so last night the fates allowed me to have a new hot chick spend the night with.
we listened to live ozzy with randi rhodes on vh-1 classics, we had dinner at 7-11, and when we got home we marveled at welch’s smiths cover,
and then she wanted to see old pictures of me for some reason.
i thought that it would make me sad but it didnt this time.
no idea why.
i noticed that my afro was usually fucked up.
but i also noticed that 3 out of 4 envelopes of photos always included at least one picture of someone lifting their shirt. usually it was my true love.
ive had a good life, it was agreed. and she said, if theres anything that we should do on memorial day it’s not to be depressed about how things should be right now but be happy for how we got here and what is bound to happen in the present and the future.
and try not to think of war.
i was all, arent we supposed to think of only war and soldiers on memorial day? isnt that the point of the day off of work?
she said technically. but they fought for our freedoms, including the freedom of choice. and if you choose to think about things like, i dont know, making out, maybe thats ok.
girls say those things but they dont mean it, i thought. they say making out but they mean fucking. there was nothing in that girl that wanted to make out. she never looked at my lips. she had knee high boots. little skirt that was always flashing something or someone. lil fake plastic dracula teeth. and a tattoo that said tattoo in japanese.
maybe shed make out when you were doing her but the pre makeout session wouldnt be all that great or long, i thought.
and i was right.
and if i was smart i’d head down to staples and get a two hundred dollar playoff ticket for fourty and watch the lakers cruise into the finals.
but even though im usually right, im not smart. smart requires logic. and a shred of normalcy. and if i even had a shred of normalcy i wouldnt be blogging at ten thirty eight on a gorgeous monday morning in hollywood.