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| I am rendered completely incoherent and speechless in the presense of girls I am attracted to. I mean, you probably know this about me already, but still, it's staggering. This shit was cute when I was fifteen, but it's high time I grew some fucking balls. It's getting ridiculous. I AM TWENTY TWO YEARS OLD AND WILL NOT ACT LIKE A CHILD ANY LONGER. At least I get to read Heidegger for school again. A brilliant thinker who inspires me every time I pick up one of his tomes, even if he was a bit of a Nazi. We can't all be perfect. | | |
| Cunt is one of my favorite invectives, hell, one of my favorite words, period. My love for it is so rampant that I sometimes forget not to use it in public. Although it's just a casual profanity on the level of "hell" or "damn" in Great Britain, some people in this country tend to get quite offended. I almost dropped the word casually into a conversation with two people, one of whom I knew very well and knew wouldn't get offended, the other I hardly knew and didn't know what kind of reaction she would have (FWIW, both were female). I refrained for the sake of civil discourse (see, I am capable of displaying tact sometimes...). The last time I can remember using the word in public and getting a negative reaction was the night Sarah Palin resigned as governor of Alaska. I was at a bar, and the bartender remarked that she hadn't given a reason for resigning yet. I responded with some variation of "Maybe she realized she was too much of a dumb cunt to be in such a position of power", or something, and the woman sitting a few seats down gave me one of the nastiest looks I have ever received. I also once called a girl a stupid cunt when I was fourteen, and she gave me a lecture on how it was a "hate word" and how she would no longer be associating with me if I continued to use it. No great loss there. Like I said, she was a stupid cunt. So, cunt. Awesome word or what? | | |
| HEY GUYS! What do you call an abotion in Prague? A cancelled Czech.
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| Sometime in the near future, it is beginning to appear, I will be offered the opportunity to have sex with someone I actually like, an almost alien experience for me. OH GOD. I was also reminded today, after a conversation with my best friend, of how much of a good mood she always puts me in. Thanks Jessica! And, uh, I'm reading Faulkner again. That's it. Go read somebody else's Xanga now. | | |
| The aftershave lotion I purchased looks just like semen. Rubbing it into my face is a semi-erotic experience. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I can never think of a suitable subject for Xanga entries anymore. It seems I can only muster the words when I'm depressed or anxious or miserable or angry or whathaveyou. My life has been so uneventful recently, and I've been so content, that I feel I'm losing my edge. Did I keep myself in a perpetual state of dissatifation for years because I feared that I would lose who I was if I were to become happy someday? No, I don't think so. I've always felt that to be truely happy, one has to lie to oneself in at least some significant way, and I've always felt unwilling to do so. But now, here I am, not necessarily euphoric I suppose, but content, free from the petty nuisances that occupied so much of my thought process, beholden to nothing. And it feels a little bit like ego death. Although, I suppose the fact that my mind is still throwing up roadblocks means that I'm still myself in a major way. | | |
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