I Don't Wanna Be Friends

I wish I didn't have the kind of past that made me the kind of boy that understands Bad Romance at maximum capacity. From the first time I heard it, until right now, it's been playing in my head. It was playing in my head before I first heard it, I just didn't have the words or know what it was. To me, it's more then a song, it's everything I never got to say. And everything I still don't. I can't decide if my not saying everything is keeping me from being institutionalized or recognized. Gaga said it, she said everything, and no one looks her over. But at the same time, there are those who would probably lock her up. So, self imposed prison or state enforced prison? We'll see where life's romance takes me.

{ I was going to post the lyrics, but you should just listen to it instead.}

Open Window

I've had the "new post" window open on my computer for about six hours. Maybe even longer. I woke up this morning, after having slept for twelve hours, determined to write a new post while accomplishing everything else on my to-do list. I didn't have to go into work today so I was ready to be productive and get stuff done. But I find myself dragging my feet today. It's been a minute since I've written because my time has been double booked, almost triple booked, so sitting down to write hasn't been high on my list of importance. The main thing taking up my strength and energy is moving into my new room. Same house, different room. Actually the original room I moved into. But then the guy who had it first came back, so I went to what was originally a study. But now original guy is gone, so I get it back. But this time I knew I'd be living in it for a while so I wanted it to look better. A lot better. So I scrubbed and painted the walls. Wiped and finished the wood ledge that outlines it. Swept the floor and corners. It took over a week because I was doing it all when getting home from work, so I wasn't moving my fastest. Finally yesterday, having touched up the last of my touch ups, I moved everything in. Organized all my shit, sorted my new closet, and sat at my new desk for the first time. I was going to write last night, but I couldn't even keep my eyes open. Along with my new room, I decided to finally give myself a new hair cut. It was beginning to look strange considering the blonde was outgrown and my roots were showing. It was also that terrible "in-between-lengths" look, where bed head just looks like unkempt. So that, combined with the finally arrived summer heat, prompted me to Chuck Liddell my hair. It's not a complete buzz over, it still has enough up there for the sake of character and balance. My ears look proportional still. So when I woke up this morning I was in my new room, with new cut and enjoying having my new windows open. The other room didn't have windows that could open, so I've been without for a very long time. Waking up in my new room, which is decorated in a fashion that would make even the most metropolitan of men jealous, was a great thing. It's a grown up room. With wood floors and color schemes. I done good. If I may say so myself. Having open windows is the best part. Having warm summer breezes glide in is a badass feeling that makes the heat and constant sweat worthwhile. And the constant sweat is a huge points loser. So the open window is worth mega points. It's a shame humans can't be like windows when it comes to being open. Because a room can still be stuffy if it's full of closed people but open windows. Things have gotten better at the house, but there are still a lot of closed topics and stale conversations that should be opened or freshen, respectively. And I've had opportunities too, to either open up things that I once thought closed or to let them remain the same. I'm still undecided as to how to go about it all. You know what you're going to get with a closed window. But with an open window there are variables, a lot of them. You could end up in a Rear Window kind of situation. And only Jimmy Stewart can make double leg casts sexy. The rest of us would just look bad. I'm not involved with any Hitchcock type of danger, for the time being, but I still can't seem to make up my mind. But I my stomach and computer have made it up for the time being. My stomach is making noises to remind me it's been empty all day, and my computer is making noises to remind me it's been on all day. Both of which are unhappy due to the said actions. So I should fill one up, and turn the other off.

Lisa: [Listening to the composer play his piano] Where does a man get inspiration to write a song like that? It's utterly beautiful. Wish I could be creative.
Jeff: Oh sweetie, you are. You have a great talent for creating difficult situations.

