On the days when my curmudgeonly colleague is enjoying his time away from the slab, I get less scowling and occasional pithy discourse on existentialism and heshery and more, well, chick stuff that's not quite as generally interesting. I know I'm in the minority on this business of matters of love, which I'm more and more okay with, but it's amusing to see how other people view this stuff and more than a little disconcerting.
You've got to look like you want it more
You've got to join the activities where there's lots of men
You've got to stop acting like you're so independent,
How do you get all that attention? I wish I had some...
I've got one guy taking me out to dinner and another one sending me a bottle of wine and another getting me flowers.
I think of that line from a Morphine song, about you get what you pay for with free advice and it makes a world of sense listening to such absurdity. I guess it boils down to what you want, and what your wants have been influenced by, or something, I don't know.
And I have no plans for that day. I never do. Not even the platonic let's be single together kind of plans.Which is fine because usually that's weird anyway. It's ceased to be a point of frustration long ago except for that one time I wanted to go see Henry Rollins and then those plans fell through, but that had to do more with Henry Rollins than a superimposed-over-pagan-apocryphal-saint's-day.
There is Movie Night tomorrow, there are friends coming over for dinner tonight, for our monthly pondering and planning and talking til late in the night bringing out the upstairs neighbor's atheist rage, because evidently it's ok for me to have people over and be listening to Opeth and Tom Waits late into the evening (they're my age and from what I hear through the ceiling watch a lot of movies), but it's totally not okay if it's 8:30 and we're embroiled in theological matters. That's when I get the banging on the ceiling and the complaints that I'll try to avoid this time, knowing that the whole thing is ridiculous, but hey what can you do?
Oh, and this in honor of the festivities.
You've got to look like you want it more
You've got to join the activities where there's lots of men
You've got to stop acting like you're so independent,
How do you get all that attention? I wish I had some...
I've got one guy taking me out to dinner and another one sending me a bottle of wine and another getting me flowers.
I think of that line from a Morphine song, about you get what you pay for with free advice and it makes a world of sense listening to such absurdity. I guess it boils down to what you want, and what your wants have been influenced by, or something, I don't know.
And I have no plans for that day. I never do. Not even the platonic let's be single together kind of plans.Which is fine because usually that's weird anyway. It's ceased to be a point of frustration long ago except for that one time I wanted to go see Henry Rollins and then those plans fell through, but that had to do more with Henry Rollins than a superimposed-over-pagan-apocryphal-saint's-day.
There is Movie Night tomorrow, there are friends coming over for dinner tonight, for our monthly pondering and planning and talking til late in the night bringing out the upstairs neighbor's atheist rage, because evidently it's ok for me to have people over and be listening to Opeth and Tom Waits late into the evening (they're my age and from what I hear through the ceiling watch a lot of movies), but it's totally not okay if it's 8:30 and we're embroiled in theological matters. That's when I get the banging on the ceiling and the complaints that I'll try to avoid this time, knowing that the whole thing is ridiculous, but hey what can you do?
Oh, and this in honor of the festivities.
*scowling* JESUS KILLS.
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