To all those lovely people who say I look like I’m losing weight, I kiss you! (And the check is in the mail.) I actually am though. It’s been too hot to stick to my winter/spring diet of cheeseburgers 24-7 and I’ve been wandering around town with a mega bottle of water trying to breaking in the flyest of the new sneaks. At the Tortured Soul show Saturday night, I almost delivered some beatdowns when drunkies were stepping on them. Dude, you can’t fuck up my pristine sneakers! Give it a week and I won’t care then!
Over the tail end of the weekend, I was telling everyone my epiphany: every guy I like (however briefly) falls into two categories. There’s the “I’m an artist, I do all sorts of cool things that I don’t like to brag about (but you can see it here). You know, you’re kinda snarky. I think it’s cute. Wanna get drunk/watch me brood?” (see: Farmer, K, The Director, The DJ). Or the “I enjoy the sound of my own voice to the exclusion of everything else. Aren’t you fascinated by my neverending, so illuminating opinions? I’m so fucking brilliant! Well, what do you think? Er…hold up. Listen to this…” (see: Shady, Mr. Scenester, Crackhead) Apparently I pick guys like I’m still in HS. Damn that late bloomer thing! It’s not a totally left field thing though. Is it wrong for me to like overblown, more focused versions of myself? They’re at least interesting until I get bored with the whole episode.
Yeah. Is it not obvious that I won’t be settling down until sometime around 2016?