On Repeat/Preheat To Disaster

It hasn't even hit seventy degrees yet, and already this summer is getting overheated. The climate might be lagging, but the climate in my house is somewhere between sizzling and boiling over. I was worried about getting sunburned from staying outside for too long, now I'm worried about getting heat rash from staying inside for too long. Remember a couple weeks ago when I wrote letters to everyone, and two of those letters had to do with a housemate of mine and the girl who he is entangled with; well they started up again. And it's not a good thing. Because she's not a good thing. She might be three fourths evil and one fourth nasty, in my opinion. But now him and her are back together and she is back at the house, on the daily. And no one likes her, no one wants her around, and no one wants to speak to her. It's tricky for one of my other housemates because he's brother to the one repeating his mistakes, so he's caught in the middle of it all. Where does your allegiance fall when you have to decide between your brother and his tramp, and your girlfriend/one day wife? That's not a position I'm envious of at all. I'm slightly detached from it all, because it's plain and simple for me. She's a tramp! With a capital C. I've known about her all the way back in the day when I was still at my first college. Then she popped up on my radar again years later, and then she wrecked the heart of one of my boys. Sorry bitch, but unless you pay off my student loans, we will never "be cool" with one another. You hurt someone I love, you might as well move to penguin land, because Imma freeze you out of my life anyways. The thing that really pisses me off, is that the stupid bitch parades around the house like nothing ever happened. She should be so, so, SO embarrassed to even show her face around this house. She's a two faced slut, and we all know it. She should be quieter then a church mouse when she walks through the door. Instead she's saying "hello" and asking us "how we've been" and acting like life is sunshine and daisies. Wrong move bitch! Life is thunderstorms and poison ivy. Especially when it comes to you. Now I know what you're thinking: why aren't you mad at the housemate for repeating his mistakes? Well we are, or at least I am, but since I love him like a sibling, I can't freeze him out. I just feel a great, enormous amount of pain when I see him falling back to her. He's caught up in this, either by balls or brains, so all we can do is love on him and hope that he figures it out sooner rather then later. But as of right now, the battles lines aren't declared just yet, but the maps are being drawn up. This summer is going to be a hot one, a dangerous one, one full of burns, and I'm not even talking about the weather. Do they make SPF for friendships? Because my house is going to need some of that. Getting sunburn is going to be least of my concerns these next couple of months. I just can't shake the feeling that things are going to get heated, and quickly. And it's going to turn ugly. Oh dear. I'm getting all worked up. I need to preheat the oven and do some stress baking. My kitchen is going to look like a bakers counter if things keep the way they are. Haha. I guess we are creatures of repetition. Live, Stress, Bake, Repeat.

50% Off Heartache

I've had a lot of sorta big things that I've been trying to take care of this past week, and only one percent had gotten taken care of. My "to-do" list is on the rise, but my concentration is on the decline. The percentage of my brain that has been spent thinking about this whole New York situation is high, and it makes me very unproductive. But now that it's been a while since I've seen him, productivity is on the rise. I was down in Chicago these past two days, and it was necessary. Had a fun night out and then spent the following days with my parents. It was an early Mother's Day celebration. It was a lovely time. I enjoyed myself. And now I'm back up here and in the middle of doing some housework, and liking the fact that I'm getting stuff done. I'm planning all the appointments and errand running that needs to get done this coming week, I'm clipping coupons and shopping for the best deal. Making sure my dollar works for me, because I work for it. Found a great deal on getting new glasses and an eye exam. Clipped a coupon for getting my car worked on. Hunted down the best deals for groceries. I was never a coupon kind of guy before, but now I'm a compulsive clipper, of coupons. I wish I could get one for the coming heartache that I'm going to purchase when I inevitably tell New York that I can't see him anymore, in a friendly or romantic way. No ways, no ways can lead to New York. I can't be the "other man" for him, I won't be his bogo deal. You can't buy one and get me for free. I may clip coupons these days, but I won't cut out my morals or standards. Plus there is a brand new guy who is delicate and quiet and careful. When I'm around him I feel like a bull in a china shop, and I don't want to break him, because relationships are the one thing where "you break it, you buy it" doesn't apply. I don't want him to know about all my emotionally bad, romantically expensive purchases of the past. I want him to know me as a bargain hunter, someone who thinks before he purchases. Someone who isn't an impulse buyer. I don't have the purse strings or the heart strings to have relational shopping sprees. I want to start making investment purchases. Like what I'm doing for my bedroom; I'm redecorating it, but I'm filling it up with things that will last for a very long time. Things that I can take with me to my next place, and maybe even into my own house one day. One day far, far, far, far, far away. Like, post student loans far away. Very far away. Whatever. I'll be clipping coupons for many decades to come. That's for sure. Just like me walking away from New York is a for sure, or at least it should be a for sure. He's an impulse purchase I keep making over and over again, like shopping at Armani. The stuff there is really nice and super sexy, but it only lasts one season. This new guy, and what my trend should be for the future, is more like a wardrobe staple. Something that can last, something that you can wear for seasons and years to come. Something timeless. Maybe even something you got for half price on the clearance rack from Macy's. A smart purchase. That's what my life should be full of these days, smart purchases. Good deals and great bargains.

