate Wear

So apparently Google wisely reasoned that I'm an adorably fat heterosexual going through marital problems.

... half right.

Stumbled Upon, Part I

So I've been using StumbleUpon.com as my remedy to the disease that is productivity.

I am starting this new series to share with you some of the worst things that I've "stumbled upon" during the many hours I surf around the internet. I insist that you go to that website now and start falling around the internet, just like me.

Here we go - this seemed "appropriate" to start with:


How. Freaking. Disturbing.

I am so creeped out by that; as an Asian I can say this with documented evidence: Asian people are f'cking weird.

Why so sleepy?

So my schedule is essentially noon-classes. Every day... five days a week. Believe me; it's awesome. You should be insanely jealous.

For that reason, and because I'm a math major, I only ever sleep at 3AM. If that. So you can understand, having stayed up late drinking all the wine in the apartment, doing math HW, and listening to my "mood" playlist, why I'm so surprised to be awake at 9:20-ish in the morning.

I usually stumble out of bed at about 11:20AM and run to class. I might have a bagel today... and other such breakfast items. What a treat!

Unfortunately, I don't really know what to do with my time. In my head, homework is a 1AM activity. I might have to break my own rules here and... do it. *shiver* How scandalous.

I'll get over it.

Interchangeable "parts"

Today, I attended a Superbowl party with Rainman and his new beau. I feel like this new boy needs a name... some form of identification as I think he's going to be around for a while. Him and his twitch. Hey - that's his name.

(( Side note: I'm trying so hard to hate this kid right now, but he's so friendly, cute, and intelligent. He's someone I want to hate, but can't. Screw Twitch. ))

So yes - I was at the Superbowl thing today, and Twitch was there. I'm glad I told Rainman to invite him (which he probably would have anyway). It's finally become cemented in my mind that Twitch is perfect for Rainman, at least for now. It's adorable in fact.

When we arrived, they were baking a cake together. More about that in another post (it was disgusting). They were doing it together, and when I tried to help, Rainman shunned me, saying, "We got it already." When we were watching TV, I kept catching them patting or touching hands... the way we used to before.

Rainman has made it clear that Twitch is not replacing me. He's been ardent about it, declaring it with great fervor.

I get it, though - I know I've been replaced. I'm actually quite honored that I've been followed up by such a reputable and friendly person. He's very attractive and a good guy.

It's just... weird. I know, for example, that as I type this, they are probably in bed together. He's in my spot where I used to sleep. And that... sucks.

Oh well - I'm happy for him. And as I've said, I'm moving on and letting him do his thing. I've been retreated to the back burner now. I'm second class. I'm now just "the friend." Upstaged. Finished.


God, just take me out to pasture and shoot me.

Over-compensating

I'm having difficulty understanding a few things about love. This crazy emotion obviously makes otherwise normal people act like idiots. This isn't a bad thing; it's an awesome state to be in. Love it (pun intended).

There has been a resurgence, I think, of accepted PDA. I'm not just talking about making out in the street or holding hands. That's still relatively tame.

I'm talking about the plague of facebook, AIM, MSN, Skype, Twitter, and other internet-based examples of public affection. It's not enough that straight and gay people alike are in love and happy; they have to show the rest of us how happy they are.

My straight friend, Pookie (a name his girlfriend gave him - not me), is dating a girl named "Schnookie." I'm pretty sure her name is actually Emily or Elizabeth, but "Schnookie" is all I've ever known her as. For all I know, it's on her birth certificate. The future Mr. and Mrs. Pookie.


I compare it to a similar rise in design-cakes. I don't know how this fad came about, but apparently having a regular cake wasn't good enough. Also, this is a much bigger market (so I'm told) than I thought. Chefs actually attend culinary school for the sole purpose of becoming cake designers, knowing that idiots-in-love will drop any amount on a cake in the shape of the Chrysler building.

It's no long enough to be simply over the top with your confections, nor your affections. They have to be completely out there and outlandish, where everyone can see them. We (everybody else) are to remark at how happy you are and agree with you.


Attention couples! Important news, and I have this on good authority from the single-world: We don't fucking care.

Your happiness is awesome, but please... some of you couples are giving the rest of us diabetes with your relationship. My throat is closing up. I'm having an asthma attack.

