i have been made

i have been made real.  the best kind of grace is annonymous grace --
she's the lucky person who was first to post a href="javascript:BlogVoices(2282913)">comment (actually i was the first, but
me and all the employees of publisher's clearing house and their families are
inelligible).  as such she gets my gratitude, and a coupon for a free foot
massage, redeemable at any public men's room (just pass your foot under, oh
yeah, just like that, oooo baby...).  if you want it in the ladies room,
you got to give me 24 hours notice to do my hair, and find some pasties. 
(but don't the stall dividers go all the way to the floor in ladie's
rooms?  and if they do, why the difference?  hmmm...)

me and blogger mcgee

me and blogger mcgee are starting to get along quite well.  finally. 

now, if i could only acquire a little taste...

tweaking...

tweaking...

SDF what was that all

SDF

what was that all about?  i really have to stop drinking so much fuckin coffee.  i mean it.  last night, i downloaded and listened to the song that was #1 the day i was born.  then i proceeded to get quite psycho, and balled my eyes out.  (cried)  as if that is not enough, i then had to describe it all in great detail to a complete stranger in an e-mail.  which is i guess kinda what i do here, but here it is more like mumbling out loud in a subway station.  the e-mail thing is a little like pouring your heart out to the cashier-kid at the supermarket.  creepy. 

gotta go make coffee...

note: pic not related

h e y !  had another of those spontaneous daylight (sort of) fantasies
-- at night they're called nightmares (or wet dreams, if you're lucky).  it
went: i was doing laundry, met a guy there who i'd probably met there before
during my anti-social depressive state (recently ended, i hope).  i said
hi, rattled on and on about my love of snow (we have fifteen new inches here in
Worcester), and i was generally just nauseatingly friendly.  he was, in my
spontaneous daylight fantasy (SDF), living in with the single mom and her two
little girls upstairs from the laundry room.  as he left with a basket-heap
of clean laundry he said something about buying some other kind of white
stuff.  he wanted to sell me drugs. 

i said, "what?"  knowing exactly what he had said.  he replied, "nothin,"
and he darted out the door.  feeling like that had just made me appear like
a prude who was temporarily in the middle of a friendly-talkative-manic phase, i
went outside after him.  " style="COLOR: #000044; FONT-SIZE: 11px; FONT-STYLE: normal; FONT-VARIANT: normal; FONT-WEIGHT: 700; LINE-HEIGHT: normal"> 
h e y !   " i yelled.  he stopped -- this was a
good thing.  he could have ignored me, abandoning our encounter as just
another wasted few moments of human interaction.  he certainly could have
misinterpretered anger in my voice when i yelled 'hey!' -- imprecise vocal
modulations are the way with us manics, and i was a bit loud.  but maybe it
was my frustration because another social effort (which are rare as gold in
these parts -- at least for my part) was wasted because i was mistaken, again,
for something i am not, or at least for something i don't want to be. 

he probably thought i wanted to rat him out, or fuck with his head, or
threaten his apartment situation just because -- oh, who knows why, just because
once-upon-a-bad-time-reagan told us it was o.k. to hate certain people for
certain reasons.  but he (my laundry encounter) stopped anyway and waited
to hear me.  i look for that; people who still hold out for the potential
of the unknown in spite of their fear of the known.  it felt like kindness,
and as he stood there looking at me, his eyes were clear as innocence. 

anyway, (this is going on forever) i didn't want to take the easy way out,
and stay with my laundry while he brought his home, and let it end without at
least an effort to be clear, to understand and be understood.  "maybe i do
and maybe i don't want some," i said to him. 

"i don't know what you're talking about," he started to say before i got the
first 'maybe' out.  i forged on, tolerating his understandably defensive
reaction, hoping i did actually understand, hoping i was not acting
irrationally.  i've done that before...

"i know a lot of people who have used lots of drugs in the past, some of my
friends still use drugs, occasionally.  i like them all, a lot.  i
might even consider buying some weed from you in the future, who knows, but
right now i just don't want there to be any misunderstanding; i don't have any
problem with that.  it was nice talkin to ya, i'll see ya round." 

i turned back to the laundry room, half expecting him to roll his eyes and
dismiss me with a disconcerted sneer.  i left him just standing there,
holding his laundry.  'i tried' i thought with resignation, as i descended
the few little steps back down to the basement laundry room door.  when the
door didn't close behind me, i looked, and there he was. 

he sat on top of one of the dryers, and we talked until my laundry was all
dry.  it didn't seem to take long at all.  over weeks we got to know
each other, he would stop by for coffee.  he'd smoke, i'd pass. 
usually.  one day he walked in, i said hi, he didn't say anything.  he
closed my apartment door, and leaned back on it.  and never taking his eyes
off of mine, he grabbed his cock and... 

speaking of style="COLOR: #000044; FONT-SIZE: 11px; FONT-STYLE: normal; FONT-VARIANT: normal; FONT-WEIGHT: 700; LINE-HEIGHT: normal"> 
h e y !  , check out hey
mercedes (their cool front pictured above).  of course they have a href="http://www.heymercedes.com/wire.html"
title="are you wearing a wire">blog!