I am going to make a bold statement. So bold, people will be like, "OMG, did he just say that?" and report me to the proper authorities and say something like, "He's also a bed-wetter, this is why he's like this."

I hate how people say things are "self explanatory." because saying this would mean that that phrase is an explanation of what you're trying to say doesn't need an explanation. Instant water, just add water! kind of gimicks. If a title is self explanatory, then people will be like, "Oh, this title is self explanatory. I didn't need an explanation of what the title means." or they will say, "What the hell? I shall ask a question." and they do.

Today, second class of Organic Chem and the prof. passed out a little test or whatever on what we already know in Chemistry. Anyway, one of the questions was like, "Carbon can form single, double, and triple bonds. Like Carbon Disulfide. What is the configuration of Carbon Disulfide (keeping in mind that it has the same configuration as Carbon Dioxide)." or something like that. Well, the whole class had this debate on two of the possible answers. It was either linear or bent.

Honest, I didn't know if "bent" was an actual term used in science. Or what it even means. But I knew that Carbon Dioxide is definitely linear because of the two opposing oxygen atoms pushing away from each other. So I was the minority opinion. And when the prof. went to review the test, I was totally right.

I know its only one problem out of a million future problems in the class but am happy I got at least one right. In your face.

Tomorrow is basically a free day for me. And I have Monday off. Four day weekend.

And I might get a replacement car! Hopefully on monday. It's self explanatory.

Addition: I just got an e-mail from the head of our LGBT club, Common Grounds, is that there is a Gay Speed Dating Night two Fridays from now. That should be interesting.

First day of school, first day of classes. My first class for this school year is Biology 102. The professor that teaches this class is old. When I first walked in, another professor was helping him to use the microphone correctly. Basically, there are two kinds - one that you wear on your shirt or whatever and allows you to move around the room or the one that is part of the computer desk podium thing in front. Well, the biology professor was heard on the microphone saying, "I don't like those. No! I don't plan on moving around. Bah. This is fine enough for me."

And then he starts the lecture, something about how to explain biology one has to explain the other sciences also. To explain how one walks, one must know how the muscles work, to know how the muscles work, one has to know how cells work. And ultimately, to know how cells work, one has to know how molecules and atoms worked.

He also gave this interesting tangent on life and death. On how the two states of being are vague but everyone has a very exact boundary for it. And I guess because everyone's definition of life and death differ so much, even if everyone is sure that they are right, this makes it even more vague. It's interesting how we can die but doctors can remove our heart and put it in someone else's chest and have it working like it was their heart all along. And that the only thing that dies is your brain, your body is still in good shape (give or take).

Why are we so fragile? Because we're not held together by much. Why are we so unique? Because we're so fragile.

I hung out with Steve. I showed him my eccentric taste in music. However, it's not really complete. Whenever I plan on showing people my tastes in music, I always get so impatient with songs and skip over them quickly. For someone to really know my taste in music, I guess they would have to sit with me and listen to songs with me for a week or something. But we didn't have that time. We only had a few hours.

I still want to hang out with Colin. And even Jordan.

I saw Kevin today. He and I were wearing the same thing from yesterday's party. We said we would and we did.

My Physics teacher is interesting in an old man kind of way. He's liberal so he keeps going off on political tangents (somehow). It's going to be interesting.

And I'm divided. I had planned on etching it out here but sometimes, some things are better left revealed to the person who I am divided about before turning it into writing here.

I have school tomorrow. In a way, I'm looking forward to it. I mean, for the summer I've been doing nothing but get up early, go to work and sometimes go to school every other day. I never really got to see people or hang out with anyone except for Matt at the end of July or whatever.

I might hang out with Stephen tomorrow. And Becca, Kevin and I made semi-plans to go see Snakes on a Plane on Friday. Next Friday, Common Grounds might go to Gay Day. And I volunteered to drive. Hopefully, it won't be at night because I hate driving at night. But I definately want to go to Gay Day. That would be hawt. Maybe I'll get a handjob on a roller coaster.

Now, would the G-Forces enhance or subtract from my pleasure?

