Hot and Sticky.

Last night I went to check out Steve Aoki at The Whiskey. It was the first big show that I've been to since I saw MSTRKRFT back in the summer, and he did not disappoint. The night was pretty slow to begin with, N and I thought we would be safe if we hit up the bar a little later than usual. We both learned our lesson when we saw MSTRKRFT and by the time the first three DJs had finished, we were both dehydrated, tired, and cranky. It took a vodka redbull or two before the alcohol worked it's magic and I was wide awake and liquored up enough to dance. 

The floor was one big meat market, and some of the merchandise was questionable. I really have to learn to keep my story straight when I cockblock, it doesn't look very convincing when someone sees you tell a guy that the girl her is her girlfriend, only to say to him that she has a boyfriend. Thankfully, I think that the majority of them were high enough not to care. 

By the end of the set, I practically had to peel myself off the person beside me. It probably doesn't sound particularly appealing, but I love that feeling of being spent. When you have danced for the past 4 hours straight, gone through your fair share of vodka tonics and water bottles, felt the bass in pound in your chest, and yelled until you knew you wouldn't be able to speak the next day,

You've experienced contentment. 

sweat it out.

Alright, I own a couple things from Lulu Lemon, I'm not going to lie. It is an undeniable fact that on most girls, they make their ass look fantastic. Unlike most of the people who wear them, however, I actually use them to work out - a foreign concept, I know. Whenever I head to my gym, I feel like I've mistakenly stumbled onto a catwalk or a magazine shoot. Half of the girls who use the gym go while wearing a pound of makeup, their hair perfectly coifed, and have squeezed themselves into something just barely short of a lame catsuit. Whatever happened to shorts and a t-shirt? When I can see your ass-cleavage, your shorts are too short. 

Their faux pas don't stop at their clothing. If I had a dollar for every time I saw some bimbo on a piece of equipment while idly flipping through a rag mag, I would be loaded. If you are doing a proper work out, there is no flipping way that you should be able to concentrate on your poli sci homework, let alone cosmo's latest sex tips. You should be on the verge of falling down the stairs on the way back to the locker room by the time you are finished. If you are going to work out, go hard or go home.

Another thing - while you make look super cute in that brand new outfit of yours, by the end of a session, you should be one hot sweaty mess. Go to Cowboys on a ladies night to pull someone, don't do it in the middle of the track. The only guys who will find that tactic the slightest bit effective are those overly-styled chachis that go to the gym, do two chin ups, down a power shake, and call it a day. The rest of them are actually there to accomplish something, and won't give you the time of day. 

So please, start using that elliptical machine, or get the hell out of my way.

Ponderings

Casual fumblings and nicotine stained fingers.

Those nights when the morning never came.

We were young, reckless, and stupid.

-The latter more so than I had thought.

You played me like the strings on your guitar.

I hummed along.

- But I didn't know the words.

Dear Boy

Dear Boy,

When I told you that I don't do long term relationships, and you proceed to tell me how you had the next 10 years of your life planned out with your ex, 

It freaked me out.

When I told  you that I didn't  forsee being free for the rest of the semester, and that I wasn't looking for a boy friend,

I did not mean for you to text me incessantly.

When I didn't return your messages,

I wasn't playing hard to get.

I Hate Being Ill

So, I'm currently doped up on lovely antihistamines, can only breathe through one side of my nose, and am left with even less patience than I usually have. I want to do nothing more than make myself a cup of tea, crawl into my bed, and watch some sort of shitty movie. Sadly, that's not possible, as I am being a good citizen and volunteering my time tonight, and the rest of the weekend.

Fuck.

In the mean time, if you do not want me to let off on you, and probably make you sick in the process of pausing to talk to you, please avoid the following:

- Insist that a lecture hall of 250 people review information that had already been covered early in the week, just because you couldn't manage to haul your sorry out of bed.

- Chew really loudly (this includes smacking your gum.)

- Walk in the hall at a pace that nearly compels me to punch you in the back of my head.

- Crank up your music so loud that I have to listen to it.

- Wear black and brown at the same time.

-Laugh like a hyena.

- Point out the fact that I look sick. I mean really? Aren't dark circles and tissues stuffed in pockets in Vogue right now?

/ End Rant.

I'm going to Timmy's to get me some soup.

Listen.

Via my daily creeping of Hype Machine, I stumbled across this sexy little number.

I think it's a sex pot of a song.

Madison "Lollipop" (Lil' Wayne Cover)

A Question

Sometimes I wonder if I am going to be this crazy commitment phobe for the rest of my life. The only people I can have a relationship with are other like minded basket cases. Often, this leads to a wonderful combination of disfunction and lust.

Am I a bad person for just wanting the chase?

Those awkward moments are like a high, everything is unknown and new. I never have to face the monotony that comes with a few months of dating, when it seems like there is nothing left to learn. 

Relationships are like milk cartons, they always have an expiry date. I don't want to hang around and wait for it to go sour.

I've never really found "nice guys" all that endearing. Whenever I have given one a chance, I've always felt like their mother, and it resembled the story of Oedipus. Not really my thing. Does it go against my biological programming for me not to want flowers, romance, and it's other assorted trinkets? 

I don't want perfection. I want flaws.

If you are going to be with me, you've gotta love all my fucked up eccentricities and neuroticisms.

Like how the sound of children crying drives me up the bloody wall.

I miss the smell of your cigarettes.