Rage on a Thursday Night

Tonight I made out with three different boys on the dance floor at a club in West Hollywood. I don't remember any of their names.

There would've been a fourth, but I told him no, and I proceeded to dance with myself with my eyes closed. For those few moments I felt the best I had in ages.

When I'm driving along Sunset Boulevard, I like to roll down the windows and blast the Dresden Dolls or Two Ton Boa--both excellent bands. I do it because I have this secret desire that one day someone will hear it and tell me to pull over so they can get to know the person who listens to such interesting music, a rarity in these parts. But I'm pretty sure that day will never come.

I suppose I really just want to be loved for who I am--not for what I appear to be. That's a difficult thing in the gay culture, because most people are attracted to superficial beauty only. Well, I suppose that isn't entirely true. If you're old and your beauty has faded, the only thing left to advertise is either your wealth or personality. Unfortunately, I'm still considered young, and I am not attracted to men twice my age.

Today I smoked some of the best marijuana I've ever smoked in my entire life. I wrote a song, and realized that I could actually be creative. Colleen and I decided that it didn't matter where we lived, that we would be miserable unless we were stoned. I'm going to look into the medical marijuana thing if I decide to stay.

This blog was brought to you by two Dos Equis, a shot of Jose, two Southern Comfort and Cokes, and a few sips of some unknown drink belonging to random make-out guy number two.