I Don’t Want a Stupid Title

To write self-indulgent, self-pitying poetry!  Who’s with me?!? This one’s named after a classic Tiffany song…anyone spot the reference?

if happy’s a religion
i believe but i’m not practicing
another word describes how i feel
call it angry, call it petrified
bored, drunk, tired, mystified
anguished, broken, lonely, hollow, real
life’s a bruise not meant to heal

tell me something I should feel
give me something, anything, that’s real

if sorrow is pain amplified
its chill reverberates inside
condensing tears like water on a glass
menagerie of fabled things
the beast called hope is killing me
with tales of how half-vacantness won’t last
beware, bright sides that bite you in the ass

tell me only, this too shall pass
give me something, anything, to grasp

with age there comes no wisdom
just well-practiced ill-precision
where at times the pieces happen into place
bad ideas, father such decisions
as wrong ways beget collisions
no ring masters, just a circus of mistakes
souls get tired, but hearts get all the breaks

tell me there’s something I can’t fake
give me something, anything, to dull this ache

there’s no need for commotion
if you turn off your emotion
and leave unchartered waters to the fish
fall insync with the motions
bathe a well-travelled path of ocean
and tread water until the day that you die
just dream of falling underneath the tide

tell me I’m not empty inside
give me something, anything, but all this time

tell  me something I should feel

tell me something I should feel

remember when Prince William was the hot one, before he went the way of Charles.  My prayers (and daydreams) are with you, Harry.

Glad I watched it, because for some reason I didn’t know Neo-Nazis had a uniform.  I can just imagine meeting a Neo-Nazi and falling for him, coming home and saying, “I just met the nicest guy.  He’s got such an interesting style.  I think he’s a fisherman.”  Yeah, apparently they dress like fisherman, but kind of hip fisherman.  These are the things no one tells you, and you have to learn the hard way.  Thank you John Singleton.  You’ve touched another life…

Hot off the presses!  Okay, so, for some reason, that guy I went out with three weeks ago wanted to see me again.  I don’t know, maybe he was having a rough week and was feeling insecure and therefore susceptible to a lapse in judgment.  Anyway, I was smart and wrangled a double date situation for Laura, so he brough his friend and we met at a bar.  Now, for those of you who don’t know, the only purpose of the double date is to bring a friend along to check out your date and confirm the fact that they aren’t totally ugly.  After all, things like desperation and consumption of alcohol in mass proportions can skew a person’s vision and judgment. So, back to the story, Laura came, certain the friend would weigh 400 pounds and talk with a lisp all night about why he decided to switch from Comcast to Time Warner and why Momma’s Family is the best TV show ever. 

 The rest of the story is boring so I will just suffice to say, Laura thinks my date was hot (though he is 34…too old?) and his friend ended up being a lunatic, but at least one of those fun lunatics who is good for the occasional conversation and drunken grope.  So, I guess we both ended up having a good time DESPITE (and here comes the meat of the story) the fact that my date wore a FANNY PACK again.  He even made a joke about it, saying it was the reason why he was late, yet not giving any insight into why he wears it.  Laura thinks he’s going through Chemo.  Wade said he always wished he could wear a fanny pack for the convenience factor, but he is too ashamed.  So, maybe, he just wears it in lieu of a man purse?  Hip to be square?  Where’s Huey Lewis and the News when you need them?

Yes, girls (Maureen and Laura and maybe my sister) it’s Patrick Fugit from “Almost Famous” fame.  Don’t freak out, he’s actually 25!  Anyway, I saw this very picture in some newspaper that someone was reading on the subway, and it kind of got to me, you know, down there. 

I don’t know what it is about my taste in men these days.  Remember the kind of guys I used to be into?  Like, the super pretty boy, almost to the point of being effeminate?  Usually blonde?  And then there was the whole model boy look I was into for a while.  I am kind of into the Jewish look these days, but what I really like I’m realizing is a guy who looks like he may be interesting to talk to, probably intelligent, and has a kind of expressive face.  He doesn’t need to be technically good looking, and the really weird thing is, the more good looking and groomed he is, the less likely I’m going to be attracted to him.  I don’t know what’s up with me, seriously.

What I really hate are all the kinds of guys that seem to live in NYC.  Like, guys who are obsessed with their jobs and wear suits and are all serious and probably have a stock portfolio.  Yuck.

But it really doesn’t matter what I’m into, because the only guys who ever want to date me are so fucking stoned out of their mind, half the time they don’t even know we’re dating. 

i’m going to have to stop referring to the male genitalia as “weiners,” and stop calling sex “doin’ it.”  one day…

Well, Gus was shafted again this year.  I’m beginning to think the judges on the board of the ASPCA have something personally against him.  So what if the winning dog gave his owner the heimlich maneuver and saved her life?  Maybe Gus’ owner isn’t dumb enough to choke on an apple.  He’d totally have my back if I did though, and that I can assure you.  Poor little guy, when is he going to get the acclaim he’s due?