sigh

"The thing is, it's NOT that bad for me. It's NOT that bad to have mediocre sex with some random chick and feel slightly conflicted about her nuzzling up to me afterwardss. It's NOT that bad to smell her hair, and, instead of feeling a sense of home and completeness, try to determine whether it's Biolage or not. It's NOT that bad.

Because, you see, unlike you, that's better than normal. That's better than I've had in quite some time... maybe ever. It's not a step down or backward to have a fake sense of intimacy with someone like it is for you. It's a step up."

(said to a friend of mine recently when he expressed confusion at my contemplation of having a one night stand on my birthday. I didn't, btw.)

--

I went to a party tonight. I saw an old friend I hadn't seen in a long time -- a friend of the roommate of the girl who invited me (also an old friend). We went full circle... I knew Carlos, who knew X, who knew Y, who knew Michele, who rooms with Danielle, who is my friend. Six degrees, full circle. Nice.

It was good to see him.

D is Texas' older sister, though, and I found myself staring her straight in the face when I went to the rest room. I was up there, along with a dozen other smiling faces I knew all to well. And I missed. Not her, really. I missed being there, feeling her, feeling me feel her. I guess I missed feeling.

I stared at her, and she wasn't the little girl I remembered. She wasn't the memory of a memory I have. Nor was there an emotional response.

Just missing what it felt like to miss, maybe.

--

I got invited out on a boat ride tomorrow night. Perfect spot to seduce some little girl... invite her out, have some drinks, hang out with rich people, imply that "all of this can be yours if only [you can hold on to me]", then take her home and fuck the shit out of her.

And I thought about who I could invite, and I thought about how a good night's sleep sounds so much better.

Then I thought about just posting a unicorn ad on craigslist. Like an ad for an employee, only for a girlfriend.

"Must be emotionally available, be able to load weights on a leg press machine, witty/intelligent/educated, and 25-30. Pick any two. Me? I fill out your Cosmo quizzes nicely and your mom will like me."

Somehow I think I'll get a few fat chicks replying on an ad like that and nothing more. Quoth the Quagmyre, "hey, fat chicks need love too!"

Sure. Just not on my watch.

--

So, yeah, I'm sad tonight.

--

Oh, hey, Presh wrote me back. "Loved your email. Thank you very much."

Uh huh. Sure. I pine over you for a decade and that's what I get? Heh. She processed for a week and wrote THAT on my friggin Myspace comment/wall. Sheesh.

('sok. I wasn't expecting much more than that.)

--

Falling asleep. My melancholy will have to wait.