well, once again valentine's day has come and gone, for once not marking the demise of another of my ill-fated relationships. so all false assertions of independence/bemoaned holidays of corporate provenance aside, i put forth this simple question-- WHERE THE FUCK IS MY BOYFRIEND! i fucking want one, and i dont care who knows it. so where is he? well, chances are that's not him, un his knees in the parking lot across the street, puking his face off. oh no, that wouldnt be him...that would be Boyfriend Hopeful keith. keith, like so many other lonely and desperate young gay indie rockers, decided that the best course of action to take when wooing yours truly was to combine heavy drinking with spastic attempts at interrupting my conversations; all followed by a skull-splitting barf session in the pastor's space behind Trinity Chapel.
so i'm picky, so what? it's not like i complain about this all the time. i dont have any false expectations. not me.
i've started smoking again in earnest and abandoned all attempts to drink less. on valentine's day i curled up on the couch in my new marc jacobs jacket (i love you too, baby) and watched an atypically hilarious episode of all in the family, in which archie and meathead recite two different versions of the same encounter with a black refrigerator repairman. in archie's, the man comes across as an agressive, bedaiskiki'ed black panther, while meathead depicts the repairman as a shuffling, pandering Sambo. the guy's acting was phenomenal and i made it a point to remember his name even though i was drunk. however, as i flipped through the channels an hour later and saw the same actor playing a klingon on star trek: voyager, i erased him from my memory. i'm petty like that, kids.