The question isn't who is going to let me; it's who is going to stop me. --Ayn Rand


San Bao

Three things to make a Saturday night enjoyable.

1. Randomly encounter the Japanese punk gal who you hung around for four months while living in Beijing.
2. Have the hot, built, tall bouncer compliment your smile, then kiss him on the cheek.
3. Dance with hot boy, get his number, followed by a date the next day.

All this despite the fact that my body is now suffering the effects of combined alcoholism and lack of running (see photos, gah).

My Saturday afternoon lunch extravaganza turned into an overdone Saturday morning cook-a-thon. (ie, small attendance. I got fat.) On the menu was stuffed portobello mushrooms (the best dish that day), stuffed artichoke, rosemary bread (used fresh rosemary. Next time I need to dry it first), butternut squash soup, and lasagna (as it turned out, onion with lasagna). Everything was ravaged, save a bowl or so of soup. I am pleased.

After eating we drove to Pasadena's Le Petit Vendome to pick up the best cognac under $100, Louis Bouron. I can't describe how delicious this stuff is. Cognac/Brandy is the only alcohol I enjoy drinking, and out of all the cognacs I've tasted, this is my favorite. It is now a customary night cap.

Then, of course, clubbing with three fun highlights, and the next day a brunch at Basix with the man from the club. It was a pleasant weekend, indeed.


Best Saturday Ever

Here I asked a cute guy to take our pictureAnother picture, both hideous.
Gabby hoping I'd make out with cute guy. It seems he was chain smoking at the time, too.
More after the jump


Ten things to do before summer ends

  1. Hike up to the fucking Hollywood sign, finally (with camera)
  2. Cook 10 dishes I've never cooked before, save the best 5 recipes
  3. Go to San Diego, meet up with friend
  4. Go to Universal Studios, buy stupid stuff
  5. Eat at Paru's Vegetarian Restaurant
  6. Meet 4 new people
  7. Buy new jeans, a belt, and shoes
  8. Go to the beach
  9. Flirt with boys when I'm sober
  10. Have sex... with JT?


Most men are unaware that they're evil

Instead of clubbing I went cuddling.

JT: "I hoped you'd be available tonight."

It was nice, but I didn't sleep much. We progressed to naked cuddling... so I was distracted the whole night. It was an evil thing to do because I didn't get any sleep. Besides that, since our relationship is "platonic," the next morning I was very tense. Oh, so tense. Evil.

Obviously I'm very open to evil.


Fun quotes: Evil men as told by the Bible, after the jump

2 Timothy

3:1 But know this, that in the last days, grievous times will come.
3:2 For men will be lovers of self, lovers of money, boastful,arrogant, blasphemers, disobedient to parents, unthankful, unholy,
3:3 without natural affection, unforgiving, slanderers, without self-control, fierce, no lovers of good,
3:4 traitors, headstrong, conceited, lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God;
3:5 holding a form of godliness, but having denied the power thereof.

Doesn't that sound awesome? Ayn Rand would totally love this.


By the way bitch

I don't believe in being a gentleman. That's sexist, bitch. Being polite, though, is something I can respect. That means that I'll let a woman go ahead of me in line if I'm feeling nice, but I'll only give up my seat for the elderly and disabled (sorry, but obesity is not one of those disabilities I acknowledge). The idea is that it's my choice to be polite.

Most days I stand right in front of the bus stop, unless someone was already waiting, in which case I'll stand a few steps back to let them get to the bus first. I'm staking my claim there. "I was here first, get out of my way," sort of thing. So, imagine my horror as the bus stops and the same stout women (these women are always stout. Skinny women know better) push their way to the front of the line without even an acknowledging glance. These ladies think it's their right! They've removed any sense of being polite from the gesture by demanding to step onto the bus first. Ungrateful swine. One of these days I'm going to stick my elbow out and clip one in the jaw while I step galliantly onto the bus before them. That'll jolt the ugly right off them.

