Ad 2:
2001-10-03 19:02:11 (UTC)

some shit

last night i got smashed at this gay discoteca i went to
for my roomates birthday. if you dont wear underwear all
your drinks are free. no bra and drinks are 1000 lire which
is like 50 cents. i need to wear underwear at all times so
that i can wear a pantyliner so that when i inevitably
start thinking about sex i dont jizz all over the place. so
i let my tits hang free, and had to show the bartender my
back to make sure i wasnt wearing one, which was fucking
ridiculous as my tits were like down to my knees,
resembling that of an african. anyway at the end of the
night when i was WASTED the DJ played NEW YORK, NEW YORK
and i started crying. the part of my heart that is still at
home that i have been trying to distance myself from just
hurt like hell. and all i wanted was to at least find
someone else from new york, but there was no one. everyone
says they are from NYC when asked but they arent. they are
from arizona and conneticut and canada and just go to
school in nyc. the closest that i know is some south american girl
who lives in brooklyn heights but she moved to nyc like three years
ago so she doesnt count. i dont know anymore who grew up there, who
grew up with that skyline who grew up with other new yorkers. right
after brown eyed girl they played
new york new york and my heart just couldnt handle it. i feel so
far away, i almost feel nothing, until i am reminded how far away it
all is, so far that its not real.
alright anyway some things i jotted down the other night:
1) in prior diary entry i was thinking and i applaud
myself for brevity and truthfulness of comment about how i
want comfort that extends till tomorrow for loss of
virginity. exactly what i always try to explain to people
that dont understand the virgin thing . and
what i mean by comfort is very specific. like how you feel
when you are alone. sense is of no importnance. i know i
have only felt this, with a guy, a handful of times. its
something very independant of sex. and i need the person,
not just the fleeting feeling. and i dont need marriage. if
these are my standards for sex ya can only imagine what
they are for marriage. i am gonna be a shriveled up prune.
2) i just finished reading the book of laughter and
forgetting by my man milan kundera. in it, he says laugher
is on another plane, it lives in that void where meaning
becomes blurry. and he insinuates that sex an
dlove and laughing are very separate things. i hope this is
a misinterpretation on my part because i dont believe that
at all. i think laughter is vital and comes from the same
place and sex an dlove. for me anyway. i would LOVE to
laugh while getting nailed the entire time. once, i kissed
this guy, and our mouths made a farting noise, i laughed he
laughed and he didnt wanna kiss anymore after that. i could
have kissed and made farting noises for the rest of the
evening, not necessarily with him but you know what i mean.
3) was also thinking about supressed laughter. my dominant
memeories of that are in junior high, which i was shocked
by because i normally associated junior high with living
hell. but i recall sitting at those desks for 40 minutes,
my whole body hurting from trying not to laugh. this kid
Chris sat across from me in the seventh grade and would
make faces, make signs, mouth things and by the end of
class id feel like collapsing. yet my predominant memory of
him is wiping his spit on my seat on the school bus, i was
already carsick and that put me over the edge. so up until
not i have always connotated him with hurling. and Rita.
in the 9th grade i think i did piss myself in spanish class
on a number of occasions. when you put us together,
everything is funny.

alrght thats all for now.. am going away this weekend to
see family in abruzzi... : )