(no subject)
Saturday: Called up the boyfriend, who didn't want to leave the house. Temporarily turned into a fifteen-year-old and took two busses from Northside to Mt. Washington (about two and a half hours), after smoking a huge joint and blasting my headphones all the way down Beechmont Avenue while reading How The Light Gets In for the millionth time.
His neighborhood scarily resembles Stepford, which is kind of creepy and kind of sexy.
I sat out on his deck to read and smoke a cigarette. Then he started spying on me.
Then we left and went to French Park after a couple of episodes of MythBusters. I would write about what we did at French Park, or what was said, but I think the subject matter is a little sacrosanct to be floating around the internet.
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After the park, we drove around and got lost in a pristine subdivision called, "The Grove." All of the houses were amazing and the air was warm and just the right humidity and we were lost for such a long time and the world felt so beautiful and mystical and strangely sexual and I wanted to lean over and whisper in his ear that this was one of the moments with him that makes me feel like I love him, but I was too absorbed in my cherry cordial ice cream and being intoxicated and the music playing and watching for cops or law-abiding citizens that would surely turn us in that by the time he was out my door with a kiss on the cheek I had forgotten all about it.
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This is me at two in the morning in my I <3 Freddie Mercury tank top I made when I was fifteen, laying in bed with my hair a mess, listening to The Sundresses and thinking about you.
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PS:
A semi-decent picture. I want to get a couple actual decent ones, but I have to slip him some drugs first to make him docile. Nobody likes grabby hands!
PPS: I love being weirdly morbid, don't you?