Besides, we live in a day of gender equality. You filthy women better live up to that. (the women in China do)


Tuesday night frustrations

This is a south park rendition of me waiting for the bus, minus the poor people and grime. If only there was snow at my bus stop.

Also, this is the third time I've written this post. The browser keeps freezing. Let me go into super mode before it happens again.

I went out dancing at Mickey's last night. It was horrible. Lots of ugly people, too shy to dance with attractive people (I thought alcohol was supposed to fix that), and Gabby's brother and his girlfriend looked like they didn't want to be there the whole night. At least it was free. And, there was a hot go-go boy (although I refuse to give anything but compliments to attractive people).

I got to my apartment at 2am to find my roommates friend sleeping on the couch. This wouldn't bother me if I had wireless, but as a result my computer was mere feet from his bland sleeping face. No random IMs for me. Not even this morning! That's when I get most of my funny conversations in. :: grumph ::

UPS tells me my shame should arrive tomorrow. JT is still entertaining hot model friend, and I'm in need of some physical comfort.


Fine! I'll make cookies.

It was too hot. While I need to go to the grocery store to get some items for Saturday's marathon cooking party, I stayed home and flirted with friends too distant to take it seriously. I should embrace the weather and my sweat glands, but it's already 85 with 60% humidity. That's pushing it. I may just sit on my ass until Wednesday.

Since I had nothing to really cook last night, I boiled some ravioli and made some risotto from a box. If it wasn't for those, I might have resorted to ramen and carrots. Or maybe deliciously overpriced cheese with crackers for the second day in a row. Anyhow, as I was half heartedly stirring the slow-cooking rice, my roommate Lindsay begins sniffing around and staring at my cooking.

Lindsay: "Are you making cookies?"
Drew: "No."
Lindsay: "You make really good cookies."
Drew, smiling: "Thanks."

I go back to my computer to check my email and catch up with ten minute old IMs, then I realize that she wasn't asking a question. Sometimes I just don't pay attention to things.

Drew: "Oh, did you want me to make cookies?"
Lindsay, concealing a grin: "Oh, no. I mean, only if you wanted to. If you did, I would eat some."
Drew: "You're such a liar."

Just to note, my oatmeal chocolate chip cookies are the best I've ever had. Cookies are good and all, but once my roommates tried my cookies, they saw the light. So I made cookies and my two roommates and I sat around on the couch eating cookies, gossiping and browsing the internet. I felt like it was a real bonding experience. Lindsay even let me borrow an egg for the cookies. What a sweetie.

Sometime during the conversation my other roomie started talking about how she keeps running into old faces via facebook and myspace. She went into a long story about a boy on the Eagan, MN team of a public speaking competition she attended in HS. A few years later she spots him walking by her door into one of her gay friend's rooms. He goes to Cal Poly.

Drew: "Is he cute?" :: laughs ::

Then she shows me his facebook picture. I was impressed. I sent him a message because I'm a facebook stalker, and I like cute short boys, especially if they're from Minnesota.

Soon after I sent JT a message telling him to come get some cookies.


The internet is for porn

GB: Get one about eight inches long, no more than six around, and let it vibrate as well.

That's how I went on an embarrassing search for my first dildo. I only have a few comments about this because it is taking a lot of effort to allow anyone at all to read this.

Thank god for the internet, and the plethora of options there. I could never have stomached an adult toy store. Plus, I probably would have spent a fortune on the first thing I found because I'd be too frightened to shop around.

Anyway, armed with my friend's advice I found a "suitable" pink (I'm going to die) vibrator that will hopefully be small enough to hide away from anyone I know. I'm going to die.

It comes in a couple days. Then I'm going to hide away and kill myself... in a sense...

By the way, if anyone hasn't seen Avenue Q (the picture; "The Internet is for Porn" is a song), you should.

Smiling Faces

Trying to remember Thursday night....