Keep it to yourself, kthxbai.

Return of the Queen

Harro - you'll never guess who returned. The only hints I can give are that he's gay, fabulous, and Asian (bet you didn't know that).

The conclusion to the Rainman "fiasco" from last week.

This week was interesting - I took leave from most of my duties (ballroom, etc.) and just went to class and enjoyed myself for a while. It was really nice to get away the over-filled life of crap I find myself in usually.

Last week, I wrote about figuring out who Rainman's new boy was. That night, I went over to his place to figure out if I was right (I was), so that's all confirmed.

As of two days later, however, they are no longer together. So my new sleuthing talent doesn't really work that well. But I maintain that I was right albeit for under 48 hours.

I'm not sure how I feel about that, but... so it goes. I think Rainman is okay (probably less so than he makes out). They still hang out all the time, which I hate, and are really cute friends, which I hate even more. I am pleased that he has found a suitable replacement for me who makes him laugh; they are the same person, it seems.

And... that's all I'm going to say on that subject.-------------------------

In other news, I went on a number of dates in the past week with a number of very interesting people.

I, unfortunately, can't write about them specifically because I think two of them read this blog (hello you creepy stalkers). Let's just say that one was very good, one was very bad, and one was very good then later bad. I'm not sure which I would actually date as all of them had aspects that would make then non-compatible.

I'm sure I just sent them into a tizzy about who is who, though. A very gay tizzy. I like having this much power.

Out

I don't think anyone really reads this blog, but if you do I love you.

Because I'm a caring and compassionate gay (or at least I attempt to be), I wanted to let you know that I will be out for the next week.

I say this so that the 300 of you (according to Google Analytics) that check in regularly aren't thrown when there aren't any new entries here.

Be back in a week...

Dr. Know-it-all, I presume?

I'm a sleuth. Halfway through my complex variables class, I realized who Rainman's new man is. He has been keeping the identity secret since he told me about him, and it only just clicked in my brain who he is.

On the one hand, I'm kind of thrown by it... on the other hand, I'm mostly just pleased with myself. Of course, the clues were always right in front of me.

Side note: I should probably pay attention more in class. *facepalm*

Life changes

Well, here I am again to make an addendum to my New Year's Resolutions. My initial decision was to be less selfish - to give more to other people. It's too vague, though, so I offer an amendment:

Be less selfish, but fix my life again.

I realized that my cavalier attitude toward sex has surpassed even Samantha Jones. Once might even call it an addiction. In the past couple months, I've gotten my share of sex. And the only person it failed to please was me.

I'm sure all my former-church friends are going, "See! Told you it wouldn't be satisfying!" Those people are retarded, and they are missing the point. Sex is awesome, and I will never, ever give it up. I love who I am, kthxbai.

At what cost, however, have I become this overly sexual libertine? Well, from what I can tell (and given my past few dates), it's all been at the cost of romance.

Take my situation with FitRec. He's a genuinely romantic person (albeit one I wouldn't want to date). But because I was so interested in the sex, I only realized we weren't compatible at all only AFTER we screwed.

That's not a good way to date.


So I'm going to violate my own rule ("Always have sex on the first date") and shun my attitudes ("Sex is just sex - fuck emotions"). It's time I committed to the person that I should really be happy with - myself. And maybe a few cute sex-less dates on the way.



P.s. Rainman and I have been texting. This is baaaaaad for me, but I can't stop myself. I'm such a masochist - I don't think we've ever spoken where I didn't feel the sudden urge to go home and swallow everything in the medicine cabinet.

I don't know what to do there.

Finally had 'da talk'

I have been realizing over the past few days that FitRec saw me as "more than just friends [with benefits]". That, of course, is a problem; I thought he understood our "relationship" was strictly sexual.

... which he obviously didn't. God, that queen pulled a bitch-fit like no other.

But things are okay - he is updated on the actual situation. To be completely honest, I don't think we're going to hook up again. I made this mistake before, giving them an inch while they took a mile (yeah, it's that big :P).

So FitRec is out. If you want to forget that he's an important character in the story of my life, feel free.

