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sublingua | |||||
| The heart with a mind of its own.(Be present.) | The mind with a heart of its own.(It's past.) | The dream that is your waking life.(Go there now.) | |||
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Trannies With Lattes And Me And Mitch
Oh, christ, I'm sick as a dog. That stomach thing? Is killing me. I think I've spent most of the last eight hours in the bathroom, and when I'm not in the bathroom, I've been laying in bed, watching movies and groaning uselessly to myself. I did, however, get my sick ass out of bed yesterday to go and cast Mitch. Mitch, you ask, why, I thought you were done with that guy? Well, I am. The casting is really the cast away. I'm sort of like a witch that way. Once I cast whomever has cast a spell over me, the spell is broken. So now I have Mitch's face, and he'll disappear. Not that I'm particularly happy about that, if you want to know the truth. I do want the guy as a friend. I've said before that he's hellishly interesting--and he is that. I mean, take yesterday as an example. I was waiting for Mitch in a local coffee house, drinking my decaf, looking over the info the Red Cross sent me on volunteer stuff, and these people came in. I didn't look up, but checked out the shoes. Mitch wears socks and sandals, so I was just looking for that. These people were in comfy lezzie shoes though: Birks, and boots with waffle soles. Hmmm, I thought, and looked up. My new cafe-mates were transvestites. In comfortable shoes. Which is clearly wrong. But I'm not easily shocked, so I just went back to my decaf. Mitch came in after a bit, and we chatted, shared a pan au chocolate and he had a caramel latte. He was full of some story about some big truck that had a "Speak English or Go Home" bumper sticker. He wanted to vandalize the truck, but I convinced him that we should just leave a note on the windshield. As we were deciding what to write, one of the trannies at the next table caught his eye. Mitch said hello, and the wo/man said, "Do I know you?" Well, long story short, it turns out that the wo/man didn't know Mitch, but s/he used to be a graduate student for this prof that I hated. We both danced around calling the prof a bitch, and still managed to do it without using the word. Then we had a long and satisfying conversation about research science. Seriously. I sat and talked with a transvestite associate professor about research science. Because of Mitch. And when he's gone, I'll miss that things like that happen. But now? Another trip to the bathroom... Thank you--quickly--Universe, for Mitch.
More lies:
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