Me getting money from the ATM before driving to the club:

Friends posing outside of ATM, tipsy.
Preparing to kill my brain:
I just headbutted Gabby's friend.
Not quite sure what I was thinking.
Also not sure...
Gabby with the Gucci girl.
Crazy Gucci.
I have no idea where we are.


Grinding with Gucci

I met up with my roommate for lunch yesterday at Cafe Pinot. I had been there once before, on Valentines day three years ago. I remember spending $100 on my meal, not being carded for my wine, and being so seduced by the atmosphere that I kept dating the boy who took me for another month and a half. This time was considerably more economic, but not as tantilizing. We shared the Japanese yellowtail sashimi, which I found was delicious (who knew that it wasn't that I don't like fish, I just don't like cooked fish) and I munched on the cream of arborio rice with assorted wild mushrooms for the entree. A shame, though, that we didn't have time for dessert and cognac.

Work work blah.

Then, my Thursday evening began with JT canceling our dinner. I was disappointed. That's the second day in a row someone has canceled on me for dinner. Although, I was only annoyed the at the first one, since they didn't even try to reschedule (rude people, psh). Now we're scheduled for lunch and cuddling today... in an hour and a half.

I planned to begin an intermediate gay ballroom dance class rather than attend my final rumba class, so I made myself up and found my way over to the Hollywood Dance Center.

All the while, I was wondering, "What type of gay people would go ballroom dancing in Hollywood at 8:45pm, cutting into precious pre-clubbing time?" My fear was that it would be a lot of coupled 30 year olds or large lesbian women who pretend to move gracefully.

I walk in. No one greets me. I look at several people standing around, they stare back. No smile, everyone was blank. No one said a fucking word. I walk over to look at brochures and check out the dancers. Forty or fifty. That's how old these people were. Forty or fifty. Ballroom at that age isn't about fun or looking amazing in tights, but some attempt at bonding after you haven't had sex in years. I walked out immediately and drove to my rumba class, only a few minutes late.

Later was Rage, of course. Gabby encountered an old friend of his with a lot of her italian friends (and one french lady). She was crazy. The things she did. I mean, jesus. When the music was low enough for me to hear him, he told me, "She's a Gucci. Her grandfather started the line." Wow. I was rubbing up against an heir to the fortune that comes from expensive crap that you can buy anywhere for less. Hot.

We left when the club closed at 2. Walking out of RAGE, Gabby spotted a band of black women, then screamed, "WANDA I LOVE YOU!" "Who?" I shouted. Then I saw her!

I met Wanday Sykes! We hugged! Gabby apparently gave his mother Sykes' book when she was undergoing kemotherapy. I was a little too under the influence to be as excited as I should have been. We didn't take or ask to take pictures--that would have been rude.

It was a fun night. I'm not even too hungover, just extremely hungry. I hope the menu is good with JT. mmm.


Those shoes are mine, bitch.

I can't stop watching this liam sullivan clip.

Fluffy, squishy things

Who tuned into care bears way back when? As a child I remember watching the TV series on accident a few times, oogling their special powers. "How cool would it be to have rainbow lights shoot out of your stomach?" Minutes later, the utter lameness of the care bares re-surfaced, and I would switch X-Men or Exo Squad, where the special powers at least implied a bit of gore.

Lameness aside, I think of them every now and then--how gay they were. How gay was I to even watch it? I mean, I like them now. They're cute, cuddly, chubby little things. Utterly annoying, too. (Sounds like my small asian girl fetish.) But when I was a kid? I'm surprised my family didn't see the inner homosexual after even a minute of that froofy, colorful show. Sheesh. As if the barbies weren't a clue already.

Funny, though. The last time care bears popped their furry butts into my mind I was playing with the stuffed white tiger my friend christened Toby. This time, they came to mind after a night of cuddling with a tall, muscular man.

JT had a bad day. He found out a company stole money from him... a lot of money. He said he needed some cuddling that night.