It's that time again

Rainman is officially over me - he has flown the coop. Good for him. I've been dating different people for weeks. And yet... it's been driving me crazy for days. I have nothing really to say about it - I don't think I've really accepted it yet.

Ugh. I can't believe this is what he's been going through all this time. Man, this sucks.

Hags, not rags

I have struck gay-gold.

Last week, I appropriated a new hag into my circle of women. Not only is she stylish and sassy (always requirements), but she is loaded. Seriously - this bitch gets $7,000 a month for personal expense NOT including rent, food, and tuition for college. That's $7,000 in shopping money.

This is great because now when I go shopping with her, I can put her in fantastically expensive clothes that she will actually buy. We had a mini-gasm together in Manolo Blahnik earlier today. She bought Dolce instead, but the power-trip is awesome.

She's not Kitty, by any stretch of the imagination... but she's wealthy and a shopaholic. Like those poor shop girls in the mall, I'm just happy that she carries Daddy's plastic.

--------------------

Side note: She was going to try to set me up with a gay of hers today. I don't really want to meet him because I'm terrified of him. The guy's a male model and a Mexican heir(ess). I hate the idea of dating someone with money; it's always be an awkward elephant in the room.

I've also been told he's a snob. And he's not out to his parents. Really? Shit - I can't do diva AND closet-case.

Our people are hecklers

Yesterday, instead of angst-filled Greenpeace or LaRouche people on the sidewalks, there were Human Rights Campaign people everywhere. As if my college didn't have enough queens and queers on its campus.

Them: "Do you have a second for gay rights?"
Me: "Bitch, I am gay rights."
Them: "... h'what?"
Me: "Nothing, and no I do not."

Lesbian-in-sweatpants didn't think it was very funny. Probs because Ellen didn't say it.

Karma strikes again

I think Rainman went on a date tonight - I'm not sure if he was kidding. I think he did, though. I'm happy for him if he did; I don't know how he's been dealing with knowing that I went on a few dates since we split. It's torture knowing he's out there again.

Also, something about us both pursuing other people makes the whole situation finalized; it's like we've both closed those doors for good.

Finally, I texted Mystery, but he was busy. I'm so screwed on this front because I know I'm much more involved in our "thing" than he is. So I'm desperately trying not to be the needy freak. Status thus far: successful.

-----

To cheer myself up, I found this on youtube. Windows is phail.

Got butterflies?

I hung out with FitRec again today. This boy is sweet, good-looking, and he's a good catch. He's intelligent, competent, and he makes me laugh.

Can anyone tell me why, then, I'm still waiting for the spark? You know... that one that is supposed to ignite the fiery passions deep in your lower being (giggity).

I think my subconscious, despite how good he is on paper, doubts that he's the one. My brain is in "find your soulmate" mode, which is bad. It's probably all that fucking Love Actually-crap* I watched over break.

So now - do I go with my instincts which have previously led me astray... or do I give FitRec another chance? How sick is this though: whenever I think about FitRec... I immediately think about Rainman instead. And Mystery.


*Homo Knows and Mr. Know-it-all apologize to any Love Actually fans out there. He actually loved the movie, watched it literally six times over holiday break, and wants to marry someone that will give him witty, English babies.

Benefits of opposable thumbs

Apparently there is a feces-throwing monkey loose in Tampa Bay. That's always fascinated me - monkeys are so clever. It's the weapon-equivalent of renewable fuel, and they are showing an obvious adeptness for using "tools."

I hope they hit lots of beach-people. I'm sensing a much-improved Girls Gone Wild video this year. Mmmm... scat.

*wretch*

Spell-check, yet again

Saw this in an Au Bon Pain on the way back to Boston out of Union Station. I'm not sure what letter could have possibly been under that correction, but the word isn't much improved.

Stop being a child

I'm ticked off at Rainman. He's been ignoring me for days. I think he got upset because I went on a date the other day with FitRec. I get that he's my ex, but that's hardly an excuse to act like a petulant child.

Honestly - grow up. Talk to me; tell me when you're upset. That's what we fully functioning adults do.

How dry is she?

Would-be Chinese bride, 107, seeks first husband

BEIJING (Reuters) – A 107-year-old Chinese woman who was afraid to marry when she was young has decided to look for her first husband and hopes to find a fellow centenarian so they will have something to talk about, a Chinese paper reported.

