Thursday, February 23, 2006

Am I Hot?

Ohmigod, did I miss something? Maybe it's because I'm always high or whatever, but I think I might be hot. Or maybe in the beginning stages of hot.

I've always been that heavy kid with glasses and occaionally nappy hair, and to an extent I still am. However, I just recently shaved my head and now I've been noticing a lot more attention being paid to little old me. I'm getting a bit flustered, perchaps it's the vapors, the VAPORS!! The vapors? But I'm not sure how to tell what's going on? Are hot and mildly attractive guys looking at me because there's something on my face that I didn't catch before leaving the safety of the indoors? I mean, I could understand a couple of days of that happening, but there's a consistency I've been experiencing. For instance, take ten minutes ago. If you can remember that far back, what with the war going on and all.(Perhaps a little too Woody Allen?)

I was walking down the street back to work, and I was blazed like chestnuts on that proverbial open hearth fire, when I saw this, for lack of a more emphatic adjective, GORGEOUS guy coming from the opposite direction. Normally, I'd just try to catch a few passing glimpses without arising suspect from him. But at the time, and in my condition, I was staring at everything, one of the benefits of being stoned in the city.

You know, after living in New York for a while, you get kind of tired of it. Well, I did. I became desensitized to the diversity and vibrancy of this city because I fell into a routine of going to school, going to work, always going somewhere or staying and vegging out. But when I go anywhere else, like Poughkeepsie, I realize just how shitty everywhere else is compared to NYC, Manhattan especially. New Yorkers don't live in the real world. We live in left-wing, blow job giving, coke-snorting paradise that very few people have experienced. It's just not that exciting when you live it everyday. Thats why I get high. I appreciate things more, put things into perspective and gain focus often lost in the daily grind of life. And I get a nice little buzz to take me through the day.

But I was walking on the street when I saw this GORGEOUS guy walking towards me. I glanced at him, and yay saw it was good, then I did one of those lurid scans, from sole to scalp. And I got a little wet downstairs. As I walked by him, he caught me staring at him and--normally this would devolve into some unfinished homoerotic fantasy I was so fond of writing in high school...and now--cocked his head to the side and gave me a weird smile. Then it looked as if he said something, but my headphones were blasting ABBA so I missed it. I'm not sure what it was all about, but my heart kind of skipped a beat a bit. I thought that maybe he was straight and just really cocky, as if daring me to gaze or some shit, but then I remember how he was dressed. Very 'mo, but in this day and age, who knows anymore?

Not the sultriest of stories, I know, but I'm 20, single and a virgin. I'll take whatever I can get. However, it's moments like these that boost my confidence to one day, maybe even kiss a boy. WHOA! Head rush. Baby steps, Cheki, Baby steps.

Wednesday, February 22, 2006

Scene 1

Franky (on phone): Hmm, hi. I, uh, recently saw a, an, uh, ad, for a study. Paying 100 bucks, dollars, and I was wondering if--well, the ad said nonsmokers, and I was wondering what that entails....mmhmm, tobacco and marijuana...how about crack?....hello?

Kindness

I'm SOOOOOOO HIIIIIGH, you guys!

Well, I was. Now, I'm just sort of floating...floating...taste the grainbow.

Acrimony

Do you ever feel like just putting a gun to a hobo's face just to see him shake in his toeless shoes? Just to have that feeling of power over someone, all the while knowing that no matter what, you're not him? When life deals you a bad hand, it's best to look at the homeless--not in the eyes because that's how they get ya--to get through the rest of the day. Those gnarled, wrinkled, toothless faces would give anyone a sense of accomplishment, no matter what might have transgressed earlier. But then there are those hobos that don't really give a shit and would gladly be put out of their misery. Stick a gun to their face and they might just pull the trigger. Or, if they're really badass, they'd just grab that gun from your manicured fingers and rob you of all your possessions. That is what I aspire to.

I had to sit through 35 minutes of telephone prompts and elevator music as I tried to get through to a real and actual Indian today. East Indian, as opposed to the raped and pillaged version. When they decided that speaking to a computer was a time saver, I do not know, but by the fifth time I yelled "Yes!" into the receiver only to be rebuffed by an automated "I'm sorry could you repeat that?" I was ready to choke myself with the phone cord. A pleasant enough death, I suppose, if unglamorous. I prefer to go out with fireworks and streamers, something that says, "DEATH! Starring ME!!" Needless, to say, by the end of that lost half an hour of my life, I was in rather poor spirts, only to be compounded by the revelation that something I was expecting was not to be expected any longer.

I was supposed to work not this Saturday, but next, proctoring an exam. I was excited for the fact, not because I'd be sitting in a room full of residents for 8 hours as they took an in-service exam, but rather for the fact that I'd be getting an extra 8 hours of work in my paycheck and free food. And free food is my middle name. I had t changed legally in '97. More importantly though, I was looking forward to seeing one of the doctors scheduled to take the exam that day. We had had minor conversation for the first time last week and I do believe I caught him staring at me one day. Big mistake on his part. The second a guy shows any remote interest in me is the moment he gets a new stalker. I'm not saying I'm desperate for attention or anything, but this virginity's not fucking itself away, if you catch ma drift. And he's a young, hot doctor. Not only is he out of my league, but I'm pretty sure we're not in the same species. But I was hoping to take this opportunity on not this Saturday, but the next to get some valuable face time with this guy and now...:-(

Oh, well. Nothing probably would have come from it anyway. It never does. I'm the dating equivalent of an infant. I'm all smiles and odd stares only to soil myself as soon as the object of my affection so much as looks at me. At this point in my life, I kind of just want to get it over with. Just put runway lights leading up to my crotch. Is that subtle enough. Or maybe I could become a street hustler. I just saw "Mysterious Skin" with my new future ex-boyfriend, Joey Gordon Levitt. There's something very intriguing about throwing your body to the wind and not caring about the consequences. I can see myself now, bedecked in gold lame booty shorts and nothing else, skulking my way across Chelsea, getting picked up by fat, hairy johns who know how to treat a dirty slut right.

But I'd never do it. If only because I need to feel in control. That life would spiral crazily, leading to me being addicted to meth, killing one of my customers and ending up in prison to be the butt boy for every Tom and hairy Dick in the joint. Perhaps not too bad a life--maybe I could even get married to someone with the colorful nickname "Ass Ravager." Then I'd be just like those badass hobos, not giving a shit, always ready to pull the trigger. No matter how horrible my day is, at least I'd be someone's bitch. And no one could ever take that away from me and my Ass Ravager Bill. But til the day I slip on the cootchie shorts and slip off my dignity, I guess I'll have to find new ways to cope with the general shittiness of life. In the distance, I can hear the faint bubble of a bong rip and I know that everything will somehow, someway be okay.

Sunday, February 19, 2006

Don't Call It A Cumback, I've Been Queer For Years

Please pardon the pun, but I thought I'd add a little hot sauce to this posting. It's been a while since I've updated, but the mob really does have ways to get their money and believe me when I say they're a tad bit inhumane. Once my ball hair grows back, I'll be, well, right as rain kids. Though for now, Momma's enjoying the breeze, even though my pleasure has been halved, but I don't really like to hold a grudge.

Anywho, a lot of shit's happened in the world, people dying, high ranking politicians shooting the geriatric, fading popstars riding ass to clit with their ungodly spawn et cetera, schmetcera. But it all means one and one thing alone: 2006 is the beginning of the end. That's right, kids, stuff your head in between your legs and take in your last whiff of life because we're all going to hell in a Chinatown Chanel clutch knockoff. I mean, just look at the damn stitching. Happy New Year!!

But really, though, this is me loving you.