Friday, February 03, 2006


New round-toe bootie from DKNY! Sexy smooth suede: all sophistication, no sass. Broke the bank, but they were on sale and in my size and were the last pair EVER and ... *drool*

I'm awake, I'm awake!

Talk about personal unfulfillment and not caring.


HaiPhia and I were eating gelato and gossiping about our journalism professors, one being ChromeDome and the other, PurplePlaid, who leans towards the penis:

"Lily, you really have to get your gaydar fixed. Straight men just aren't comfortable with their bodies, but the way he moves confirms it."

"You're right. I mean, look at [ChromeDome]. That man cannot groove, ya know what I mean?"

"What do you expect from the guy? He just got his hip replaced."


I don't know what to do with myself. I lied about not mentioning him again. Staring out the window of the bus, my chronic weaknesses became even more apparent to me. Readerdroid recently asked me if I had a conscience because I'm able to drop people from my life without consideration. What friends? How many do I need? Isn't there a law that says misanthropes are better off alone anyway? She was in a bad mood when she said it, but the gist of it was: Lily has no soul.

"What? So you talk to people then never speak to them again? How can you do that?"

"I meet people on the bus!"

What I deem as giving people breathing room, she deems as neglect. She says I betray those who let their guard down around me. I don't necessarily agree. Again, bad mood, yadda yadda. It's just really difficult for me to trust people. Not with personal information, mind you (hence the blogbitionism), but with the burden of having to ride out my frequently random periods of fatalistic nihilism. I'm notorious for my cruelty during these times of depression, knowingly planting doubt and insecurity in people to compensate. Admittedly, out of my tight circle of companeros, only Banana Chic has been at the receiving end of my extremities and that's only because after nearly a decade of friendship, increased likelihood of slips is expected and her thin-skin allows me to see the instant effects of my actions (which satisfies me sooner and prompts me to stop).

Three weeks ago, I snubbed M. Biologique in line with his girlfriend the day after he invited me to meet him (where I was characteristically cocksure and cold, aloof and curt -- signs of disgruntlement for three months of disregard). Two days ago, I picked up the phone and was overcome with a sudden urge to hear his voice, risking disappointment:


"It's me."

He wasn't exactly overcome with joy. But I ignored it and talked like the last eight months never happened. I was cheerful and quick to laugh, kind and curious. We developed an instant rapport. The great chill seemed to be over. I put forth an open invitation: "Call me if you want to hang out, okay?" I wanted to prove Readerdroid wrong. See! I do try to prevent relationships from dissolving completely. I do make an effort sometimes. But I knew I'd never hear from him again -- calling him was an inherently selfish act to pardon my own mistakes and bury the guilt of hypocrisy.

HaiPhia and I sat at the cafe the following day after class. ("What's this shit? Afro Dating? So they give the black girl [the flyer]. That's all I am to them!") Minutes later, M. Biologique swoops in, sees me, hugs me, kisses me, pulls up a chair next to me, and we were finishing each other's sentences again.

He's the only asshole who puts up with my shit.

And I'm a fucking idiot to give him credit for it.

No comments: