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.