i'm digging my new juicer. it's splendiferous which means good in pretentious vintage gay. the broccoli carrot apple ginger was like brrrzapzingyum. the beet carrot apple double ginger was like whoadamnhellbam. so why would i consider chasing that by going to a bar which for me is generally yawnloudzilchwhy? perhaps i could justify attending bar services as a sociological experiment / new tv show: what happens when 1 self-hating, lonely, sad, queer jew who talks and thinks too much and has let himself go almost to the point of no return more times than he can count is put in a room with 57 rotating strangers all of whom are seemingly keeping it real but really are keeping it fake but they have penises? what will ensue? silence? pointless niceties? shrugging? in depth conversations about drool and cocktail onions? boot admiration? toilet stalking? watching drunk pool? exposed nipples? or simply absolutely utterly zero gravity nothingness emptiness invisibility?
i'm still not sure if i will bar or not bar tonight. perhaps i'll do 1500 meters on my concept 2 rower, take a hot bath, finish off that pint of carob mint soy delicious, and sleep on it until 8am.
A good friend of mine who lives in Brighton (the "gay caplital" of England) said that living around the gay scene after a few years was like being in an amusement arcade without any money. Not a nice image. And she is cute enough to have her pick of women, too.
Stay in, drink juice. Don't be sad.
Posted by: gunn | May 07, 2006 at 05:53 PM