5:00 p.m. - 2004-01-05
pip pip
I don't even know how to begin how strange and wonderful and did I say strange life is right now. Luckily, I am listening to the new Basement Jaxx right now, though, which makes me want to dance through the streets of London.
Yep, that's right. I made it to London, but not without incident.
Where to begin...well, for my last full night in Berlin, Liana, J-Train and I drank the night away. A night that started shortly after midnight, mindye, but preceded by a shock treatment of cheap whiskey and eurocoke (beverage, not the powder...das ist verboten). We ended up at a trashyish gay club around three. I was annoyed at the music, but wasted and had gone quite some time sans dancing, so I attacked the dancefloor with all my gusto, which resulted in my mates getting bored (nightnight, they said, at 5 am) and me getting to make out with a cute-ish German/Italian dude. But then it gets weird, y'see.
I was thrilled to get some humpin in on the continent, but in addition to being a rather clumsy kisser, this dude apparently also had no testicles. Not literally, they were there, the little fucking raisins. Rather, he coaxes me to come home with him (never was there such easy work) and, once we had taken off our clothes and gotten in bed and done a bunch of fucking poppers (not something I give a high recommendation to), he thought it would be really 'hot' if we just 'went to sleep.' I mean, christ, what happened to the old-fashioned faggots that fuck you and throw you back out into the cold predawn? That is what I'd like to know.
What really bothers me is that this is not the first time this has happened to me. Rather, it is the second. This summer, the dood I hooked up with in Sacra-shitto, wanted the same thing.
Is this the face of the postmodern faggot? To crippled by a clearly fundamental weakness of character to go out and fuck and move on with your life and hope to eventually find something akin to love? Ummm...
Anyway, it grossed me out. I thought it was fucking sad, especially since he passed out soon after. I think this comes close to on par with paying for sex, in terms of sad psychosexuality. It's one thing to crave intimacy, but it is quite another to solicit bedwarmers instead of sexual guest stars. And what lurks in the minds of these dudes? Look at that ass, I bet he really fills out a set of sheets.
Anyway, so, in addition to getting fucked up and not fucked, I crawled home at 9 in the goddamn morning, slept for three hours and spent the rest of the day packing, being hung over to the point of incapacitation AND hanging around airports and flying in planes all day. I was not thrilled about any of this, especially since the unusually cheap Ryan Air totally fucking failed me, and I had to pay a ridiculous sum of money to go one-way to London. Yesterday.
But upon my arrival, post Indian food binge (YUM), I checked into mi casa for the next three weeks and just as I settle down to sleep, two of my unruly roomies force to come out with them. We smoked some bizarro-hash, got semi-shitcanned and wandered around Leceister Square until 3 in the morning. And lemme say, today's art history thing, while immensely engaging, was a BITCH to deal with sore as hell from back-to-back benders and luggage-lugging. Believe me.
The only problem is how quickly I am going to run out of money, especially taking into accout how quickly I am spending it, AND HOW GODDAMN MISERABLE THE EXCHANGE RATE IS RIGHT NOW. Let me assure you.
This prompted me to dream up a series of ridiculous schemes involving drug dealing to Americans and foreign students, various forms of robbery and lastly (but not leastly) peddling my arse. I'm gonna make it after all (goddamnit)!
