If a cow ever got the chance...

There are so many weird things going on in my "romantic" life right now I can't even begin to describe them all. For instance, Carlos has a date tonight with some girl he met at a house party in Joliet, and I have a phone date of sorts with Mr. NY, in the course of which I must decide--once and for all--whether to call off our proposed hookup next weekend. The problem is I like him, I really do. He knows numerous languages and actually reads contemporary poetry although he doesn't write it himself (which makes him unique in the poetry world), and he once rode his bike from Oregon to Missouri, just for the hell of it. So: he's cool. Not to mention that we've been friends since our dorm orientation meeting for Burton 3-East, the first day of college.

I don't want the potential hookup to jeopardize that; it's way more important to me to preserve the friendship. I knew going into this that it would be kind of a teacher-student vibe, but I didn't expect to feel so much like an unpaid sexual surrogate. If it's going to be like that I could use the money, dammit. More than the money (which was a joke anyway) I could use his friendship, and the more he goes on about normally being attracted only to people who are "closer to [his] size" (he's a tiny skinny white boy, I'm a Hefty Hefty Cinch Sak), or being worried about the morals of girls who would participate in a threesome, I have to say it: the less I respect him. And instead of calling him on it and trying to talk things out, I'm just like "uh-huh," and as soon as we hang up the phone, I'm thinking "That was really fucked up," and it's too late to say anything. Tonight I hope to explain some of this, in a nice and tactful way of course... I'm not good at either "nice" or "tactful," so wish me luck.

Dinner and drinks and no dancing with Apothecary on Wednesday night. We had tapas and saw an excellent flamenco band, so it was our own little anti-St. Patrick's Day celebration. He's great to hang out with--we have the exact same set of slightly pretentious cultural interests, are seldom at a loss for conversation in one another's company, and we both seem to spend our leisure time hitting on/going out with attractive Hispanic types. Okay, actually I'm just hitting on Carlos over and over--he is extremely attractive but maybe that doesn't count.

This has been bothering me for years now: why is it rude to tell someone, "Don't let the door hit you in the butt on your way out?" (or some variant thereof). I know it IS rude, but why is it? Who came up with that in the first place?

I need to go back over this entry and fix the run-on sentences.

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