Review The Situation, Take Part, Take Over

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Sometimes changes just sneak up on you. I've been thinking a lot lately about how sometimes I don't recognize myself in good ways. When I first moved back, I had a million hopes and the huge fright that kept me from everything for years. I really latched onto the blog thinking that I had blank space to fill, so I better make it good. Off and on, I began to feel beholden to reporting everything and it started to feel like I was too busy living to write (debatably) interesting things and not actually doing anything for the sheer thrill of it. Then I went to the other extreme, doing everything for the pure visceral thrill. It's either in the pan or in the fire with me. But, I'm getting sorta old and tired. I've let go and settled down a lot. The infamous ill temper has mostly dissapated (but I'll still curse out a bitch!) and I'm even, like, mellow for the most part. It's kinda scary sometimes. The most random thing for me was looking down at my hands one day and realizing that I had nails. I've had the terrible habit of biting my nails pretty much ever since I've had teeth. Yet I looked down and saw these nails had kinda snuck up on me. Crazy. But, I keep scratching the shit out of myself which is annoying.

In the midst of all this, I met this kid who I'm having these interactions that are even straying from the norm. I used to always feel like I had to mediate myself or else I'd have to spend more time explaining/backtracking than just saying what I was about. He wants to know what I'm interested in and doesn't recoil from/challenge me when I'll let loose on, let's say, the Prefuse obsession. He'll be like "hmm...I don't know anything about that. Tell me more. I want to experience that too" and I'll think "where the hell have you been all my life?" (Not really, but that's way fucking sappy and I'm not that fucking mellow.) And I'm all "tell me about you and the work you're doing" and he'll go off talking about his art and the projects he wants to work on. And I say, "that's interesting, but I don't know much about that" totally without embarassment and it's no big deal for him to explain it to me. Cause there's nothing wrong with an honest information exchange. Sincerity is a lost art.

Over the weekend was a big arts fest where he was a showing his stuff. Seperately I dragged Farmer and Trendvickster to check out what was around and do some recon. Thumbs up from the kids and I was happy. Hit a little snag with some vague friend of his who was a little upset that I was "muscling in on her turf." She brought out the cattiness by obnoxiously giving me the third degree and I neutrally answered her questions while threatening with my look: "you better back the hell off, you Suicide Girl reject. I will fuck you up." Like I said, not that mellow.

Soon, Trendvickster and I trotted off for a belated birthday party for Lina, where there was an hour of open bar but no guest of honor. My patience with the place was pretty finite -- the West Village on a Saturday night? Oh hell no. I was off to meet the boy and his friends off in Williamsburg. I got there and received the biggest smile from him. He helped me get rid of my deja vu by pointing out that the venue used to be Volume, that big old space which always was in trouble what seems like forever ago. Bands were playing, including this drums and guitar pair that made so much noise that it was really kinda amazing that there were only 2 of them. A-chattering with the friends and randoms before it was really time to go.

Living in other parts of Brooklyn, Williamsburg is a bitch and a half to escape from in the middle of the night. A 61 passed by as we were walking aimlessly and the next one was due in an hour, so the G it is. That's gotta be the worst train in NYC. A snail-drawn buggy has got to move faster than that thing. On the walk to the train, he had a freakout that was apparently prompted by the bitch from earlier asking if we were "dating." I basically laughed it off because I'm a real stickler for technicalities. You've really gotta be as a single person. The gradation for a non-platonic guy relationship for me is:

1) talking = hanging out mostly non-sexually
2) seeing = hanging out with a sexual connotation
3) dating = hanging out with planned activities
4) "boyfriend" = formalized agreement of a relationship, i.e. The Talk has happened
So, if someone asked me if we were dating, I could say "no, of course not. We're seeing each other (I guess) and I'm playing it by ear." Farmer basically mocked me for having distinctions while he was playing "grouchy older brother"/sounding board this week, but yeah I don't really care. I mean, I like the new boy, but I'm in stage 2 and loose moralled enough where I can chill and feel him out and it's not a big deal.

The outcome of a facing a freakout is when you're known for being more than a little high-strung under pressure, you're gonna have a little freakout of your own. It was a more than a little ridiculous. Drunkies shouldn't do anything more than quietly go to bed. This one stupid point of contention became the event on Thursday. We had planned earlier in the day to go together and now it was "you're going, but not with me?" "No probably not." "Are you still going to the Prefuse?" "I'll see you there." But, what about the Prefuse thing?" Over and over and fucking over again. If only we could've been run over! It was really annoying. Drunkies are universally dumbfucks.

But, we're good. For now. Drama! I'd have less stress as a cat lady. For real.

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This page contains a single entry by Candicissima published on October 20, 2005 12:25 AM.

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Before I Turn Around And Burn This Motherfucker Down! is the next entry in this blog.

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