Oh, I uploaded a few new banners. If you keep refreshing the page, I guess it would cycle through them. And give me more hits on my page counter.

I was going to write something big and worthwhile here but I am just tired. See you tomorrow.

It's a crazy thing, working in the "real world." I'm not talking about a temporary job at a burger place or something but working in a place where there are actual people who have actual careers and everything. My first taste of this "real world" workplace was at the library.

Sure, not everyone there was an actual librarian but still, most people there worked full time and have been there for a few years already. They eat, breathe, and have sex with the library. And you know how you assume that librarians are nice little old ladies or whatever but in the office, these people can bitch with each other until they die. For example, there were these two ladies at the library office that I worked with. One was the lesbian lady who was like a dyke-role-model-mother to me and who I went to see BrokeBack Mountain with. Her name, Eileen. Although I used to spell her name "Eye-Lean" or "Aye-leeeen" or something when I wrote her notes for her to remember the next day. Anyway, she's very "whatev" in her work ethic. The other lady, Jane, wears her hair in a tight bun and is always on the move to do something. So, naturally these two women did not get along. They stopped talking to one another for the whole time that they were employed at the library. Long story short, Eileen exploded at Jane one day and a few weeks/months later, someone keyed Jane's car.

I know, old ladies, huh?

While I'm in the middle. I'm not going to brag, but no one really had anything against me. Except for my boss but I think that's natural since boss-employee relations have been lukewarm at best since the dawn of time. It's science.

In the end, Jane just quit one day - never to return. I called her the next day at her house and she was like, "Yeah, Dennis. Goes to show you how people are in the real world. But listen, I want you to stick to your guns and do what you have to do to be successful, don't worry about anyone else." And I'm going to take that advice to heart, for reals.

Now, at the pharmacy, the techs are bitching about the pharmacists, the pharmacists are bitching about the techs, the pharmacists bitching about the pharmacists. I'm still in the middle. I don't really have anything to bitch about. Sure, their taste in music is....questionable but that's not really something I would want to punch them in the face for. It happens, some people are born with bad taste in music. Hey, if God says its okay, then its okay. Hate the sin, not the sinner.

Maybe one day I'll be an old(er) man bitching about his coworkers. In the real sense. I may bitch about them now but only in moments of frustration and their lack of musical taste. But hopefully I'll remain too carefree to really care about things like that, you know?

How do you like my name blog name? I was going to transfer the latest posts to another blog (under a gmail name since blogger is having a beta program for gmail users) but the beta features weren't really worth it.

I have work tomorrow. Then a party at Kevin's house. Molly reminded me why I had disliked Kevin. Before today, I totally forgot about the whole thing. Thanks Molly. Thanks a lot. But whatever. I don't even remember the specifics of the whole thing. Like it was some other lifetime ago. And I just don't care enough to...care, I guess.

How do I feel about backstabbing? It's one of the features of the world. If we didn't have backstabbing, we wouldn't have front stabbing. If we didn't have syphilis, we wouldn't have chocolate, right?

If you never read this blog or you never pay attention to what I say and therefore only learn one single fact about me, it is that I really hate driving at night. I believe I have bad night vision because all the car's headlights look too bright to me and I always worry about steering the car into parked cars on the street or something trying to avoid the bright headlights. Is everyone intentionally driving with their high beams on or am I just too sensitive?

I drive at night whenever I'm picking my brother up from band practice. I like picking him up from band practice because the colorguard instructor is a total hottie. Like, California hottie, which paints an exact picture, huh? Surfer, extremely tan, thin with super duper white teeth that stand out even at night. That kind of hot. Which isn't the top listed kind of hot in my book, but hot is hot so whatev.

Today I spent some time on XY.com and responded to a few profiles. I was telling my friend (in a snobbish voice - "From Harvard") about how I responded to about five profiles in my whole entire life. Today I responded to about three or four, I don't remember. The thing is, I never really know what to say in these responses. Should I sound sarcastic? Should I be serious? What should I say? So I just said random things. XY.com has a lot of pretty cute boys. Way out of my league. But we always try, right?

