I finally packed. I have most of my crappy material belongings, all of which I love, into a suitcase, and I am still convinced I have missed something crucial. This is the confliction of the material obsessed.
Oooh, anyone who gets the chance should vsit thatsplenty.com and read all my friends hillarious and poigniant things, but MOSTLY READ Michelle's comic about her and her best friend, Mandy Moore. It made me feel very warm on the inside.
I want to tell all of my overly-commited friends in relationships that, if at this point in your journey you are freaking out, it's ok, and I support you, and it's normal to feel clausterphobic in a super serious situation being that you are under 30, and you shouldn't feel guilty about that. Instead, you should just modify aspects of your life so that you feel more greatly fufilled and that you are not taking things for granted, and accept that it is fine to love someone, but if you spend all your waking time around them, you will eventually hold them responsible for the fact that you regret every aspect of your middle-aged life. Let it go. Catch my drift? You're good, dude, just remember your age. Seems like most everone I know is trying to settle down as quickly as possible. And they feel regrets after the fact, but try to igore them. Except Steve and Karen, who really did something right there as far as I'm concerned. And god bless their doggies. But they are the painful minority.
Lou and I met this dude in Union Square park who had long hair and skinny pants but imediately looked uncomfortable, like when you saw him you wished you were having a really important cell phone conversation with someone that couldn't be interrupted. But on this occasion there were no cell phones, and we were sitting there, waiting to be attacked. So he did. First he asked us if we would sleep with Jesus, if we were to meet him now. This comes out of nowhere. This dude just slowly approaches us asking this retarded question, and we've got nowhere else to be, so we can't leave. No, we both say, we wouldn't. Then he asks again, coming ever closer to us, adding in the factor of Jesus being a hot guy in a bar. Again, I don't think so, we both say. Of course at this point he tells us that he immagines we're best friends since we've looked at eachother before speaking about 50 times. Well, Lou and I are best friends, and we know a weird dude when we see one, so what are you going to do. He tries to hit on one or both of us based on this fact, which leads him nowhere. Eventually he asks us if we are "adventurous", and me, being the deffensive douche that I am say, yeah, of course I am, long haired-weird-guy, and Julie says something like "maybe". And then it's on. And for the next 30 minutes this dude pushes his way into our sitting situation, which is to say he sits between us, and proceeds to hit on Julie in all the stupid ways that happen in a bad movie. He asks to take a picture with us, but of course isn't happy with Julie's expression, and has to keep retaking the picture. He keeps peer pressuring her about how she is secertly aventurous, and what I immagine she is thinking is "of course I am, but not with you, you tiny bizarre wierdo". Eventually I give up on trying to save the situation, and think about something else. Every romantic commedy that takes place in New York. What dog owners do when they go to fancy outdoor restaraunts. Why chodes I meet in the park always make me want to hit them in the face because they try to sleep with my hot, harmless, "unadventureous" friends. Eventually we wait together, and sit there long enough to watch him sell a pair of latex pants to some really sweet gay dude he met on Craigslist (the kind of gay guy you want to hug, who has a totally normal day job), whose boyfriend is trying to get him into "kinky shit" and this dude we've met who is selling them is purposefully vague about how he came across them, saying more than once "I never tried that shit on. I mean, you know, I'm not gay". Anyway, after watching the beauty of Craigslist in the works, little Companion-Dude tries to get Julie's phone number in the dumbest way possible whilst stroking his long luscious hair, and she cleverly diverts in a fairly non clever way--what are you supposed to say to a weird dude who is already trying to type your name into his phone telling you you are secretly the "adventurous" one--and she says "I don't give my phone number out to strangers, I'm sorry." And god bless her, this is the truth, especialy right now, and this guy, this long-haired-I've-already-showed-you-my-student ID-8 times-to-prove-it's-really-me-dude is shot so far down in an instance that he essentially gets up and walks away. Eventough we witnessed his latex pants exchange. That no longer matters. Louie, the secretly adventurous one, refused to give him her phone number, and he ran away. Almost literally. On her behalf, good move, Louie. The point. The point being. You always seem to meet the people you don't want to meet, who are trying to meet the people who don't want to meet them, who will entertain you to a certain point, and then turn you loose on the city. And you can never get anyhere by asking someone if they would sleep with Jesus. These are the lessons.
I fly out early tomorrow morning. I still feel unufilled about visiting some people. I am still waiting to get the peices to allow me to fall asleep happy. I am always affraid in flying that i will die before I touch down. Anyone reading this soon, please think happy thoughts. Still someow I mannage to be the happiest person in airports you've ve ever seen. I don't talk to anyone particularly, I just decide who I would get closest with if the plane was going down, and then feel happy because I have some sort of answer. Tragedy calls for no logic. At least I have an answer to tragedy. God I am affraid of flying.
Hello New York.
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