JT: "Want to be my cuddle buddy for the night?"
Drew: "Maybe."
JT: "Maybe?"
Drew: "Maybe=yes."

This, out of all types of foreplay, is where I shine. I've had cuddle dates for years. Cuddling can be just that, or it can be seduction. Brushing skin, shifting occasionally, pressure in the right places, breathing against the neck (in the case of the little spoon, moving your neck), and noting the reaction of every movement. If you both play the game, everything starts to heat up. But! I am very capable of letting cuddling just be cuddling. Excellent self control. However, what I decide and what I say aren't always the same (i'm a bad objectivist). Considering this was my chance with JT, I took it.

Not surprisingly, things went my way.

JT: "I've been waiting a year for that kiss."

It was cute. Very cute. I'm glad I went over. I just need to see what comes of it, if anything.

No more dating posts after this, they're ridiculous.


Age is a rotten banana

Age is a mushy tomato, a bruised apple, a disgusting black mushy spot on a banana--the whole fruit is ruined. I eat a lot of mushy tomatoes.

So, no date for Drew. He used the old banana excuse: "I would date you in a heartbeat, but the age discrepancy is too great." Don't I feel 12 years old (a ripe tomato?). I am much more disappointed than I wanted to be.

It seems I always wait to be older so I can find people I get along with. I shouldn't be waiting to get my age spots to be accepted. Something is going wrong here. I need to stop this. This time, find another 20 year old. Yes.

Still, dauntless Drew might try one last time to change his mind... We meet again for dinner on Thursday.

What I am cooking: sliced mushrooms cooked in bacon grease and garlic, with the cooked bacon crumbled on top. (originally stuffed mushrooms, but I got lazy and ran out of ricotta)


The Saturday Afternoon Tryst

It took half an hour to drive up the 110 to the 5. My air-conditioning has a funny habit of not working when it's over 95 AND I'm going under 40 mph. Considering the 110 and the weather in the valley, I was panting.

For over a year I've been talking to J.T. We met on when I still considered that a legitimate place to meet new friends. Then, I went to China and our friendship became firmly internet-based. He was traveling the world collecting interviews for a movie, and I was based in Beijing, complaining about my dating void. I threatened to attack him if he was ever in China.

Six months after I got back and the first time he's in the area for more than a day, I head to his house for a visit. At the door, I offered my hand and I got a hug. The next four hours followed.

I haven't had a conversation like that in a long time. He reminded me how much I went through living in China, and how different I see world now. He reminded me that some people spend time thinking about the world around them. Also, he reminded me that I haven't been to the gym since school let out.

After a slow walk around the city, some boba, a soft pretzel, and a sneak peak at his new movie, I went on my way. He seemed to enjoy himself as much as I did. Considering I haven't had this feeling (stemming from a combo of knotted stomach, warm neck, racing thoughts, and furrowed brow) in too long, I'm hoping he wants to date.

As any normal self-conscious boy, I'm skeptical (I've seen people he's... had relations with. It doesn't bode well for me). I'll reserve telling him about my feelings until I have a better sense of what he wants. (If you just want to be friends, do you say things like, "I really enjoyed our conversation and hope to hang out again soon"?)

Anyway, I'm happy in the pursuit of a new possibility sort of way. :-)

As for the weekend re-cap:

Friday was wasted. I went out to see Devil Wears Prada with my menstrual roomie, but it was sold out. Instead she helped me buy a new cologne (Ti Amo Te) and we went to the upscale grocery store Whole Foods, where I bought expensive cheese and various nibblies I can't find at Ralphs. I cooked that night :-)

Saturday I spent making green onion pancakes. Delicious. After the boy, I went out to Hollywood with Gabby and his gang.

Sunday morning was not pleasant. I baked bread. I met another boy from online. A not so fun experience. He was skinnier than me and figited a lot. People who can't calm down irritate me. The new 4400 episode was a little disappointing.