Speaking of which, when I was visiting my aunts they kept saying that I was very photogenic and I have a mature look in photographs. They liked my square jawline/chin. And I should take professional photoshots or something. Perhaps they were joking but I was certainly grinning from ear to ear.

Over the past few weeks, my self esteem level has risen quite noticeably. Perhaps it is evident in my revivication of my blog.

So I just got home at around 12:30 AM last night. It wasn't until about 1:30 AM that I was able to get to sleep (plus some more time tossing around). And now, I am up at 6:00 AM for work. Argh. I am going to be a zombie today.

I checked my school e-mail today and realize that there are like a ton of notices and whatnot that I should have checked on. I swore I checked them yesterday and there was nothing there. Now, there's ten new messages. And for some reason my Internet is slow so I'm having a painful time reading these messages.

Ah, whatever. I should have breakfast.

Tomorrow I leave for Los Angeles and then afterwards we're going to be on a cruise ship - destination: Mexico!

Today was the longest day of my life. But I had such a good time at work. Stephen text-ed me a few times and it was sweet of him. Argh, I sound so sappy, it makes me sick. Colin hasn't e-mailed me back, I wonder what's up with him. Argh, I am getting too attached too quickly to people who I don't even have a proper relationship with. I hope I don't sound too lonely or pathetic.

Ahh! I don't know what to write about.

After work I went to the therapist and the session ended with him saying, "Well, it doesn't seem like you have any mental problems. You're dealing with your life as you should and you even have worries which is a good, normal thing. You're balanced. There's really no point in seeing a therapist at all. blah blah blah". I know, tell my parents this. I'm fine. Fine and dandy.

Oh, my god, I will be on the other side of the country tomorrow then in a different country. I have to find my MacBook case though. Where the hell is it?

EDIT: Colin just e-mailed me. I am going to wait until tomorrow to respond. I have to make it seem like I'm acing cool. And I found the MacBook jacket/case thing my mother made for me. I am good to go.

Today was a very nice summer day, it felt like spring. But I knew it was summer because I was not in school and because I had looked on the calendar to confirm that it is, indeed, August of 2006. After work - which was fairly good - I took a little nap. Then went outside to clip my nails. Then I took my laptop out and started typing.

I wrote a five-thousand word essay on whatever was on my mind but I phrased it as a story. I think it's interesting. Perhaps it's not that good. I don't know. Here is the first chapter of my, what do you call that? Was it Joyce who just wrote what was on his mind, without any punctuation. Oh, stream of consciousness. But I included nice little paragraphs and commas and dashes and periods. But it's still flowing.

It was a cool summer’s day that reminded me of a nice spring day, actually. Technically, it was summer but it felt like a hotter spring day. I was outside clipping my nails. I usually clip my nails outside because I feel that it is a waste of my body’s resources if my nails were not reused by mother earth. I learned in school that everything is recycled in some way on this planet. And thus, I think that my nails should also be returned to the Earth. Plus, it was a nice summer day and I felt like being outside while clipping my nails.

I have to be careful though, because I have pet chickens and I’m afraid that if the pet chickens come and eat my nail clippings, they will choke and die and my father would be very angry with me. My father is also an angry man if he is not satisfied. And he is rarely satisfied. So I try my best to stay out of his way because I am too lazy to live up to his standards. But perhaps that is best since his standards are way too high anyway.

Nail clipping is a peaceful activity for me although I don’t think it happens often enough. With each and every nail, you have to slowly cut a natural smooth round shape so that people will always think that your nails are short all the time. I know that its humanly not possible for someone’s nails to be short for their whole lives, but the modern idea of beauty is most often what is not humanly possible.

For example, last night as my parents were watching a television show about the inside lives of supermodels or something, I happened to walk past and see how they secretly starve themselves to look so good. But what strikes me as odd is that most of them didn’t look so good anyway. They were either too bony or too tall or both. But then again, I’m not one to judge on people’s appearances because I am not the most beautiful person in the world so I have no authority.