Wang Guiying is worried she is becoming a burden to her ageing nieces and nephews since breaking her leg when she was 102 and had to stop doing chores like washing her clothes.

"I'm already 107 and I still haven't got married," the Chongqing Commercial Times quoted her saying. "What will happen if I don't hurry up and find a husband?"

I'm glad to see that mankind's obsession with getting married isn't just an American thing - even southeast Asian countries have this Victorian fascination with saying vows.

That said, I think that's adorable. I wonder if she's still a virgin... a really old, crusty virgin.
-----------
Love-life update (brief): Had my date with FitRec, and that was good. Providence went abroad for research purposes until the end of January.

Mystery is good, and we have absolutely no definition. I fell out of contact with Numbers when I came back from DC. Visor has called often, but I don't know if I want to call him back.

(( For those of you keeping score at home, anyone in bold in the above update is a person's pseudonym. ))

Over the top, much?

So... yesterday in Borders, I was walking through the magazine section, and I noticed three different Barack Obama periodicals. As in entire magazines of color pictures and "inspirational" quotes.

One of said magazines was Issue 58, meaning there are 57 other issues of similar "inspirational" overkill floating about out there.

Really, America? Really? Have we sunk to this level?

The problems with numbers

I came to the conclusion today that while Numbers is a super-great guy... he's one of "those people." I use this term - "those people" - to denote people that I am interested in that are probably not looking to date. Or at least not date me.

So to update you on the characters of my life, here is the following designation. You know... for your records:

Those people: Rainman, Numbers, Providence (?), Mystery

Not those people: Fitrec, Providence (?)

**Providence is an anomaly right now. He said before that he was not outwardly looking, but might. I can't read him well enough to know**





I don't really understand people that purportedly aren't looking to date... that ask me out on dates. Really - it bamboozles the heck out of me. It's like remarking, "I'm not hungry right now," and ordering a pizza.

It annoys me, too, because I sit here trying to decode their randomness only to come to the conclusion that boys are fucking retarded. Even the 27 year old ones that I refer to more as "men" still play these weird little games.

Pro-tip: From me to you guys - make up your minds.

*pfft*

AOL Searches, revisted

In 2006, AOL accidentally released the search history of many AOL users. Somethingawful.com has a hilarious listing of them, but I thought this lengthy drama was worth sharing with you.

The number on the left if the AOL user's ID number, followed by the search term they used. Read it all - you will be glad you did!

The results

Never in my life have I been conscious of the fact that someone is in many ways out of my league.

Numbers, the boy I met at Town on Friday night and went on a date-type thing today, had the amazing ability to be a superior human being while not making me feel bad about it. I am sure, however, that guys like this were put on Earth to make the rest of us feel bad about ourselves.

First, he was gorgeous. I could probably bounce quarters off his chest if I actually still carried coins (who does these days?). The man also had a flawless smile.

In spite of his being a North Carolinian, he had the Southern boy look (delicious) without the Southern twang in his English. Huge plus. And as a second-year grad student at Johns Hopkins, he was very intelligent. We sat in a tea shop in Dupont Circle called, "Teaism." Nice place - he paid before I could stop him.

There, I learned that he not only speaks three languages (French - awesome - Spanish, and Mandarin), but he has also lived in many different countries. And he was in the Peace Corps. And he's taking the Foreign Service Exam.

I'm left with only one question: why does he exist? Why did I have to meet him? Seriously? Humans like this put before me because the Universe has a cruel sense of humor. We have this terribly amazing chemistry, and he's obviously a first-class person in brains and looks. He can hold hours of conversation with ease.

Real issues: He's in Washington, and I'm in Boston. He mentioned not being ready to date people either.

Final verdict: Awesome guy. Amazing and perfect in every way. And a rare conversational-intelligent-hot combination.

Seeing him again on Friday - I must not let myself actually start to like the guy. He's far away, older, and isn't really looking for anything serious. Must remain blissfully chill and calm in the presence of perfection.

A random date

I'm off to see Numbers, the boy from the club, in Dupont Circle in a few minutes. We're having lunch somewhere.

I spent at least an hour picking out something to wear today, and I only just realized that we'll have nothing to talk about because first dates are really super awkward.