Cat and girl

In honor to worst cuddling experience #6


Why didn't I go clubbing? I got three calls asking if I was going out last night. Three: Cuddle Buddy, Random Guy, and G.B., the person I was rude to, got pissed off, then seemed to calmn down a little after I left an apologetic phone message. Also, Gabby ran into my old friend's boyfriend, who he met at my Spring break party. The image I am getting is that it was tons of fun.

What did I do? I met up with the older man to cuddle again. He got a rash again. We believe he's allergic to me. This hasn't happened before. I can't handle it, so I'm just going to find a younger, more attractive cuddle buddy with a properly functioning immune system. It also looks funny when I bring a guy home in front of my roommates, only to have to shuffle him out of my room 45 minutes later. I don't want them thinking I brought him over for a quick fuck. Shit, I would have at least made it last longer.

My image? Tarnished? Yep. Still working on that date.

Oh, happy Bastille Day!


Oh, Superman!

I saw superman for the second time last night. Even though there was a schizophrenic man chatting with himself in the back row and the screen appeared to have been attacked by an ejaculating giant, I enjoyed it just as much as when I saw it the first time with my mother in the black theater where everyone loved to munch loudly on potato chips.

It was the first time I hung out with him, too, but I knew what to expect. We started out walking to the movies. Fairly soon I noticed that I was acting a little odd--more rigid than usual. For five years I've tried to shake that shell, making slow progress now and then. Strange, then, that his personality restored it so easily.

After Superman we went out to dinner. He paid.

Here and there I'd come up with a comment to poke fun at him, brush off his jabs, and I even tried to explain how my opinion of him wasn't too perfect. I found out he knew a few people I've know intimately, and so I went into a rant on how I didn't like them. Really negative, I wasn't thinking about what I was saying before it plopped out of my mouth. What an idiot.

Maybe I was afraid he was flirting. I still don't respond well to flirting in person. Maybe I was afraid of him knowing me--that he knew people who know me. Maybe I was just trying to get him to be quiet because he's more effeminate than I am.

None of these are good reasons. Mabye I'm afraid to let anyone in permanently because I'm afraid of a transient relationship, be it friends or otherwise. Now that's a good, insane reason.

Come to think of it that must be why I was so hurt by Rich Yalie at the beginning of the summer.

Hm. It's so much more difficult building friendships.


Close your eyes and hold your breath

The men I've dated seem to get older and older. Not even that, but it's more the acceptable age range is broadening. I've always found people slighly older than me, but age is such a difficult requirement.

When I was 16, I remember finding friends online, trying to find people like me. The 18 year olds I wanted to know weren't interested, and the ones who were interested had a child fetish. 19 was so old, but that's what I wanted. I was open to maturity, but it didn't come. No one can trust a minor, not even the state.

Even now, there are times when my age comes into question. A slightly older man (25) found me on myspace; we started talking. I realized he was inept quick off the bat--he couldn't cook and knew very little outside of buying his frozen food, writing, and paying money for entertainment. Oh well, I needed friends in LA and maybe he could have taught me something. Eventually I realized that he thought I could fulfill his younger, more attractive, male fantasy, nothing else. "Something about a 24 year old," he explained. "It's a matter of experience. When I talk to another 24 year old there's a connection that's not there with the younger crowd." The final jab was as offensive as a dream laid bare, "One day many men will have to realize that we don't like them for the brains."

I wasn't about to take that from someone who doesn't know how to make cupcakes. (Didn't every child make cupcakes for birthday parties?) Thank god I never met him.

His example has it's lessons. Age is about experience (and health). I have experienced a lot all around the world, but there is only so much you can do by the age of 20. If I date a 30 year old can I hope to compare, or would the relationship be admiration based--me to his experience (money), him to my youth (body)? Then again, I'm not sure that's a bad thing.

How about I just make sure they don't look too old.