However, when I look at male models I do find them very attractive. I like how their muscles are fitted onto their bodies in exact positions as if someone was paid to lay it down perfectly. My favorite muscle on a male model are the shoulder muscles – the ones that make a little V going down the shoulder onto the arm. It’s a sign that the rest of the body is molded perfectly. I also like their ears, although that’s not really something one can perfect like a set of nice abdominals.

Sometimes I wonder what they’re thinking, these models, when they walk down the runway or are being showcased for the world. Do they think, “Hey, I’m so sexy.” or do they think, “Man, I can’t believe I had a glass of orange juice today. I’m such a fatty and that is totally unsexy.” Hopefully the guys would have different thoughts but as equally humorous. “Man, my abs are so defined, you can even wash clothes on me.” or “I wonder if I’m going to have to sleep with the agent again to get my pictures published.” If the latter is the case, then I would definitely go to school to become an agent for the models.

My father is weirded out by my obsession and attraction towards other boys. He sees it as an unnatural and shameful thing. But it doesn’t bother me, my attraction towards other boys. I think it’s something that is absolutely natural and not-shameful. Although, it would be nice if other boys would obsess and be attracted towards me. Sometimes I think it’s a one way friendship with other boys.

I don’t think I’m necessarily unattractive. You’re born with what you’re born with and there’s very little, in the grand scheme of all things, to change your physical self – except maybe go on a diet but not starve. I keep myself manicured to a point – proof is that I am outside clipping my nails. I have interesting interests as well as a good sense of humor. I don’t drink or smoke. But I am pretty much up for anything. So sometimes I wonder why more boys aren’t being attracted towards me.

Perhaps because I’m shy. I am very shy. Whenever I’m invited to a big party, I always stick close to people I know. And if there are people I don’t know then I just leave. No point in sitting by myself. But I keep telling myself, perhaps sooner or later I will meet a very nice boy and he will like me and even become obsessed with me and fall in love with me and tell me that I am a very nice boy. I’m only 19, on the edge of the rest of my life. I do fear, however, that I will grow up to be an old, lonely, wrinkly man who has only his cats for company – not that that’s not a bad thing, mind you. It’s just not something I am looking forward to. Are you supposed to end a sentence with the word “to”? Perhaps not.

After I’m done with my hands I decide to start on my toes. Toenails are as important as finger nails because sometimes you’re faced with the possibility of wearing sandals or flip flops and no one wants to look at your toenails that look like they can kill somebody. Unless that’s your kind of thing, running around killing people with your toenail. That’s very rude, however, because I believe that most people would often enjoy being killed in a more mundane and less painful way. Such as old age or the likes. I doubt that most people would enjoy living forever. I imagine that the world would get boring after a while.

My feet are dry. I should really put some lotion on it or something. When I was with my ex-boyfriend, while we were going out, he used to massage my feet and it felt really good. I made sure, at the time, to always have nice looking feet that didn’t stink as much because there’s really no way to have non-stinky feet unless you just woke up in the same bed and had a shower the night before. Which happened sometimes. But anyway, since I do not have a boyfriend anymore, I pretty much am lax about my foot lotion duties. But you might never know when and where the opportunity will arise for a good foot massage by a boy with nice hands and fingers.

I am sitting on my lawn staring out onto the street on which my house is. There’s really nothing here except for more houses. Sometimes I chuckle to myself at the irony of having so many houses in one area yet at the same time, seeing almost no one outside. As if everyone is either in the houses or not in the neighborhood. What’s the point of having a lawn then? Good thing I’m putting our lawn to good use. I hope my nails won’t sprout into a toenail tree.

Okay, I’m not that immature but I do think I’m funny. Sometimes when you’re not as gorgeous as those male super models with their nice shoulders and ears, you have to make up the physical difference with great (or awesome if you’re considerably ugly) personality traits such as humor, intelligence and wit. I’ve known many guys who have the humor and intelligence traits down very well but their wit was something to be desired. Wit, I tell you the secret, is the combination of humor and intelligence. Humor is the personality trait of knowing good jokes and executing them well. Intelligence is the personality trait of knowing stuff and presenting it well. Wit, on the other hand, is about timing – when to show one’s humor and intelligence and how to show it. If someone’s mother just died and you tell a “your momma” joke, this is not a witty reply. Instead, it was a very asshole thing to do. And you do not want to be an asshole if you’re not as handsome as the male models. But at the same time, male models should not be assholes either because assholes are mean and nothing good ever comes out of one.

