Stamped: June 21st, 2006 | Toggle Similar
Tagged: around town, complaint dept., dates of yore, literature and smut.
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Imagine if you will you wake up with that carpe diem feeling, birds singing around your head and find yourself mouthing the words "Yeah baby, bring it." It's precisely that moment you really should just climb back into bed and shove multiple pain killers in your mouth because optimism that early in the morning can mean only one thing: it's all going down hill from there.
Now imagine me, skipping off to work and tucking the latest issue of some unnamed weekly NY magazine under my arm. I wave to my neighbors, "Hello everyone! Have yourselves a fabulicious day my fair friends! Joy, joy joy!"
Oh barf all over me. I even make myself sick.
Now, if I had a dollar for everytime I open a magazine and am confronted with a blast from the past, aka an ex-bf, well, I wouldn't have much but I could at least treat a few friends to a cup of coffee on the corner. This morning was no exception. There I was on the subway cracking open the freshly unread pages of my magazine. One article caught my eye so I fastforwarded to that page. I was confronted by the most eerily disturbing photographs. I starting reading the article but my eyes kept going back to the pictures. They seemed so familiar yet I knew no one in them. And there it was, lo and behold, on the photo credit, Mr. Heavily Medicated on Antidepressants Small Weiner Dicktard.
I had to put it down. I couldn't even read the article. Now it curses me as it sits beside me on my desk. It's saying to me "Pick me up, read me" and "He may have been overly emotive but his shit's in a major magazine and what are you doing?" or "He knows you have a subscription so the jigs up, just take me to the bathroom and read me already."
Seriously, I need someone to cut out the pictures and scan it in for me. I'm going back to bed.
Last 5 posts by Meme
Some days it doesn’t pay to even get out of bed
You must tell us the name of the magazine. Must.
Yes, please tell us. Still, it IS a lovely day in the city, no? I noticed more pretty women smiling at me and giving me the surreptitious-corner-of-the-eye-check-out everywhere I walked during lunchtime and when fetching my mid-morning espresso. Guess what? My fly wasn’t even open. Must be the new sunglasses.
This is written as an example of how a point in time is simply that - a moment. Sure, he’s in the major mag today and he may or may not be in the future BUT he will always have a small weiner. Right?
Deac, you are a wise wise man. I bow down to you.