For Lack of Tact
I woke up this morning from a wonderful dream of fucking Todd Trainer on a chaise of chintz and gold inside the dark lounge of an abandonned afterparty. Then I just laid there for an hour feeling disappointed that my reality was not an intense and emaciated rockstar lover but rather that of the incessant Manchester rain.
Lo and behold, my life has become this way... perhaps due to the fact that I only have 9 hours of classes per week. I feel inclined to defend that I am already taking the maximum courseload allowable at the University of Manchester and it just so happens that their undergraduate arts program places a lot of emphasis on 'self study.' And although I am certain that by 'self study' they do not mean the examination of one's clitoris, I cannot be bothered to occupy my time otherwise.
On my way home from the bank yesterday I ran into Nick, a fellow study abroad student from UCSC. Actually it was not so much a running into as it was a running after when I caught a glimpse of his face in the mall crowd downtown. I wanted to talk to him very badly because he had the most wonderfully soft-spoken voice that was the perfect balance of effeminate and boyish. So I said hello, chatted and gave him my phone number in hopes of hearing his voice again in the near future. Perhaps I should have told him this was my intent so that he would not get the wrong idea, but I considered that it might come off as creepy if he did not believe that some people could be fascinated by voices, or offensive if he thought that voice aside I was otherwise disinterested in his person.
In a few hours I am meeting up for a Japanese dinner with Melanie, a thirty-something Mancunian I met off Couchsurfing. It shall be a good time so long as I do not act like too much of a snob about the quality of Asian cuisine in England...
Lo and behold, my life has become this way... perhaps due to the fact that I only have 9 hours of classes per week. I feel inclined to defend that I am already taking the maximum courseload allowable at the University of Manchester and it just so happens that their undergraduate arts program places a lot of emphasis on 'self study.' And although I am certain that by 'self study' they do not mean the examination of one's clitoris, I cannot be bothered to occupy my time otherwise.
On my way home from the bank yesterday I ran into Nick, a fellow study abroad student from UCSC. Actually it was not so much a running into as it was a running after when I caught a glimpse of his face in the mall crowd downtown. I wanted to talk to him very badly because he had the most wonderfully soft-spoken voice that was the perfect balance of effeminate and boyish. So I said hello, chatted and gave him my phone number in hopes of hearing his voice again in the near future. Perhaps I should have told him this was my intent so that he would not get the wrong idea, but I considered that it might come off as creepy if he did not believe that some people could be fascinated by voices, or offensive if he thought that voice aside I was otherwise disinterested in his person.
In a few hours I am meeting up for a Japanese dinner with Melanie, a thirty-something Mancunian I met off Couchsurfing. It shall be a good time so long as I do not act like too much of a snob about the quality of Asian cuisine in England...