Void where applicable: Well I guess I have to go through the arduous task of cancelling a plane ticket. I guess it was just a silly notion anyway. Bret Easton Ellis is right; romance is dead. I suppose I could just fly to Paris and over-dose on pills while drinking vintage Dom Perignon while smoking a red and gold Dream cigarette (it's always how I've imagined myself going out)....then again, maybe there is something romantic about the world after all.


Me: We talked tonight (or rather texted) about bricks being a wall built around my hearts. I know you let yours down (for the most part) for me, but I think the only proof that I had that I had let mine down for you was when I left...or at least decided or thought about leaving. Of course it killed a part of me when I actually decided to leave (a rather rash decision that for some reason I am so fond of lately), but in all honesty (if I am going to let you in you should know the truth...correct), it goes back to the day you sent me the email about me applying for law school somewhere else. When you said that you would no longer want to be with me if I wanted to go somewhere else, it was like someone had stabbed me in the chest and I did not know what to do. I wanted to be with you, but I didn't want such restrictions put upon me. Why does there always have to be an ultimatum. Why did not the possibility of staying together even while apart cross your mind. I sat there that day in "our" bedroom and I sobbed and I sobbed and I sobbed. I cried so much that I actually began to vomit. There I was lying on your bedroom floor completely split apart. Here on one hand I have you...that I did compromise so much for (even if you didn't think so) and on the other hand the rest of my life...the future...the possibilities. I told you that day that "I just want to be with you." That is true. I do want to be with you. But as much as I did or did not compromise, you did the same.


D: ...I don't want anything for Christmas. Well, maybe another nice dinner out with you. That would be a sweet present. :-D


Me: Voltaire once wrote that “men employ speech only to conceal their thoughts;” so, sometimes silence is best.


Me: I hate it when some overly dressed woman accidentally nudges my arm and knocks my glass full of vodka on to the floor, making the already velvety red carpet of the Metropolitan Opera house look like blood.


Me: That blanket is for fucking on, not sleeping under.




J: shrug my boner out of my drawstring as though you do it evernight to my precum smile

re: 03.09.09


Me: Don't call her honey.
R: Don't you ever just stop by.




oh my. Lover has scored! Although i'm not sure I would much enjoy frenching a practically middle aged married lawyer who's husband was passed out in my car, but still. hehe. more to the point, 'frank', shall he be called.. fucking hell yea! one for the team. haha and the mental picture of you wearing you're raybans with obnoxiously popped polo shirts and loafers is so hamptons and so ridiculous its fantastic:) and i'm sure you 'made it work'. tim gunn would be so proud he's be coming all over his prada mules, tailored gucci trousers, and d&g fitted knickers. hmm while probably moaning andre and having a nightmare about accidentally wiping his nose with last season's Hermes scarf while waiting in line for his skim decaf cap.