Sinister: i want specifics on the general idea

[kerry]

***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"
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