12:48 a.m. - 2004-04-12
i have a complaint, beotch
Oh sweet God. I feel like I'm become a character from a John Hughes movie. All I've been doing this weekend is wandering into the spotlight, again and again. THere are a lot of squallas that seem to be interested in me...except for the one that I actually want.
Whom I predictably spilled my heart out to. To the response of, 'I'm moving in six weeks, I don't want to get involved with someone right now.'
I hate that self-serving practicality shit. We have to live life in moments, not just as framework for some kind of lackluster future.
He was really sweet about it, the whole letting-down ritual. Bought me a shot, we talked here and there for the rest of the night...but...I mean, my heart was/is broken. So I did what any sane, lovelorn youngster would do: I hit the sauce like it owed me money.
SO HARD.
I slept at Nico's last nite, bless the girl. We had to wake up, as the day was full of Heathenous Easter Day festivities. I was so cruelly hung over, but eventually, I almost had to let go of the aches and the angst and friggin enjoy myself. So I did. Decorated easter eggs over an amazing brunch spread with superb, witty company. THEN, I found myself going up into Patte Canyon, where I barbequed with friends at this absolutely unreal house. It has a hottub, ferchrissakes. I don't really like this guy all that much, but I'm willing to make him my best friend for life. If need be.
Anyway, I've not worked a whit on the story. These are the hours that lie between me and success.
I might need to restructure. Everyfuckingthing.
Enough of this shit. Bottom line? I'm a fucking deadbeat partyboy. But my hair looks hot and lots of people want me that I could give a quarter shit about!