"Shopping for labels, shopping for love." -Fergie

Les Liaisons Dangereuses

I have become "the other man". There, I said it. But it's not so black and white as you might imagine. New York is exclusive, if that's what you can even call it, with a guy who lives in Texas. Who he has only seen in person about, at the most, five times in the past five years. New York stands by his claim that they are very close due to the letters and emails and video chats that they exchange, which is probably true; but when did a pen pal become the foundation for a personal relationship? You can't kiss an envelope. It just leads to paper cuts. And lets not even bring up where else you could get paper cuts if you decided to be exclusive with the post. Is licking the stamp considered foreplay to them? I don't understand it! Better yet, New York doesn't understand it! I've talked with him about it, both sober and non sober, and he has no real explanation for it. (you might be thinking why I would chose to bring up this topic with him, but that's what friends do; they talk about their relationships. plus, I need to know who my competition is) So New York says that they connect and agree on a lot of issues, which is great if you want to start a club or a political campaign. But how is that satisfying the emotional, physical and relational needs of a romantic entanglement? Plus New York is not moving down there anytime soon, he is weeks away from finishing is medical internship and had already been offered a position at the hospital, so he's not going anywhere. And this Texas Stamp Licker is in no position to come up here anytime soon. So it's not like they are even going to be able to be in the same room anytime soon. Which once again brings up the question of: how long before I state my case? Because I am fading fast. I can't lay in his bed and cuddle with his cats while he showers and puts his scrubs on and puts on the coffee and gets ready to go to work, all the while thinking to myself (yet again): this is lovely, this is how it should be. It's dangerous for me to think like that. It's painful. Extremely painful. I've gone running almost every night this week because I know if I try to go to sleep, sleep won't come. I'll be laying in bed staring at my ceiling, with this puzzled look stretched across my face, wondering how this all got so fucked up. How he got back into my life. How I allowed myself to fall back into him. To fall back into ****. I won't admit that yet. No way. No friggin way. I owned up to being "the other man", but I'm not admitting to falling back into **** with him. WAY too dangerous. I spend every second in my head trying to convince myself that he's not the same wonderful, delightful, intelligent goofy New York Cuddler that I fell in **** with years ago. But, he is. Actually he's even hotter then before. And even more put together. It's terrible. It doesn't help my situation at all. It's so dangerous. Allow me to be petty for a moment. This Texas Stamp Licker bitch, isn't even cute. He takes medication which causes him to break out in acne. Which doesn't mean no one should ever love him, I suffered with acne for years, I was on every drug the FDA approved and the one they didn't, I use to have to get blood drawn because I was part of a test group, I know his pain; so I'm not picking on him because his complexion is shit. I'm just saying that New York deserves comparable pairing. The Texas Stamp Licker deserves to find someone who will love him and enjoy him for who he is, but it doesn't need to be New York. And why should New York tie himself to a pimpled little boy who is miles away, when I'm the cute runner who lives seconds away and is hopelessly devoted to him. I'm not going to resort to Merteuil tactics, because in the movie that didn't work out so well, but I am going to remind New York, every chance I get, that I'm local, devoted, and wonderful. Plus, like I said, his hands are in the cookie jar right next to mine. Don't think I'm some kind of cookie monster in this scenario, New York likes to make cookies too; he's usually the one starting the recipe first. And we make such great cookies together. Really, no really!, we should be together. WE should be the exclusive part of this dangerous love triangle. I'm going to get fucked over, I just know it. I want to believe there is some chance that I might end up a winner, but that part of my brain/soul just doesn't exist anymore. That part of me has been killed off. I'm going to be left with no New York, and just a package of Oreo cookies. Which I will eat a lone.

