Thursday, January 17, 2008

and I shall call this, "boys should have longer hair..."

Current mood:you can’t make me

You can't cut his hair. It's turned into his, you know, "thing". All the ladies say to him, "you have the prettiest hair".
I think you should leave it alone until I move on and just let it grow...and then we'll cut it together as kind of an umbilical cord type ceremonial ceremony?

He's not mine at all. But I can't help but anticipate the missing.
The smells. The sounds. The cuddles. The commands. The funniest funnies. Aw man, the funnies. The fart machine?

Thank you for loaning his love to me. Thank you for allowing me the time.


ps. I'll miss you too.

Friday, January 4, 2008

04 Jan 08 Friday 2:54 AM

We make the choices don’t we?
What do you want to drink? I’ll have a Miller Lite.
How many do you want? Until you stop asking.
How quick do I keep them coming? When I’m half done with this one, bring me another.
Do you want some water? What do I look like, a god damned camel?

And then you take a look around the bar and realize, what the fuck difference does it make? I’ve seen you, and you, and hey, that guy over there, and shit! There’s that one skanky girl who is always here!
But wait! Doesn’t that mean I’m always here too?

Give me another.

In the grand scheme of things it doesn’t matter. We’re talking about Nietzsche. And now about Kahn (not Chaka), and then suddenly about if Obama stands a chance against Clinton (quite obviously Hillary).
And again, what the fuck difference does it make?

You’re still the drunk ass bitch*, sitting on the other side of the bar.
For nothing.

Sweet dreams.

*any similarities to people real or otherwise represented in fantasy, not necessarily the fault nor intention of the writer. I am no drunk skanky bitch.

subtext. this will most likely be deleted in the morning.

subtext 2. I’ve been home drinking water all night.