Now, that is witty.

Although, I will admit, it is unavoidable sometimes. Sometimes I am an asshole but I never mean to be an asshole. Most often I am an asshole either because I did not know that that person was sensitive to that particular subject or the person just took what I said in the wrong manner because they did not know that I was being funny. Both times is because of ignorance. Ignorance is a very bad thing but it’s not as bad as one would think. My definition of ignorance is simply “not knowing.” This is good because it allows for an addition of a second part to the definition, “but is willing to learn.” At the same time, one cannot choose to stay ignorant because this would mean that one does indeed know of their ignorance and therefore has learned of the existence of more knowledge but chooses not to indulge in the fruits of this knowledge. This makes that person an asshole and a jerk and a shitwad. And many other things but I doubt you would like to hear them.

My fingers and toes feel quite refreshed. The nails have been cut and they look pretty good. If I were less lazy or cared more about my nails I would take a file and file them until they looked nice. Or do other stuff to them. But I believe that they are okay the way they are now. Sitting on the grass is very relaxing because I feel as if I’m having a good conversation with the Earth this way. Not because my butt is planted on the Earth but because there’s nothing separating the Earth and my body except for maybe my shorts and underwear. No, I will not tell you whether I wear boxers or briefs.

There are a few hooligans walking down the street. When I was in high school I never really associated with kids on my street because I can never connect with them. They probably thought I was weird or something. And perhaps I am. In fact, I am almost certain that I am weird. But not in a bad way, I don’t think. I don’t know. I never derived joy out of ringing people’s doorbells and then running away or hiding in a bush. I never really was interested in girls so I didn’t want to talk about them or about fucking their pussies. Although, I imagined, that if I had hung out with them I would have seen more boys and probably fallen for some of them. But perhaps it was for the better since those boys wouldn’t fall in love with me. Love is something to be shared, not hogged by one person.

Most of the formatting was lost. But you get the drift. I made you read it. Sucker.

I heard from my mother about the marvels of the cruise we're going on. Apparently the pool is filled with ocean water. And there's a party 24/7 for different age groups, although I'm afraid I'll be lumped with the adults and not the "college kids" or the "lonely gay college age guys who want to hook up" because I'll be all for the latter.

Just one more day of work then I'm out of this country.

EDIT: Just an FYI but laptop screens are the hardest to clean. Especially the glossy finish of the MacBooks. Do I really have to spend a fortune to buy iKleen or whatever? Goddamn.

Tuesday, the fourth day in my six day stretch at work. Which means, since it is morning, that I have to go through three more days of work before I am free from work for a few days. And then after my vacation, I have to work a five day stretch. It's times like this when I fear about growing up or having a full time job. If I dread going to work forty hours a week already, what would it be like when I'm actually older and have a career?

When I'm older, I plan on making enough for me in half a year so that the second half of the year I can go places or join the Peace Corps or something. I think that would be cool.

Speaking of which, yesterday at work, someone put on a mix CD with a few songs from Dashboard Confessionals. Does it make me a bad person if I say that I enjoyed it? And I'm going to listen to some more.

Okay, enough about work, tell me about your day.

There's this floor at the hospital I work in where they house all the crazy mental (usually older) patients. Although I don't know exactly how long they stay there (whether or not it is similar to a nursing home or hospice) but there is this one women who has been there for probably longer than I have been at the hospital - about a few weeks. I won't reveal her name or anything since that could be seen as a violation of patient confidentiality laws or something but let's just say that she is this very pleasant woman. Her first sentences to me were about a week after I joined the hospital. She said, "You have a very nice shirt on." And I did. I had this nifty white polo with a interesting design on it. Anyway, I said thanks but tried to flag the nurse down so I can get the hell out (the doors are locked so no one escapes - really)

Well, today she was were I was and she started talking to me.

