| dewy decimal |
2003-03-31 - 4:37 p.m.
Take me out tonight
Because I want to see people
and I want to see life
I am the Smiths. I�m sure you�ve heard that before. But maybe sometimes in our lives we�ve all felt these things. Particularly the champions of youth.
If there is a term for an addiction to going out (sociomaniac, scene-o-phile, alcoholic) my friend, you may count me amongst them. I�m an Aquarius and no matter how much I resent people, I fear that till the day I die, I�ll be dancing for the troops.
I enjoyed a leisurely day yesterday. Finished reading a novel. Watched Harold and Maude. Engaged in poignant conversation with friends. Took a nap with my kitty. I was sure that tonight I would be in bed by 11:30pm. It�s 12:30 now, penetrating itself red and digital on my alarm clock.
Twan called me earlier and asked, �Bitch, where the fuck are you? Get your ass to Hulas, it�s totally fierce, bitch! Ok, so he didn�t exactly ask me.
Every time I consider whether I should enjoy the luxuries of my vast blue bed or the bars, I will inevitably and assholishly choose the bars. I don�t wanna miss my prince charming when he rides in on his white gypsy cab. For sure. So I gets my bouffant did and papi chulo is off.
When I get there twan buys me a pitcher and introduces me to the usual entourage of fans that he has accumulated thus far. Kiss kiss, etc. Lawrence and markie are there and ask me if I wanna smoke some. I pass they leave and slip me a valium. Things are looking ok.
That is till twan pukes all up in the muthafuckin hotel ashtray. He gets booted and I�m left to co-mingle with the m�lange of queers showcasing their pectoral earnings from 24 hours fitness. Committed to the bar through the fresh pitcher I recently acquired.
So, I�m talking to this old fucker who I met the other night. He�s real nice and shit till he asks me, �so where are you from?�
I say, �Aiea ,yo.�
The old fucker says, �Oh I thought you were an immigrant. It must be your immigrant haircut.� The fucking baboon. Like an immigrant would actually ever employ the word asinine while referring to the circle of gym bunnies on the shitty table in the corner. Get a fucking clue. Buddy, you are soooooo 86ed. The weird thing is that despite his little diss to my hairstyle he was totally trying to get up on my dog. Fat chance pig fucker.
Then I see both of the �taken� hotties that are persistently trying to get me in the menagerie, only both of their boyfriends are here and still they accost me under the bizarre techno ceiling fan that is spinning madly above me. this kind of bullshit makes me feel like a home-wrecker and I haven�t had sex in forever. Forever is an understatement.
I am trying to finish my pitcher asap so I can get the fuck up out of this uncomfortable form of isolation where people either think i am an orgy-hungry slut or an illegal alien. glug glug glug. I dig the fuck out and vow never to return. (see entry no. 1 �smoky the bear and fisting�) yeah so that�s it, I need a good fucking cry. This island is sooo killing me. Dead style.