"It's beyond my control." -Vicomte Sebastien de Valmont

One Way Ticket

These days it seems like each time I walk in my front door a housemate is either stepping out, moving out, or leaving on a jet plane. While I on the other hand feel like I'm deserted on a barren island that strangely resembles my city block. But with everyone around me vacationing, or leaving entirely, I have had some extra social time to find my love passport and start getting some new stamps in it. But dating, just like traveling, can be exhausting and more tiresome then originally recognized. Both are always romanticized into being great and luxurious, like a 1950's American Airlines advert where all the men wear tailored suits and all the women look like Grace Kelley. Damn, was that a lie. The reality is, dating is a lot more dangerous then flying. I'd take grouchy security guards with their beeping wands over talking to a stranger at the bar any day. Every time we decide to go out on a date, or agree to get a drink with someone, or ask someone out for dinner we are buying a one way, non-refundable, ticket to a destination we aren't aware of. Dating, or seeing someone, is like an impromptu flight purchase without the free peanuts. Or the hot towels. The idea is so risky and crazy and absurd; wanting to get closer to a complete stranger. It's comparable to blasting ourselves into the friendly skies and hoping we won't fall out of them. We fly all over the place, with our love passports in hand, hoping that the destination we reach is love. Or romance. Or good sex. But dating doesn't come with a parachute underneath your seat, or an inflatable life preserver. Dating is either smooth sailing, or plummeting to the ground at an alarming rate while desperately trying to slip the oxygen mask over your mouth. A life of lonely, solo train rides is sometimes appealing. But there is too much about flying that we just can't give up. The excitement you get when making a ticket purchase, the fun of deciding what to pack and what to leave behind, that butterfly feeling in your stomach when you lift off. When it's a good flight, you feel amazing. You're thousands of feet above reality with your head in the clouds, and nothing bad can touch you. You're secure in the arms of your lover, enjoying the in-flight entertainment, only worried about how to recline your chair. Sometimes you touch down in an exotic and lovely destination, other times you simply disembark and go your seperate ways. And then sometimes you crash land in the middle of the ocean and fight to keep your head above water. The fact of the matter is, you're more likely to get killed in a car accident on the ground then die in the air....or something like that. I've been flying all over the place lately. Vacationing in New York. Having business lunches in Iowa. And I've recently started making day trips to California, and Michigan. Despite my frequent flyer romance miles, I can't help but still feel that I left my heart in New York. Or rather, with my New York Sweetheart. I was so jet lagged this past weekend my brain still doesn't know what time it is, and my heart hasn't found it's normal rhythm yet either. I guess, for the time being, New York is more like a travel companion; because our destination keeps changing and becoming something new and something else. I can barely keep up, or afford the tickets. And since I can't rely on New York, I've been booking other flights left and right, trying to put emotional miles between me and the big apple of my heart. But, just like that fucking song says: I wanna be a part of it, New York. New York! I think I view New York as first class seat material, but in his book I'm just business class. Obviously, because of his "special someone" who he says is his copilot. But my passport has had "NY" stamped all over it recently, and I wasn't even booking the flights. Sometime soon I need to analyze my flight patterns, but for the time being I'm too jet lagged to think. Plus, New York is so hot in the summer. If you catch my drift. So, we continue to clutch our carry on bags to our chests hoping that the next ticket purchase will be our last. Not because we go down in a fiery ball of melted fuselage, but because we finally reach a destination that is worth throwing out our love passport for. Until then, enjoy the free peanuts.

"Hold me like you'll never let me go, cause I'm leaving on a jet plane." -J. Denver

New York Boys

(horn intro)

Who wants a boy who acts like New York?
They're always so busy,
It's kind of a pity.
Just like wine, make you tipsy

New York boys are so dangerous
Little monsters you just can't trust.
Slight of hand and quick of tongue
One kiss, two kiss and then they're done

Who wants a boy who acts like New York?
They're always so loud,
So full and so proud.
Just like cabs, knock you down.

New York boys are so notorious
Headlines have always warned us.
Forget your wallet and guard your heart,
You'll fall for them before it starts.

Who wants a boy who acts like New York?
They've all got vagabond shoes.
Pretty words that give you the blues.
Bedroom eyes to match their tattoos.

(horn solo)

Start spreading the news, I'm leaving today.
Who wants a boy who acts like New York, New York
Can't handle these boys, So I can not stay.
I can't be a part of it no more, no more.

Who wants a boy who acts like New York?
They’ve got no real rhymes,
And they lack all reasons.
Like fashion, it all changes by seasons.

(horn outro)


“Men are all alike--except the one you've met who's different.” -Mae West