I'm cool myself, tomorrow will be my first class of the semester -- I kinda expect it to suck, but what ya gonna do? (Funny story -- not long ago, when I was trying to register for classes, it kept seeming I'd have to take a class I didn't need, if I wanted to stay a full time student. But then I figured out my school offers internshipships, just as they also require that each of us does internships. So, I wrote the professor of the class I have tomorrow night if he could use me as an intern (because you have to ask before you register). Only bad part? This was afterbar, I have no idea what made me decide to straighten out my class schedule at 3 a.m. Needless to say, didn't get the internship, and relying on being one of a huge faceless mass for starting this class without the prof thinking I'm a moron. Okay, a moron or a drunk. Meh, probably both. Either way, bad, bad, bad.)

Which actually brings me to something else I wanted to say, but have been kinda tossing around in my head for a bit.

You see, I'd explained not so long ago why I won't be posting pictures of myself here -- in a nutshell, because (though I do consider all you lovely people) fact is, I write here because I want to. I mean, as Emerson put it, "Let me record, without prospect or retrospect, my honest thought, and I can only imagine that in the end it will prove symmetrical."

Okay, so cool -- what's the problem, then? Well, there was a couple of diarists in town who'd asked me to hang out. They seemed cool enough, and most of my current friends are usually lame enough, that I figured I should at least give it a shot. Why not, right?

Except for that whole keeping my diary seperate from my life so that I can talk about whatever I want part. But I did think of that in advance, though now that I think about it my plan for dealing with it was actually pretty dumb. What I figured was, even if either of these chicks becomes a good friend (one actually is no longer in this town, so I guess that would have been unlikely) my only way of still allowing myself to say whatever I want here (considering they may still be reading) would be simply to not talk about them.

Yeah, that whole paragraph seemed really parenthetical and cluttered to me, too. You might want to read it again, just to be sure you know what the hell I'm talking about. Or not. Whatever.

So... right, the thinking was that so long as I wasn't talking about a specific person who might be reading, I could still write whatever I want. Now, leaving aside the obvious logical flaw there (you have total freedom -- um, except...) there's something else I simply had not considered, that rendered my plan pretty much bullshit.

What if what I felt like writing about was one or both of them? Hm? Then what, smarty-pants? Seems to me you're caught serving to masters.

For instance. I've a buddy, S. To be perfectly fair, these days I'd just as soon run him over with my car as hang out with him ... but, he's friends with other friends, plus he actually has no idea how irritating he is. I mean, I can't count the number of times he or someone else pulled me aside, to point out how much he respects and admires me. Yeah, sure, whatever.

But just the other night, I was out with a bunch of these guys, and at some point S. starts telling a hilarious story about something my Best Friend (who, in my opinion, he actually does like, and for whom he "puts up" with me, as I with him) had said once, when the three of us were hanging out. And it actually was really funny. But something bothered me about it at the time, and I realized like 20 minutes ago what it was -- Best Friend did not say the stuff that S. was talking about. I did.

Now see how irritating that is? That kid does that a lot -- attributing things I've done or said that he considers good or worthwhile to other people. I don't even think he's doing it consciously -- like, imagine stealing someone's jokes when they're standing right in front of you ... nah, he honestly rewrote it in his memory where I probably wasn't even there.

But basically, my point about that was -- if I sat down to write, and how irritating he can be popped into my head -- it would obviously be quite far from a gigantic matter normally, but if I couldn't write a paragraph or two calling him a shithead -- well, it's a bigger matter now. See the problem?

Hm. You know, this has gotten so long that I think I'll make it a to-be-continued. Plus, that way I can give my fingers a rest. Plus, it occurs to me that I've yet to get anywhere near the title of this entry yet.

Well, maybe I'll tell or at least reference the whole story in a later entry, but the gist was this: Put me in a large club where I've never been and there's lots of young single people milling around and socializing, and I'll pretty much guarantee you that by the end of the night, the person I've talked to and enjoyed most (and who's enjoyed my company most) will be a lesbian.

It's uncanny, truthfully. I mean, I don't even have to try. It's like there's some giant rubber band if I'm in a place with a cute lesbian -- we will definitely get to know one another. And for some reason, they will like me.

S'kinda funny tho, because at the end of the night one of her girlfriends tries to break the bad news to me (because I'd talked with pretty much all of them, but as I said most of the time with the lesbian) and without even thinking, I'm like, "Well, duh. You don't know me at all, but if you did, trust me -- my finding and liking, and charming the lesbian would come as absolutely no surprise."

My first true love, who was bi, actually claimed I was a lesbian, just in a guy's body. I've heard that since too, but that time was when I really thought it was funny.

So yeah, that's pretty much that. Oh, I did like where I was hanging out, it seemed pretty fun, if a bit pricey. I suspect I'll be back sometime or other.

Right, so -- writing about people who might be reading, continued in the next entry.