"How old are you? 12?"
"No ma'am, I'm actually 19."
"19? You're pulling my leg. I'm not that crazy, you know."
"Nope, I'm really 19."
"Then you must be in college?"
"I am."
"Where?"
"Temple University."
"Oh really? My son Jamal goes there."
"Yeah, its a nice school."
"Do you like it?"
"I do. What does your son study?"
"I don't know. I just know that he's studying. What are you studying?"
"Biology."
"Yeah, you go boy, you go."

Now, sorry for being skeptical or whatever, but really - her son is probably grown up and has graduated from Temple already. But does this mean that her son doesn't visit her? Or does she not remember him? Or does she even have a son? Nevertheless, seeing people like this really makes you wonder what the future holds. I am sure that once in her lifetime, she was a very beautiful and vibrant woman, full of life and humor. Now, she's stuck in between a nursing home and...well - a mental institute.

I just blocked Matt on AIM but it didn't really work. I don't know if it was like a glitch or some sort of bug or whatever. So I click on his name and select "Block". Makes sense. His named signed off, the classic sign that I successfully blocked him. Then, after a minute or two, I see that he signs on again and he IM's me. I do not know how this is done. I told him that I blocked him and he said that he blocked me and then I signed on again on his computer. Perhaps two blocks equal a non-block? I don't know.

Why did I block Matt? I don't know. It just felt like the thing to do. I have work today, night work. Which sucks. Argh.

Here's a quizilla quiz.

You know what scares me?

That I could actually sit there and watch "The View" without throwing up. I've never done this before - I've never seen The View. But I've heard tons about it. I've heard that its a show about old women who talk about things and everyone wants to shoot them in the head or stab their ear drums out. I tried to google "how bad is the view?" but nothing really came up. Then I added "barbara walters" to the end of that search query (it's not spelled queeeery, is it?) and a bunch of "The View" related things came up. Something about Star Jones and Walters being in an old-lady catfight (translation? They talked about each other behind the other's backs to their mutual friends a.k.a. the media).

Now, call me old or call me a lady, but I actually wanted to stay and watch them old ladies talk about stuff. The episode I saw (I don't know if they have new ones daily or whatever) was about one of the ladies falsely accepting a "Happy May Birthday!" when her real birthday is in October. One of her friends, at a resturant (probably high class and snobbish) greeted her and proclaimed birthday salutations loud enough for the whole restuarant to hear and thus the restaurant decided to throw a big birthday party just for the lady. Barbara Walters was being a smart ass and said, "Well, why didn't you say 'Dear, thanks for the birthday wishes but my birthday is in October.'"

Fuckin' A. Barbara Walters should win the Nobel Peace Prize for Best Ideas Ever. Or like, "No one wants to hear what you're saying."

I don't know, I thought Barbara Walters was being a smart ass and someone should have bitch slapped her in the face. Seriously.

To make matters even worse (On a scale from one to ten, ten being the extreme worst and one being not so, I am kicking this up a notch to forty), I actually wanted to stay in the Nurses' Lounge* and eat my tomato pie and watch the rest of "The View". Now, I know what will become of me if I were to turn into a bum or a stay-at-home-house-wife.

*for people who don't know me well, I am not a nurse. I'm actually a pharmacy technician. My mother is a nurse and sometimes she calls me up to the nurses' lounge for food and such. I am spoiled. To be honest, I'm not even a pharmacy technician. To be a pharmacy technician, I would have to have gone through a community college course and earn a certificate or something. I'm just a college student leeching off the medical system and earning too much money and screwing up my FASFA. Goddamnit.

Today, my parents decided to have a family outing. I politely chosed not to go out with them. Well, to tell you the truth, I just didn't get dressed when everyone else was getting dressed. I had the whole house to myself. So I decided to go underwear shopping and white belt shopping.

But a few blocks down the street I noticed the "Check Engine" light was alit in my car. I was baffled. What did this mean? The engine was indeed still there since the car was running, pretty finely. It wasn't sputtering and it wasn't blowing up in my face. It was just...going. So I didn't know what the hell was wrong with my car. So I did an about face and headed home. In the driveway I popped open the hood and checked the fluids. The transmission fluid was okay. The engine oil was not. But I didn't know what kind/grade of engine oil I needed. So I did the next best thing - I went inside and watched TV.

