***watch out. this is a long post*** i've been reading back through some of my "older" posts to this list. older being a relative term, since i've only started saving them about 2 months ago. i realized sometime back then that the things i write to you people were more detailed and interesting to read than what i write in my own damn journal. i guess i needed a new format. someone once said that my "patter is tremendous." i'm worried i'm losing my touch, though. maybe i should go back to doing headers. that was fun. TOO MUCH INFORMATION one of you glorious folks said you didn't want to know when Tim Hopkins and Peter Miller are feeling gassy, but why not? that may be a major influence in why and how they are writing what they are, so why exclude it if they feel the need to share? besides, if we start telling people not to post about bodily functions, soon i won't be allowed to complain about needing sexual gratification, and then what will i do? FRESH MEAT, CHEAP! you probably remember way back when (oh, about 2 weeks ago i think) i was complaining that nobody is attracted to me, and thought i must be a mutant of some kind. well, that's totally blown up in my face (not the fault of any of you, though). this past weekend of dancing and drinking has shown me that sure, people think i'm attractive. but only to the extent that they want to rub their genitals against me, not actually talk to me or anything. so now i feel like a peice of meat. what brought this on, you ask? last night i was talking to a friend about the party we had on saturday. and he commented on that boy in the red i was dancing with, and said that he was about to break us up if i looked at all uncomfortable. and said something about this boy groping me, etc. i don't remember it like that, but i guess i never stopped to think what it must have looked like to the other people there. i think i'll just go back to dancing with girls and leave it at that. i think the worst part was the actual conversation i had with my friend: friend: what was up with that boy you were dancing with? me: which one? friend: the one you were dancing really close to me: which one? friend: the one that was all over you me: which one? friend: i think he was wearing red me: oh. that one. i think i danced with about 4 or 5 boys that night, all of whom put their hands on me in some fashion, and ended up grinding some part of their body against me. eew. now i need to take a shower. i feel dirty. SUGAR SUGAR KANDY POP, PUSH IT DOWN PULL IT UP so i've listened to bis's "social dancing" a couple times now, and i'm a little disappointed. not as disappointed as i was when i first put it in, but maybe i'm just not in the dancing mood, you know? fuck it. i'll just listen to more built to spill. and perhaps a round or two of "slow graffiti," and the entirety of "dog on wheels." B&S-INDUCED CAR ACCIDENTS (does this count as content?) driving under the influence of B&S is, i think, generally a bad idea. i remember getting lost in lazy line painter jane (shut up, those of you who don't like that woman's voice. it's lovely) while driving to Stacks 'N' Steaks (on clark and devon in the north side of chicago, for you chicagoan types) a year and a half ago when i used to read there. I'd listen to that song just about every night i went (and i went just about every night) and a few times i'd be slow to put on the brakes approaching a stopped car or a red light, and nearly kill me and my poor ancient volkswagen. so i've stopped paying as much attention to it now. HARK TO THE TALE OF SETH, AND THE GIRL HE SCREWED OVER so it may be seth didn't blow me off as badly as i'd thought. tho i don't know. i can't tell. it's frustrating. i went to his house yesterday to try and dig something out of his storage closet that a friend had left there (my molecular biology lab book, to be precise). when i walked in the door (he was expecting me, as i had called beforehand to ask if it was okay) he gave me a big smile, a massive hug, a big soft kiss on the cheek, a longer hug, then asked me if it was cold outside. i'm guessing he felt how cold my ears were. i made a little small talk, then went upstairs to dig. never found the notebook, and when i came down he looked sad when i put on my coat to leave. i felt stupid, though. i don't have my own television, and the friend i normally watch the simpsons with wasn't home, so i ended up going back to seth's house 20 minutes later to watch the simpsons and futurama with him and the 5 other people he lives with. no touching this time, but i caught him looking at me more than once. a good amount of eye contact. what the hell do i make of all this? maybe i'll grab him and force him to tell me what's going on in his head next week at hampshire halloween. i'll be drunk enough to do it, i think. it would be a nice little anniversary, too. since it would be a year exactly since he got drunk and said he wanted to sleep with me. i guess it's my turn, now. and i'm sure you all cared about that. yeah, right. i bet you're asking youselves: "why does this girl tell us all this?" well, to be totally honest, it's because i don't know you. for the most part i'm not worried about you running around and telling all my friends what i said, and an anonymous bunch of strangers is easier to pour your heart out to than the people you live with and see every day. and the 900 or so pages of journal writing i've accumulated (yes, i number the pages. i'm a geek) don't compare in content and style with what i write to you. so i guess i've ended where i began, and it's like none of this post ever happened. then it's time to sign my name and let this post wander through wires in the form of electrons, and eventually reach your electronic mailboxes. -kerry "red usually means caution. or beef if it's a bullion cube." -"toys" +----------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the reborn Sinister mailing list +---+ To send to the list mail "sinister@majordomo.net". 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