College and Texas
Just arrived in town last night from Boston University Orientation, an even which my friend Sarah Sunderman previously labeled as 'horrid', marking the last time that I will ever trust her judgement. I think that was a correct sentence.
Boston is amazing, the people are amazing. I'll give a short overview of the major events.
Arrived in Boston on Tuesday 3PM. Met roommate, a CFA Vocal Performance major named Mike. Later on went out and hung by the waterfront. Met a crazy CFA Theater kid named Jewels, whom would later become known as Eefie. Laughed, cried, ate pasta salad. It was a GRAND old time.
We didn't actually cry though. I'm a dirty liar.
Wednesday was Common Ground, a program designed to breakdown social barriers in a community building exercise that reveals how barriers are created. Sounds corny as sin, correct?
Wrong.
I was in the oppressed community. Broke out of jail 6 times, led a revolution, and ended up with a city built in a tree (it's all we could afford after the police grabbed our cash).
Later on, city tour to Museum of Fine Arts. Met a guy named Clay, obviously homosexual. Too obvious for MY comfort. I slowly realized how truly dirty he was. To avoid being constantly hit on by him, I browsed the museum on my own.
I love portraits! There's a brilliant look of utter constipation on the faces of so aristocrats when they commision a painting. Also saw an exhibit from Sue Noble, and Mike Webster. Highly novelty, highly entertaining. Their entire exhibity consisted of neon lights and garrish "Las Vegas"-esque billboards.
Spent half the night staring at a self portrait by Molly Thoyer. Absolutely gorgeous.
Spent the rest of the night in Clay's room talking to him, a pretentious homosexual named Morgan, another gay kid who never talked while he was in the room, and a Texan that discussed his many interesting scars. Also gay (My Jehovah, do I love Boston).
Thursday - class registration. Hell. After a break I begin walking back to the dorms and intercept Patrick ( the Texan) making his way to who knows where. We decide to skip the dorms and make our way to the Beach (the most amount of grass that BU has to offer - it also gives a stunning view of the Charles River, and a super highway). We talk. Trouble, major trouble. This kid was way too reasonable, and had way too much common sense. How could I not be attracted to him? I realize that there's something on his side as well.
Finish registration. Time for open house. Fun night of sending Patrick mixed signals so as to not drive myself crazy. I walk home to the dorms with Patrick. We meet up outside of my room and talk away. We continue meeting up with other people and jabbering away until 2 am when I walk him down to his floor via the stairwell. I'm interested to hear his snoring roommate, and to get a little closer with my favorite Texan. We make conversation seated in the stairwell until 3 AM. He wants to say something, but he's a fucking chicken. So I confess my attraction. He responds in the affirmitive and gives me a gentle jab on the right arm. He's so fucking Texan.
By this time we're completely out of it. I kiss him, he kisses me, and then off he goes to bed.
Friday we actually register classes. I meet up with Patrick afterward and go to a couple functions with him. Orientation ends, but we don't leave until tomorrow (sweet, sweet fate - for now we are allies). I take a short nap which goes from 3 PM to 8PM. I woke up thinking Patrick was all ready gone. I discover a note on my door saying that he had visited several times, and was losing patience. By the time I found him, all aggression had dissipated.
We end up spending the early night playing cards with his roommate. Woohoo.
2 AM rolls around. Time for bed. I have no roommate, but luckily Patrick is willing to compensate.
3 AM - Patrick spends the night. No regrets.
8 am we wake up. And spend a very comfortable morning which ends with packing and showers.
10 am - Patrick comes to my room with suitcases ready to leave. Ties a piece of knotting to my left ankle. Kiss. And so begins nine weeks of no communication.
Home now. Can't call him, can't write him. Could be seeing someone else and I'd never know. Could lose interest and I'd never know. All I do know is that I can't bare to even think about seeing someone else. And TODAY WAS PRIDEFEST. I've had copious amounts of offers.
I wish I knew what he was doing, what he was thinking.
Now begins the period of waiting. One day has passed. Time moves slower than ever now.
Goodnight, BU. Goodnight, Patrick. Goodnight, Lindy (the only person that knows I have an online journal - I'm sorry I could not give you a ride to GAY). Goodnight, everyone.
And goodnight moon.
Paul
Boston is amazing, the people are amazing. I'll give a short overview of the major events.
Arrived in Boston on Tuesday 3PM. Met roommate, a CFA Vocal Performance major named Mike. Later on went out and hung by the waterfront. Met a crazy CFA Theater kid named Jewels, whom would later become known as Eefie. Laughed, cried, ate pasta salad. It was a GRAND old time.
We didn't actually cry though. I'm a dirty liar.
Wednesday was Common Ground, a program designed to breakdown social barriers in a community building exercise that reveals how barriers are created. Sounds corny as sin, correct?
Wrong.
I was in the oppressed community. Broke out of jail 6 times, led a revolution, and ended up with a city built in a tree (it's all we could afford after the police grabbed our cash).
Later on, city tour to Museum of Fine Arts. Met a guy named Clay, obviously homosexual. Too obvious for MY comfort. I slowly realized how truly dirty he was. To avoid being constantly hit on by him, I browsed the museum on my own.
I love portraits! There's a brilliant look of utter constipation on the faces of so aristocrats when they commision a painting. Also saw an exhibit from Sue Noble, and Mike Webster. Highly novelty, highly entertaining. Their entire exhibity consisted of neon lights and garrish "Las Vegas"-esque billboards.
Spent half the night staring at a self portrait by Molly Thoyer. Absolutely gorgeous.
Spent the rest of the night in Clay's room talking to him, a pretentious homosexual named Morgan, another gay kid who never talked while he was in the room, and a Texan that discussed his many interesting scars. Also gay (My Jehovah, do I love Boston).
Thursday - class registration. Hell. After a break I begin walking back to the dorms and intercept Patrick ( the Texan) making his way to who knows where. We decide to skip the dorms and make our way to the Beach (the most amount of grass that BU has to offer - it also gives a stunning view of the Charles River, and a super highway). We talk. Trouble, major trouble. This kid was way too reasonable, and had way too much common sense. How could I not be attracted to him? I realize that there's something on his side as well.
Finish registration. Time for open house. Fun night of sending Patrick mixed signals so as to not drive myself crazy. I walk home to the dorms with Patrick. We meet up outside of my room and talk away. We continue meeting up with other people and jabbering away until 2 am when I walk him down to his floor via the stairwell. I'm interested to hear his snoring roommate, and to get a little closer with my favorite Texan. We make conversation seated in the stairwell until 3 AM. He wants to say something, but he's a fucking chicken. So I confess my attraction. He responds in the affirmitive and gives me a gentle jab on the right arm. He's so fucking Texan.
By this time we're completely out of it. I kiss him, he kisses me, and then off he goes to bed.
Friday we actually register classes. I meet up with Patrick afterward and go to a couple functions with him. Orientation ends, but we don't leave until tomorrow (sweet, sweet fate - for now we are allies). I take a short nap which goes from 3 PM to 8PM. I woke up thinking Patrick was all ready gone. I discover a note on my door saying that he had visited several times, and was losing patience. By the time I found him, all aggression had dissipated.
We end up spending the early night playing cards with his roommate. Woohoo.
2 AM rolls around. Time for bed. I have no roommate, but luckily Patrick is willing to compensate.
3 AM - Patrick spends the night. No regrets.
8 am we wake up. And spend a very comfortable morning which ends with packing and showers.
10 am - Patrick comes to my room with suitcases ready to leave. Ties a piece of knotting to my left ankle. Kiss. And so begins nine weeks of no communication.
Home now. Can't call him, can't write him. Could be seeing someone else and I'd never know. Could lose interest and I'd never know. All I do know is that I can't bare to even think about seeing someone else. And TODAY WAS PRIDEFEST. I've had copious amounts of offers.
I wish I knew what he was doing, what he was thinking.
Now begins the period of waiting. One day has passed. Time moves slower than ever now.
Goodnight, BU. Goodnight, Patrick. Goodnight, Lindy (the only person that knows I have an online journal - I'm sorry I could not give you a ride to GAY). Goodnight, everyone.
And goodnight moon.
Paul