Then again, because he's here in DC, and I'm in Boston, this date doesn't really matter - it's hardly even a "date"; we just called it "lunch." And if, as I suspect, we won't see each other after today, there's no reason freaking out over it.

That's, at least, what I keep telling myself. Here's to hoping it goes well.

Fucking friends

God, Sean is pissing me off.

For someone that has spent so much time supposedly (his words, not mine) trying to move past the fact that we used to hook up, he has a funny way of getting ticked off about it still.

I've gotten the vibe from him that we can't ever be friends - he's cold when we talk online, he was cold when we went to the club, and he was cold when we were at his house/in my car. He's just... cold.

I guess he doesn't want to know me anymore. So I suppose fine - I won't push it. I'll give him three days to change his fucking attitude, and then I'm unfriending him on facebook and removing his screenname from my buddy list.

I don't need to deal with people's shit, especially when I'm making an effort to be his bud.

Sex isn't supposed to ruin everything, tard.

Date and dramatic rumblings

The New Year is off to a great start, I guess. One the one hand, I have a date tomorrow with that boy from the club at 1PM in Dupont Circle. On the other hand, I keep thinking that what Rainman says is right - maybe I am a huge slut. It is pretty early to be going out on dates with people so close to our break-up last October.

Then again, I'm not dating him for the rest of my life - it's just a fun date. I will admit that aside from that fact that he's wicked hot, most of why I want to go on this date is to be able to say that I've met men in clubs. It's an experience.

Plus, I can blog about it later ;-)



The drama is that my mother said earlier today that she doesn't like Rainman as much anymore, which makes me really sad. It's understandable, though she always likes my friends. Apparently, she doesn't like him because he broke my heart.

I feel bad because I didn't tell her the real reason why we split (my infidelity), so her hate is wrongly placed. But at least she knows and I don't have to fake a happy Stepford relationship when she and my father ask about it later.



Fuck it - I'm not going to let my mind ruin my date tomorrow. Rainman is still in my life, and that's the best I can hope to get right now. Plus... the club-boy is soooooo hot.

An 11th hour homo

In a club where I definitely made out with many people before, I was sad to find that no one was interested for the first 2.5 hours we were at Town tonight. I had lost faith in homos.

But just as I was getting ready to leave, the night club/Universe threw me a bone for a change. Cutest... blondest... most gorgeous man ever. Approaching me. Dancing inappropriate. Then exchanging phone numbers.

Win.

I have a date on Monday with him in DC, so that's good. God, I am so pleased to know that I'm not hideous.

Whose line is it anyway?

In this, the New Year, I find myself recently broken up. Now that I'm ready to pursue fresh debauchery (oh yeah), it's time to introduce the major players in my life. Heeeere we go:

1. Rainman: The ex himself. At the moment, we're in an awkward place. Following a rough couple of months after the break-up, we're still friends. He makes frequent appearances in my life, making it hard sometimes to move on to fresh men.


2. Kitty: The best hag. Despite being at separate colleges, we're both Bostonians and therefore maintain our warped and very inappropriate fag-hag relationship.


3. Fitrec: A recent man to come around. Before Rainman and I started dating, Fitrec and I had a brief thing, but it never matured into anything. He's an interesting person, though I'm waiting for the spark to kick in.


4. Providence: Another recent man to come into my life. He's perfect on paper - I'm just reconciling the fact that he's nearly seven years older than me and semi-far away. Really cute though (I only pursue good-looking guys... how shallow).


5. Mystery: A boy so secretive, I'm not even allowed to describe him. *mum's the word*

Ring in the new year - choo choo

This is how people should say, "Hello" to the New Year... useless crap!

I saw this while my younger sister was watching Cartoon Network. Apparently they also know what a stupid product it is. "Buy my product! Buy my product! It's lame - but buy my product! Trains! Ahhhhh!"

... honestly. Looped videos of trains driving by. *ugh*

Welcome, friends

When reflecting on the past year, the first thought that comes to mind is a shallow one: "Wow, I've lost a lot of weight!"

(Ugh). Here's my resolution, and I hope to check back in a year to see if it came true (like a birthday wish!):

BE LESS SELFISH.

Let's see how this goes, m'kay?