All I really want to do is, baby, be friends with you.
Wow. I am Jack's swollen-with-love heart. Where do I start about today? At the beginning? Okay.
This morning, I woke up to some oral. Jason is a doll. I love him.
We went to the the bakery to get some bagels for breakfast and then ate at a little picnic table someone left by the old railroad tracks. We walked down a trail in the woods and talked about living in cottages and drinking a lot of tea and making friends with mice and small woodland creatures. I would wear an apron and grow a beautiful garden and he would have funny glasses and write books about crime in early twentieth-century England. He would smoke a pipe, and I would play bridge. It would be quaint. And also un-fucking-believable. But totally legit if we were born a few decades earlier.
He left. That is the only shitty part of the day. He had to finish some work up at his office. Sadness.
An old friend (how old do you have to be before you can have old friends?) called me and wanted me to come over for lunch. He came in to visit his mom for her birthday. This guy is the best shrink I will never have to pay. I told him what has been impossible for me to tell most everyone else. We both cried and then he gave me the best advice I'll never forget. I'd post it, but it's mine. Is that stingy? Sorry. I might tell later. We got caught up on our lives, and I told him about wanting to write an autobiography about my teen years. I thought he would laugh, but he didn't. He said fuck yes. I want to name it, How Far Can You Get on a Fake ID and Finesse? Not really.
After our heartfelt moment over homemade hummus and pita chips, we called up some people to play soccer. We all sweated and laughed and kicked balls. Our team won both games, one 7-2 and the other 4-3. We switched teams for the second so that the teams were better matched. My team still totally dominated. :)
Then we (everyone but me) enjoyed some beer and wine in the middle of the field, and we played guitar and sang show tunes and Bob Dylan songs. I saw a shooting star and wished for the night to go on forever.
Really, I did. It didn't happen, though. Obviously.
Sidenote: Gina Gershon. Fuck yes. And this and this too. I love her. Cabaret + Gina Gershon = Ka's wet dream.
I got a myspace message from my cute little hillbilly, small-minded cousin. Turns out she's gay. She wanted to know how to come out to her parents. Errrr.....I have no idea. It's scary anyway, but her parents and down-on-the-farm, dyed-in-the-wool, bible-thumping Jesus crazies. (Did I paint a good enough picture?) I told her she could come live with my parents. They wouldn't mind, and they'd cook for her and her girlfriend.
Jason really wants to live in Charleston, SC or Jacksonville. I really want to live in Philly or Cincy. It's conundrum. Who knows where we'll end up? Probably none of those places. It'll probably be somewhere odd like Lawrence, KS or Boise, ID. Just kidding. But, I really don't know. I guess we have a year to decide. In a year, I'll be a registered radiologic technologist. In less than a month, I'll be 21. Temptation get thee behind me.
Finals week this week. I have to rock all of them to keep my scholarship. How come it always comes down to this? I tried this semester, and I'm still fucking it up. ?
However, in conclusion: today=lovely, future=?, Jason=my rock and giver of oral, my cousin=gay, finals=fucked, autobiography=go, everything else=doesn't matter. And again, show tunes will cure your ailing mind. Start out with Phantom, jump to Cabaret, do a little Bye, Bye Birdie, and your imagination will take you from there.
k
This morning, I woke up to some oral. Jason is a doll. I love him.
We went to the the bakery to get some bagels for breakfast and then ate at a little picnic table someone left by the old railroad tracks. We walked down a trail in the woods and talked about living in cottages and drinking a lot of tea and making friends with mice and small woodland creatures. I would wear an apron and grow a beautiful garden and he would have funny glasses and write books about crime in early twentieth-century England. He would smoke a pipe, and I would play bridge. It would be quaint. And also un-fucking-believable. But totally legit if we were born a few decades earlier.
He left. That is the only shitty part of the day. He had to finish some work up at his office. Sadness.
An old friend (how old do you have to be before you can have old friends?) called me and wanted me to come over for lunch. He came in to visit his mom for her birthday. This guy is the best shrink I will never have to pay. I told him what has been impossible for me to tell most everyone else. We both cried and then he gave me the best advice I'll never forget. I'd post it, but it's mine. Is that stingy? Sorry. I might tell later. We got caught up on our lives, and I told him about wanting to write an autobiography about my teen years. I thought he would laugh, but he didn't. He said fuck yes. I want to name it, How Far Can You Get on a Fake ID and Finesse? Not really.
After our heartfelt moment over homemade hummus and pita chips, we called up some people to play soccer. We all sweated and laughed and kicked balls. Our team won both games, one 7-2 and the other 4-3. We switched teams for the second so that the teams were better matched. My team still totally dominated. :)
Then we (everyone but me) enjoyed some beer and wine in the middle of the field, and we played guitar and sang show tunes and Bob Dylan songs. I saw a shooting star and wished for the night to go on forever.
Really, I did. It didn't happen, though. Obviously.
Sidenote: Gina Gershon. Fuck yes. And this and this too. I love her. Cabaret + Gina Gershon = Ka's wet dream.
I got a myspace message from my cute little hillbilly, small-minded cousin. Turns out she's gay. She wanted to know how to come out to her parents. Errrr.....I have no idea. It's scary anyway, but her parents and down-on-the-farm, dyed-in-the-wool, bible-thumping Jesus crazies. (Did I paint a good enough picture?) I told her she could come live with my parents. They wouldn't mind, and they'd cook for her and her girlfriend.
Jason really wants to live in Charleston, SC or Jacksonville. I really want to live in Philly or Cincy. It's conundrum. Who knows where we'll end up? Probably none of those places. It'll probably be somewhere odd like Lawrence, KS or Boise, ID. Just kidding. But, I really don't know. I guess we have a year to decide. In a year, I'll be a registered radiologic technologist. In less than a month, I'll be 21. Temptation get thee behind me.
Finals week this week. I have to rock all of them to keep my scholarship. How come it always comes down to this? I tried this semester, and I'm still fucking it up. ?
However, in conclusion: today=lovely, future=?, Jason=my rock and giver of oral, my cousin=gay, finals=fucked, autobiography=go, everything else=doesn't matter. And again, show tunes will cure your ailing mind. Start out with Phantom, jump to Cabaret, do a little Bye, Bye Birdie, and your imagination will take you from there.
k