#8 and I went to Black Sand Beach on Sunday. I tried to imagine us as Burt and Deborah in From Here to Eternity, but couldn’t get past Ernest Borgnine and Monty Clift. I still don’t get him. No, I do. Why do I keep making these statements that I don’t know something when I do? Omigod, is that denial? His palm pilot/phone thing buzzes constantly when we’re together, yet he never answers it. Look, everybody, I know this probably isn’t going anywhere, I’m more intrigued by what’s drawing us together. I think that he sees something in me that represents stability for him–don’t laugh–that and the prospect of the best oral talent this side of the Pecos for eternity. Oh, and another thing, I’m all rolling around and spinning and jumping through hoops, and he just kind of lies there–a bottomless bottom. Remember, I wear Meryl Streep’s Versatility, and really need someone who’s more inventive with the horizontal mambo. Or at least moves. Okay, so he’s all into this idea of monogamy, this theory that he’s heard about. Me, I’m into taming this wild creature, that and the purely physical attraction. A chem-i-cal re-ac-tion, that’s all. In the wild, or at the Steamworks, we would have sniffed our butts, dry humped each other and moved on to the next one by now.
Tales of Post-Twinkie Ennui