Take Two Rock Songs and Call Me In The Morning
It was that time during the night when (if someone is sleeping next to me) I would have reached over and gotten a squeeze. The ole teddy bear doesn't squeeze much, so I was content to answer the phone.
My rule, though, is that no one needs me during my sleeping hours, and to answer no calls unless they call repeatedly.
But the thing was ringing, and I stared for a minute at the name "matthew" on the display until I felt able to speak. Just for fun I answered with,
"You better be dying."
"You're supposed to be sleeping and I'm supposed to be talking to your voicemail right now." Poor thing! I think he was a little embarassed.
Leaving my bedroom, I stood by the large window in the kitchen to feel the coolness. I don't know why I was sweating.
Aparently that compilation I made for Matthew doesn't suck. He said he used a song from it while DJing last night, and just left it on, and it was getting the job done.
::flattered!::
I listen to the mix myself, though, and I would never have suggested putting it on in a bar because it's something I'd listen to at 11:00 at night while smoking alone on my front porch with a dark beer in one hand and a gentle motion on my rocking chair after a grueling day fighting against the flow of cruel people.
[Maybe you started with the Elvis Costello song and went from there? I could see that working on a Tuesday night.]
Tuesday night.
Buffy made disciples and they closed the book.
::sigh::
I think they should have special two-hour made-for-tv-movies (with Joss and the same cast) every once in a while.
Not totally stoked about the finale, but it definitely ended.
Yesterday three people found my journal by searching for some version of what in essence was "the song on Friends when Joey kissed Rachel." I love how people looking for music information come by my [gay-ass] journal.
Interpol is a good thing to inform folks about, indeed.
So my girl I keep preemptively dumped her bad-boy "boyfriend" yesterday after hearing she was going to get the axe later that day. All she did, she said, was place the ring (he had stolen) on the desk in front of him and she walked away.
The ring didn't hit her when he threw it, fortunately.
There was a conversation later, though, where he told her he'd stopped caring about her a long time ago (they've been at this for about five weeks now) and that he was "just using her" for the make-out minutes after school.
All I wanted to do was keep her from experiencing this because she's only twelve and I had hoped she'd be a little older before she found out how shaded and jaded and effed up dating can be. I didn't want her to have the baby-girl put to sleep just yet. But, unfortunately, she's had a tongue down her throat, and was then told it didn't mean anything. She didn't mean anything.
I put my arm around her as she told me how foolish she felt. For not listening to her mother or me. For believing he really cared. For letting him play her for a fool.
Goddam him. I welcomed her to the cruel world.
[yes, I realize I've used the word "cruel" twice today]
So there you have it: boys can separate (or seem to be able to convince themselves and me that they can separate) the physical and the emotional; girls can't. I can't.
The first guy who kissed me never cared either, just wanted to be "my first". He's the one who looked my mother dead in the eye and said, "your daughter sucks, Ms. Rose; I'm sick of her," at the table for Thanksgiving dinner (can you imagine that shit?).Since then I've been fortunate enough to kick it with guys who think I'm as cool as I think they are.
I kissed one guy Jesse this one time that I didn't have feelings for and it was the worst experience.
Today there's rain. Today David and Amy leave back to Boston.
It's raining today. In Venice they say that the city cries to see you go if there is rain at your departure. I can't imagine Long Island being that sensitive, but what the hell.
Venice is the Bride of the Sea, and Long Island is the Escort Service.
