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July 5, 2005
Well Hell's Bells
…have become my internal, biorhythmic alarm clock.
Another indication that it’s bad is when you’re too embarrassed to call your man again, the guy who loves to hear from you, and even calls with friendly reminders when he doesn’t. And as much as I’ve come to adore Max for all he stands for and doesn’t (I forgot to mention that a couple times back while we’re transacting I ask him what he’s up to that day and his plans were to get some quality reading time in for school.—what a good boy! Showin’ up his customer with a Masters in Lit.) I was a little bashful about showing my face to him again so soon and so expensively. So Sparkles came through for me, though he could get the glass. Man, my tubularity is so stankified! Funny how the layers of acceptibility, both in regards to a usable set of screens and to my life in general, peel away in tandom. What was previously unacceptable in the absolute—untenable, unthinkable—falls right in with the conforming contourity of a glove to become the new status quo, the yawning reality. Baseline, check.
I.E. I got another 888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888
Posted by peligrito at July 5, 2005 1:01 AM
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