Maybe tomorrow I'll see love in your eyes
And mine will dry
Maybe tomorrow we can learn how to fly
On these nasty little wings...
Went to party last night with EN after the club (oh, yeah; we're good now, EN and I, thanks for asking) and my rock star was there. We didn't talk, because, like, what was I going to say: "I have a picture of you on my wall!"? I kept asking people if they were in bands, because, I don't know, it seemed like a good enough prime on the pump of conversation. It might be easier to chat if I really, really wanted to talk to people, but I'm not sure if I do.
I was pretty drunk, and, well, it was at least 2:30 by the time we got there. Chances are I actually didn't overhear somebody saying, "the kind of person who looks like he's recording everything and you wish he weren't", but it's pinging around my brain anyway. We came home exhausted and said a few words to BB before he left. Slept 'till four, maybe, and did some laundry today. And, as un-epically as possible said 'bye to SB. By the time I get back from SF, SB and IC are going to be driving cross-country. So at this point there's no guaranteed time I'll see her again for a while, and that's a strange feeling. She's "5" on my speed-dial, right in the center of the number pad. [My home number is, of course, Number 6].
STD [his real initials, kids: please do not call him this at home!] is another favorite rock star, although I don't actually have his gorgeous face plastered on my plaster. He and I had cute little awkward-boy conversations for a while last night. EN collects awkward boys, like me, like practically everyone I know. Our cool friends have always made fun of her behind her back for her taste in friends, but they're full of shit. Stuff happens on the borders, and that's where the skinny weird guys hang out. Granted, it's not always wine and roses with the strange boys, but they're the way to go. STD has an incredibly extroverted stage personality which peels almost completely away, leaving his face clean but shiny: I don't really drink that much, he says, offering us a taste of Diet Dr. Pepper and vanilla Stoli.
Horny as a badger, of course. Can I blame it on the weather? Pace mynheer Coward, it's definitely not too darn hot, [and if it is, there's probably another reason you're not enjoying it]. Perhaps it's the impending travel, the chaos that is my room, the terrible impertinence of it, but I want to have a dumb random hookup tonight. Won't, of course: I never do, and it's just as well. Besides, my back is killing me. I always have a good excuse.
She can tell you the will of the gods
Butter won't melt in her mouth, but you will
Don't bother to ask her name...
Guns and roses,
a