Andy told me not to worry. And I didn't. But at the same time, I was too lazy. So I turned on Logo and watched "Get Real". Those English accents win me over all the time.

Sometimes on Logo they have these commercials in which they show pictures of people as they are growing up and always end with the very last picture being a picture of those two people together. I love those kind of commercials. You know why? Because right now, the one person who I am going to end up with is growing up too. They're probably sitting there wondering who they're going to end up with or maybe he's on the john doing his business. Or maybe he's out on a date.

I want to go out on a date. When Matt - the exboyfriend - came, I made a funny show of asking him out on dates. It was pretty useless since he was sleeping at my house. And I kind of had control of what he did. But it was still cool and refreshing to ask him. But now, I need a date. I just need to go see a movie with someone and have that person buy me popcorn or something.

I washed the car today with my father. It was such a tense time. I totally hated it. I really hope he comes around before we go on our cruise.

Mr. Mystery Guy Who I will Wash Dishes with and Spoon Afterwards : I'm thinking about you right now. You face is kind of fuzzy, in fact your whole being is kind of fuzzy. But I know you're there and you exist. And we're going to be together, one day.

For your information, this was the Yahoo! Teen version of the horoscopes. But I think it was the most revelant towards my life.

Today, I worked. When I woke up today, I felt so depressed. Like, "Why the hell wasn't that dream real?" I don't remember what the dream was so don't ask me. But I remember that it was nice and everything was perfect. And when waking up, reality just kind of sneaks up on you and bites you in the ass.

Is it pompous of me to not consider having sex a few days ago really having sex? I mean, it was one of those "I am so lusting after you and since you're staying over in my bed, why not" sort of things. But at the same time, I am in love with him even if nothing is ever going to come out of it because we're so separated by our lives. I need a boyfriend.

Last night I was talking to Deanna online and I told her this. She told me that she needs a girl too. The last time I saw her, she was holdng some red head's hand (the redhead was very pretty) but apparently, those things fell apart? I feel bad though, I always held hope that lesbians would have the stable relationships in our gay family. I have to find her a girl. And she has to find me a boy.

What's my perfect boy? I know I have already wrote this before in this blog but things change.

Anyway, perfect boy.

1.) he has to be around my height. I'm 5'4". He should not be shorter than me (except for, at most, an inch) and he should not be 6'. I want him to be 5'8" -ish.
2.) not fat. not skinny. Average. Someone who wouldn't make me feel fat either.
3.) Biting. Biting. Biting. No blood though.
4.) big cock.
5.) someone with a sense of curiosity and humor. Preferred science majors. English majors okay, only if they read interesting books.
6.) can speak a different language a plus.
7.) enjoys public displays of affection (i almost wrote pubic)
8.) enjoys movies
9.) enjoys music
10.) Doesn't mind me filming our sex. (joking.)

People, don't flood my inbox with applications and inquiries.

What a crazy couple of months.

I finished the semester. I finished the first summer semester. Now I'm in my second summer semester. School just seems to never end. I'm Vice President of Treasury for Common Grounds, the LGBT club at Temple U. I met a really nice lesbian, Deanna who I am regretful that I have a penis whenever I talk to her. I mean, if I had a vagina and all, I would totally boing her, you know, with my strap on. But I have a penis and so I have to be her dyke...tyke? Whatever.

I came out to my parents they did not take it so well. Not very well at all. But right now, my plan is to act mature and to work as hard as possible to escape this hell hole in one piece. Even if it takes a year or two. Hopefully not more.

Matt visited me for a few days and that was awesome. It was really nice seeing him and while we were together, it was like we were going out again. Holding hands and kissing in public, staring at each other and asking him out on "dates" again even if I knew he had no choice but to say yes. Nights with him were also a treat.

I'm still alive and kicking. I'm looking for a man, someone who can give me those feelings of being wanted and loved again. I miss those feelings, I miss Matt. But I can find those feelings elsewhere, Matt is too far away.

Good day.