lookin for the right time to shoot my steam

loving it. not complaining. no, sirree. made some iced tea. opened up all the windows. am wearing [brace yourself, marcos] open-toed sandals. spent some time reading/sunbathing in the park [book list at right—updated!], my tattoo glistening in the summer sun, along with my pasty torso and translucent biceps. oh, the boys. i saw this skinny young thing cruising me… i swear to gawd he had not a six-pack, not an 8-pack, but a 10-pack. i should’ve gone up to him and said, yo, mate, can i do me washing on dat fine belly of yuz? but, instead, i just smiled knowingly and dismissed him on his merry way.

[side note—don't you hate people talking about the weather? i especially hate people complaining about the weather. and, i particularly hate weather braggarts, oh, you think 100 degrees is hot? well, where i grew up wah wah wah wah wahwah wah. bite me, i'm just making smalltalk.]

i’m going a little bit insane, as i predicted, as happened last summer. i can’t even keep track of the boys, the phone numbers… even my friends are slipping through the cracks a bit. summer in london has provided the perfect vehicle of madness.

i’m kinda dating michigan jeff, i guess. this is his last week in london before returning home. i’ve been avoiding him, i guess. i spent a lovely [animalistic] time last thursday with portugese octavio. leaving his house, i decided that yes, i would like to see him again. but, apathy combined with the loss of his phone number has pretty much killed that.

out of the blue [well, not really since london really isn't that big, especially when you're the penultimate [not quite the ultimate] socialite like yours truly], on monday i run into irish lee, whom i dated earlier this year, and had coffee with just two weeks ago. of course, he’s cute and witty and charming and dead sexy and yummy and wholesome. we spent a very intense night together, and shared a very sweet day after. neither of us analyzed it. neither of us dismissed it, either.

mixed into all of this, of course, is stuart, currently travelling around new zealand before continuing to australia. last week he sent pictures, and on sunday he rang me and we talked for… a long time. we dangerously started to almost hint at… well… maybe not.

is it okay that i don’t want a boyfriend? i’ve been in 4 month-long relationships this year, each fairly serious, or at least fairly intense. you’re sick of hearing about boys, aren’t you?

looks like this year i won’t be hitting ibiza, which absolutely breaks my heart. regardless of how british media portray ibiza, to me, that little island is paradise—pure and simple. i’ve got some other trips cookin’, oh yes i do. the man ain’t gonna keep me down!

stupid fucking wanker hoodlum tosser bastard punk bitch cunt whore fucknuts damn goodofornothings.

it’s 639am in the motherfucking cunt ass bitch cunt bitch morning. i had a very nice evening with greg at .ghetto, dancing the night away. cute boys everywhere. i could’ve pulled scott the lovely bartender from friendly. i could’ve pulled the innocent abs lookalike who was staring at me for like 2 hours. i could’ve pulled the schoolboy, clinging to his faghag and smiling at me. no, i decided to go home alone. and take the fucking cheap-ass nightbus cuz i didn’t want to waste £8 on a fucking minicab.

on the bus, there were a gaggle of 8 16yo kids. black, shouting, dressed in garage gear from top to tail. i ignored them, and feigned sleep. one of them sat down next to me, and asked which stop i was getting off at.

finsbury park, i replied. fuck.
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