be honest with me

Even when it snows. Again. As February is want to do.

I sang You're So Vain tonight, wearing my skin-tight Dickie's jeans and a bright green sweater.

I remember apologizing to the crowd for being over-dressed... not flashing my "titties" (like the sorostitutes before me had)... and complaining that all I had was my aaaaaiiessss [ass]. I'm shameless.

Give me a microphone, and a stage, and I'm all performance. With a cigarette in one hand, always.

The dinner I cooked tonight was beloved. The dumplings came out perfectly, and the pound-cake was moist and devoured quickly.

So I suppose today was good?

Here's more insight into Michaela for you: in order for me to place someone into my past I have to compartmentalize my experience with them enough so that I am personally assured that the relationship has become static.

You'll all be glad to know that I have put Joe into this catagory... finally.

The reason why I could never (nerver) be with him is because he does not like...nor care...for me being *me* -- but instead for what I do for him.

Homework. Trips to Ohio. Hot-chick-on-his-arm. Getting off. Food. Comfort.

Nothing I've ever done -- no interaction I've ever had with him -- made me come away feeling like, "Joe thinks I'm so smart and funny!"

I remember the weekend before I left for NY last October, before falling drunk into his bed, I asked him point-blankedly if he was into *me*... or just my ass.

My aaaaaiiessss.

He said all the right things to make me fall asleep, but that's when he left.

His eyes became vacant.

We didn't last long after my return from NY.

That's the problem that will never go away, though, and the reason why Joe and I (regardless of how well we get along as friends now) will neaver, never, niver be significant others.

But not everyone fits into compartments so easily.

Some people just stay in this dynamic position, ever changing, growing, closer and closer. Always a question about how it could end up.

Joe - the static one - is an endless source of dissatisfaction, though. And the dynamic ones keep me happy.

The dynamic ones make me feel like I'm important for being me.

Naturally, it feels good to be recognized as sexy. To stand on stage and dance and hear strangers cheer. But that costs about $5 in liquor.

Can you tell I'm drunk?

Seriosly, though: I'm happy to know why Joe ain't it... because my process of elimination seems to be continuing (thanks to the muth'fuckus who eliminate themselves, like that Jew in Westchester...) and maybe one day I'll land on one I can't analyze away.

Maybe it's Johnny F., on Friendster.