A view from our amazing seats:Me sipping my hot chocolate,looking odd and skinnier than usual:
Patricia Racette in a sparkling golden dress symbolically throwing herself from the ramparts of a castle:

Tosca was fantastic! Our seats were great, but not *as* great as I thought. The catering was sub-par, but that's just a lesson to take a boxed dinner from Gelson's next time. Gabby and I had to censor ourselves because we shared a box with a mother-daughter combo. It was unusually quiet. Once the opera started I sat back and let myself be seduced. Patricia Racette as tosca (her very first time in the role) was dazzling, but every time I watched her on the big screen I couldn't help but notice how large her breasts are. I imagine they are some sort of magical talent-containing implant. I need to see this one on the stage sometime.

Now for the recap.

By Sunday afternoon I noticed that the weekend had been ordinary to that point. Friday night spent recovering from Thursday's debauchery. There was enough energy left in my skinny frame to microwave and boil my way to a meal. I can't be a foodie without aknowledging the urban usefulness of my enemy, the tv dinner.

Instead of going to a BBQ on Saturday (which apparently was just an excuse to drink, not a real vegetarian witch hunt/meat fest), I made rosemary bread and romano cheese bread and read during the off-baking times. Both were delicious, but I have a thing for rosemary. Jazz ex wanted me to create a list of things that can get me off. #1. rosemary bread. There is no number #2. :-)

Drunken queen Gabby called from the BBQ to ask if I wanted to go to Rage.

"Of course I do."

"Okay, I'll be home in 20 minutes. Gaaaahwaa!"

:: shuffling, scraping, laughing, stomping noises ::

"Drew! I fell on the floor and Bree attacked me."

His drunk driving ability is only matched by his supernatural tolerance for booze. Somehow he arrived at his place (he doesn't remember how), I picked him up (he remembers this) and we met up with his friend Scruffy, who terrorizes me with awkward questions online but is surprisingly fun in person. Sometime into the night I started dancing with a crazy woman with curly hair in a tank top. I got her number. For my next straight act I will join a frat and get a teenager pregnant! Bo yeah!

After the clubs closed, I met one of my up-to-this point online-only friend who would be the oldest person I've ever dated, if we dated. He came over to cuddle after I dropped a starving and confused Jonathan at home. About an hour into the cuddling fest, I hear a horrible scream coming from the bathroom, "I have a rash!" Being too tipsy to react properly by screaming back and rubbing my skin off in the shower, I led him to the door and he went home. Thankfully, neither of us have a rash on day number two.

What an amazing excuse to leave a bad situation.

Sunday was spent recovering, again, and cooking--more asparagus, stuffed shells, and garlic spinach. Delicious, but the asparagus doesn't look as pretty as I was hoping. Next time: keep the salt and cheese, but no onion.


Asparagus delight

Around 5pm yesterday, besides being tired and going into vodka withdrawls, I was also extremely hungry... come to think of it, I still am...

So I fished out an artichoke from the decaying fridge and went to work. I made the usual artichoke stuffed with breadcrumbs and parmesean. It takes 45 minutes to cook this monster, so being the binge eater I am I couldn't wait. I went through a mental list of my food items and thought, "The asparagus! The asparagus!"

The mood called for lots of garlic, so I made a tomato garlic sauce and cooked it along with the asparagus. half-cooked the asparagus first in a bit of oil, browned garlic in olive oil, added tomato and a dash of water. Once the tomato was getting mushy I mixed in the asparagus. Delicious.

Next time: add 1/4 cup romano cheese and some salt... maybe even an onion.

Now if only I could get people to stick to their plans on a Friday night.


Horror! Atrocity!

One of my favorite inventions is the flimsy seat cover that you can put down in public lavatories. Especially in the men's section, I need to avoid thinking of poopingdiarrheadirtyassesunwipedbumshairybuttmasturbationsweat just to sit down.

So you can imagine nearly fainting sitting down as I realize that the paper cover fell into the toilet, leaving no protection between the diseased plastic cover and my susceptible bum.

I need to burn myself.

