Friday night Dan and I made dinner, watched music videos and talked about boys (what else?). Met Tommy at the bar. A sort of shady dude gave me his business card. I thought "If that's how people are going to start hitting on me, slipping me their business card in a handshake when they leave, then I feel really old." Had an early night.
Saturdays I get my picture taken. Saturday morning I woke up with all my windows open. it was freezing and white and bright. I had a dream like I was time traveling, going back a couple of years. I dreamed the morning he wanted me back. I thought about my night. I woke up in love with you. Not even the real you, I guess. Some fantasy version of you, minus, like, half the you-ness. This is what I mean about Scott Panther and imaginary boyfriends. Like I am so into the version of you that doesn't exist. I'm really hurt by the fact that you remain different than the fantasy in my head.
Go-go danced last night. It was great. Bar after. Some people, it seems, are born to hate me without ever knowing me. It bums me out. Just a couple of guys, I guess. But they're your friends and if we're in love (and in my imagination we are) then how can I disapprove of your friends? This is so frustrating.
Last night I had a dream about getting into a fight with someone. We were in the lobby of the Conde Nast building. I had to go up to Vogue and unnecessary and vain and for some reason. It was something embarrassing and glamorous, like I had to approve my photos or something. The receptionist in the lobby was being real mean and said she would have to accompany me she didn't trust me. My former lover showed up in the lobby and we got into a fight. He said he worked at SAG which was in the same building. What was I doing here? He hated my outfit and made fun of me. He was drunk and it was only noon. Not even lunch yet. I asked "Are you drunk?" and he replied yeah of course, like it was a good thing. His boyfriend, his real life boyfriend, hit on me. Asked me for a drink. Stood behind me and grabbed my butt while my former lover was chewing me out about my outfit. He was wearing a plastic raver shirt. I didn't tell them why I was going upstairs. I walked out of the building because I didn't want to brag to him about how famous and important I was that I had to approve photos of me for Vogue.
So yeah I woke up in a good mood.
I got some secret things to tell you, lover.