So anxious, so nervous. I'm looking for actual proof. I want to know something for sure, y'know? Spent most of Friday night bragging about my (no longer only) hypothetical modeling career. Sister Pico, Perfect Daniel, Patrick the Witch and I all hung out in our kitchen getting drunk off of vodka and smoking cigarettes and talking about records. Walked to the Metropolitan, feeling like a wolf. Feeling like a monster but a monster that spends a lot of time as a human. Feeling like a girl with a secret. Met some buddies at the bar, drank some beer. Took a cute guy home with me.
Saturday I visited Jiddy at work and went to see Marina Abramovic and Joan Jonas give a talk. Marina talked about learning to let go, and exposing shame onstage, failing onstage. Very inspiring. I went over to Sister Pico's house at night to work on various assorted projects. Birdsong Micropress now has a fancy new blog and we all did some video confessions a la The Real World.
Stayed up very late with Sister Pico and Chantal, talking about philosophical things and the world around us. We kept listening to that Amy Winehouse song "He Can Only Hold Her" over and over again and I started to quietly lose it. I don't even know why I've heard that song a thousand times but I got super shemotional for some reason. Immediately hungry for embarrassment. I became convinced of the fact of the feeling, so I went out cruising for a bruising. I think that's a fantastically accurate way to describe me last night. Went record shopping, tried to avoid anyone I knew. Visited my gorgeous friend Matthew Nasser at work, went with Bobo to an art show in an apartment but felt antisocial.
Went to a party at this house full of cute queers who I want to make out with. I have a huge crush on the host, in my mind we are having an emotional affair. We keep sleeping with other people in front of each other, taking other guys home. And it makes us incredibly jealous but I always get more jealous that the Host does. As a result of this jealousy I have done very desperate things, lost at least one friend entirely, spent a few sleepless nights. The boy I brought home on Friday night is a friend of Hosts. He had a crush on me and Host saw us necking. So there. So he invites me over to a party I go and it is all boys and we are all drinking and smoking and carrying on.
I think to myself, consciously, "Isn't it great that a room full of catty faggots are not competitive and awkward and childish? That no one is projecting how much they hate themselves onto everyone else. How wonderful." (Cause that is what people are really fighting about, you know, how they feel about themselves, they just P-R-O-J-E-C-T). Anyways, the Host has broken my heart a few times, and I keep forgiving him it's not important. At the party we keep sneaking off to make out on his bed, he keeps telling me that he wants to date me like for serious when we're sober not just at the bar he takes me seriously why can't I take him seriously too? He's real he wants me to know that his love is real. I feel cool, sexy, indifferent and aloof. We smoke grass and the Host starts yelling at people. I keep trying to convince him to calm down and be sweet. He accuses me of flirting with the other boys to make him mad. Then the Host starts flirting with them too, to show them that really he doesn't hate them and he is sorry. That is all okay. Eventually people start to leave and the Host invites me to stay the night.
I notice another boy at the party who has been silent all night long and he is wearing the exact same shoes as me, and he is not getting up to leave. Whenever the Host passes by him, this other boy keeps kissing the Host, putting his hands all over him, grabbing him. There are four of us: me, Host, Other Boy, and Roommate. Room mate says: "Hey Host remember when you invited two boys over?". I pull Host aside and ask him what is up with that why is that other boy with the same shoes as me all over you? Host says to relax he is just a friend. I do not believe him and I say so. The Other Boy is sitting all quiet on the couch and comes over to sit next to me and says "Are you embarassed that we're wearing the same shoes?" I tell him no. I say no I wasn't ambarassed until a second ago. I like these shoes I see no reason to be embarassed about them. I call a car and they are imploring me to stay but it's just so they won't have to admit that Roommate blew it and Host blew it and the Other Boy is a dead man.
Cause he's doing this quiet, shy thing. This "nice guy finishes last" thing. And sure I could have taken off my clothes and gotten the Host into bed I could have been that bitch I could act confident and convince you that I am enough of a 'slut' (funny we use that word, but we do). But fuck it. I refuse to compete for affection. I don't deserve that (no one does, hi). I don't want to get up on my high horse but motherfucker I am literally beating them off of me with a bat. I, for one moment this weekend, am convinced that statistically someone must think I'm cute and worth sobering up for. So the Host cowers in a bedroom because he knows I'm probably not going to come back to try to woo him anytime soon (but I will fuck his Roommate, finally). I let Other Boy have the "satisfaction" of "winning" by just sitting there and twiddling his thumbs all night while I rolled a joint and boys kept manhandling me in the backroom so you've got to wonder who the real winner is. So fucking smug. I feel like Ike Turner's first wife in What's Love Got To Do With It where I can't even be bothered to give a warning. I'm out. Fuck this. (Again).
I 'm still obsessed with Fear of Flying but I feel like such an uptight, un-liberated woman. I'm reading my horoscope to get some advice on how to deal with this boy Host I'm so hung-up on. My horoscopes tell me that I have to move on. But I don't want to.
I write horoscopes, too. I wrote them yesterday and I planned what I would say about you. I looked up your birthday and I wrote a little love letter to you and turned it in under a fake name. I think I'm getting sick. I'm drinking soup and thinking a lot about what I'm going to work on tonight. I'm going to the gym and then going home to listen to my new records and write a story for this new fag zine out of Philly started by these really cute boys.