Like a lazy ocean hugs the shore

I joined Gabby for lunch at Patina--a restaurant that's been in my sights for a while. Appetizer: a tomato stuffed with mozzarella, surrounded by diced artichokes and baby greens covered in balsamic vinegar and a mysterious green sauce. It was delicious but gargantuan. Finishing the vegetarian risotto with peas was almost too much. I had to unhook my jaw and expand my belly a bit.

By the way, Dante meticulously detailed waiting for the C-dash on a full stomach in 100 degree heat when he wrote about the third circle of Hell. Never take a bus to/from a nice meal.

Conclusions: A relaxing place to get lunch whenever I have a craving for expensive French cuisine, but L'Orangerie was so much better.

I only have three more Rumba classes left! Those straight women need to stop screwing up. Some of them couldn't keep their arms firm if their second slice of lard cheese cake depended on it. I can't lead noodle-arms!

Speaking of noodle, I might not go clubbing tonight. Someone give me a plaque, I just out-sacrificed Jesus.


Bollywood high

Random Indian girl myspaced me. :-)

Like burning cat fur

It has been an interesting couple of days. My mother left on Saturday, after taking a roll of film devoted to a few Hollywood stars (she took one of Joan Crawford's star, too) and the scary people that live near my apartment. "So I can show your sister how you live," she said. As I was dropping her off at the airport, I decided that I should try harder to not get into arguments with her. I do miss her, especially after my usual summer return to Minneapolis was cancelled.

On Monday night Gabby's friend called to tell us, "Everyone is going to Tigerheat tonight." Considering that the club was horribly crowded the last time we went, and being trusting lushes, we went out early and found that NO one was there. I got to hang out in the smokers section while Gabby got more alcohol to deal with the disgustingly young crowd.

I met one of his 'friends' standing in the drinking section with a fun conversation:

Skinny guy: "How does it feel being in High School."
Drew: "What?! I'm a senior in college! Did you go to college?"
Skinny guy: "Yes. Well, I'm still in college."
Drew, extending hand to shake: "I'm Drew. I'm a math major. What's your's?"
Skinny guy: "Something art related."
Drew: "Painting?"

He was cute. It's a shame he wasn't that bright. We all danced for a while, then decided to leave at one am, happily tired and sweaty. Gabby's phone conversation friend never did show up.

The next morning, I woke up just in time to see the space shuttle launch live online. Breath-taking. My "things to do before I die" list has been updated. Later, while listening to Asian Roomie complain about her boyfriend, my knee began to throb. I rolled up my pant leg and she screamed. There was a mysterious black and blue bruise the size of a melon. Gabby doesn't remember how it happened. Neither do I. I'm guessing Skinny Guy.

The fourth was spent with Objectivist Ex and his logic friends. He didn't tell me they were all making steak. I made some veggie indian food, more than a little irked at being trapped in vegetarian hell. At least his friends were interesting. All of them were well-read, could quote Rand, and knew way too much about computers and networking. I couldn't stop thinking they were all the same person in different body types--a slim runner, a rower, a straight fit boy, a body-builder type gym rat, and a non athlete. I suppose when people spend a lot of time together, their personalities mix. Everyone was already well knit together. Objectivist Ex seems to have found the perfect group. He changed a lot while I was living in China.

I left before it got too late. In the back of my mind I was afraid people would end up in some naked platonic objectivist flirting make-me-want-to-vomit twister match. I ran to my car with that image in mind, and forgot my backpack in my rush.

In other news, Kurt Vonnegut reminds me of the writing style of a lot of Harvey Mudd folk. Cat's Cradle has been amazing so far. Protein is the meaning of life (giggle).

I think I might be going on a date/cuddle fest soon.

This Sunday is Tosca at the Hollywood Bowl. I splurged on Garden Box seats--the ones I drool over each time I visit. That, along with catering from the Patina group may just make me orgasm during Vissi d'arte.

Apparently my underware is on inside-out. I must be tired.