Surely part of the reason yesterday was such a bust as far as me being, you know, even a halfway alert human being was the disgusting heat, but I can't pin all the blame on external forces and my lack of air conditioning, because most definitely most of the blame must be pinned on my insane level of substance consumption on Friday night that my body spent most of yesterday recovering from. And to make matters worse, when all I wanted to do was lie in bed in front of my fan hungover, I couldn't even do that because at ten o'clock there was a boom boom boom on my door. Quickly I got dressed, you know, because it is a hundred degrees and I sleep naked, and I tried to suppress my hard-on visible through my shorts enough so I could answer the door - and there was my large landlord and his son ready to replace my bedroom door so that we can actually rent out my room, you know, because most people other than me would not live in a place with a giant hole where a door handle should be so everyone in the building's hallway can see you. And you know, I was way unexcited about them doing this then when all I wanted was sleep, and you know, I am really in love with saying "you know" lately and why, I cannot claim to know, but maybe, you know, you might.

So I spent the day watching bad movies, Jaws 2, Parenthood, etc, that were showing on basic cable, and the whole time wanted to crawl back in bed. Hours and hours later, they finally finished the half-assed job of putting up a new door. I lied in my bed, read from Within a Budding Grove, and drifted off to sleep. I woke up to meet David at Metropolitan and getting out of bed, saw this clear imprint of my body, a sweat soaked trace of the position I had been sleeping in. I know you guys know that Proust is awesome, but can I just say it one more time, add another voice to the chorus: Good fucking God, he is amazing! Life is so much better when you are reading a good book, when your senses are pricked by these lovely sentiments and you are made more aware of life's beauty in between your nightly readings of the book. When people deride the products of consumerist culture, this is the surely what they mean, what they are talking about, that Jaws 2 entertains me, maybe even you, but it fails to heighten your perceptions of everyday life, to make life more livable.

So feeling a little bit better, I went to Metropolitan and didn't really want to drink, but you know, being at a bar and all, did - and talked to David about various things, race, America, things that I don't talk too much about with people anymore, no longer being in school and no longer working at a bookstore. And I felt bad about this, like there were points where my interest in the conversation wavered and Zach came up to talk to us and we stopped talking about interracial dating and adoption because you know, you have to sort of contain yourself to superficial bar talk with some people - and I noticed the difference, felt bad that I allow myself to have these seperate spheres, where there are things I care a lot about but don't really talk to most people about, especially in bars. And it's probably for the best, because then I'd probably be engaged in some bar fights, very few people being intelligent enough to talk about these things without saying something that makes me want to punch them in the teeth.

Oh yeah, I am in love with the graffiti in the stalls of the girl's bathroom at Metropolitan. It is so cute, all these little sayings and bits of gossip. And the reason I am saying this is because my usage of the word "teeth" provoked thoughts to this one thing I read and thought so adorable and talked to various people about, none of them appreciating to the extent I wanted them to, the cuteness of this sentiment, and the even more amplified cuteness of someone writing this sentiment in sharpie in a bathroom stall: "Shannon from Caddyshack is so hot she makes me teeth sweat." That imagery of sweating teeth entertained me so much and I told this to a boy I have had a crush on for exactly two years and two days, Christopher, and he seemed mildly amused by it in the way that you are to little children who tell you stories you really don't care about. His friend that he was with, this cartoon of an electroclash hipster from three years ago, didn't find it funny, was, you know, too cool to engage in conversation with me. Shortly thereafter, Christopher and Nelson (Are you kidding me? This cartoon character's name is Nelson. Ha!) went back inside and on his way inside Christopher laid his hand on my shoulder saying he was going inside.

And what that means and what that meant intrigued me so much. I wasn't sure if it was a slight attempt at flirting, or if it was more of that patronizing you're-such-a-precocious-little-tyke attitude. But, you know, of course, I was hoping that it was the former and sort of entertained fantasies of making out with him, or of even just talking to him and seeing his wide as pie eyes and his cute smile - and well, I had another beer and talked to David some more, and did not make out with Christopher, did not talk to him again after that. There was none of the wholesome visual comsumption of his cute facial expressions that animate his face when you are talking to him and his smile is wide and really organic seeming, and you think to what it means that this boy's smiles appear with such ease, of you don't think about that because you are not at that level of thought, but surely those easy smiles and what they might mean unanalyzed are what makes you giddy, giddy as all fucking hell to be in his presence.

I parted with David when he got into a cab and walked home by myself sort of clutching those recalled images of his face and was a variety of happy, filled with a longing, maybe naive, maybe pathetic, but still this dreamy feeling carrying me onward and only mildly lonely off to my house, through the process of brushing my teeth and washing my face, keeping melancholy enough at bay for me to fall asleep easily.