Aaaaaah. That's better. Now that that's out of the way, I can begin writing something that (maybe) makes some sense. Or you know, will at least be funny. Or something.

So let's see. I'm now 28. That means I've been keeping this diary/blog for nearly seven years. Fuckin' hell, a lot's changed since then. I mean that was pre-9/11. Anyway. I'm apparently the queen of the short and choppy sentences tonight, which might have something to do with the fact that I'm having a delayed reaction to a caffeine overdose. McDonald's was giving away free iced vanilla lattes, and although I do not trust McDonald's chuckleheads with the simple task of making a coffee, I got one, because, hey, you know, free. But I'm paying for it now. Shit. I'm all jittery and anxious and my stomach is shot.

The short and choppy might also have to do with the materials I've been reading lately. A good friend of mine (we'll get to the reasoning behind the italics later) gave me a set of scanned copies of a comic book called Transmetropolitan which I devoured in like three days. This might not seem like a big deal, but I read the whole thing on my computer and by "whole thing" I mean 60 issues at about 22 pages each. The hero of the story is Spider Jerusalem, a journalist in a not too distant future filled with weirdos, criminals and prostitutes. He's very acid-tongued and tough-guy-acting, but he's really committed to discovering and disseminating the truth, and helping people. Having read the whole thing makes me understand this friend a little more, especially since this friend claimed that reading the series was life-changing.

I'm also currently reading King Dork by Frank Portman. It's no secret that I'm a huge fan of YA fiction and this book just convinces me that a lot of adults are missing out on this genre. The life of a 14 year old boy with one friend in the world, an obsession with vocabulary and a disdain for Catcher in the Rye seems like it would be boring, but it makes for some hilarious and nostalgic reading. Oooh I'm so reviewy tonight!

Ok, the good friend. I like to be discreet, because the internet is wide fucking open, or fucking wide open or wide open, fuck! Wow. And also, I just now kept typing woe. I'm apparently trying to tell myself something. Or I'm trying to figure out the best way to describe the weirdness with this friend without being an asshole.

So I have this friend, who I wish were more than a friend, and who technically, is sort of more than a friend, that I wish would be my boyfriend. Ha. Totally elucidated now!

The problem is that for reasons that have nothing to do with me, he doesn't want to take that step. And, that's fine, but it's also terrible.

You see, I have been, for a good portion of my life, a professional piner. I pine. And romantic as it seems in books and movies, pining fucking sucks fetid monkey asses. Every time I think of pining, I think of Snow White. And the reason that is is because in a film class I had when I was like 19, our professor was talking about Walt Disney's views toward women and how Snow White never did anything active. Her big song was "Someday my Prince Will Come". That's stuck with me for a long time, and whenever I get all, "wah! where' my boyfriend, my dream-man?" I think, don't be like Snow White, man, because you'll stay in that glass fucking coffin your whole life, and no admiring dwarves will be there to keep you company. That's how pining feels to me, a sad, lonely activity of a person who is too afraid to make that fucking prince get his ass over here!

Thus, you should be heartened when I tell you that I broke out of my 15 year pine-a-thon and put myself out there. You might be slightly crushed, however, to learn that it didn't quite work out as planned and that your regularly scheduled pining has resumed. Damn. But it was a good couple of weeks there!

Though much has changed relatively recently, some things remain the same. Last Thursday I had good hard contact with some sidewalk. It has left me with a gigantic, shiny, painful wound on my knee. And I can't seem to stop bumping it into things and making it bleed. Lovely, really. And I want to be a Derby Girl. Please, all I need to do is be excited about something and let nature take it's course. I'll be spitting out my teeth without having to pay membership dues!

The buzz is wearing off a bit, which is good for me but bad for writing. Or maybe I only think I'm funny when I'm all strung out.