Monday, Nov. 19, 2001 - 12:03 a.m.
Foreign boys and pick-up lines

I start work tomorrow.

I'll let you know how that goes.

There's a certain boy on my ICQ list who somehow manages to give me that dizzy-happy-headrushing kinda feeling whenever I talk to him ... I don't know what it is about him. He's got that sexy razor-sharp wit that just does me in ... damn, that's hot. If only he didn't live in some other continent ... damnitall. Just as well, really. All he ever does is take cheap shots at me ... I'm not sure why I like him. It must be the accent. I have a weakness for accents.

Maybe I'll move there someday. That's where all the hotties are, as far as I can tell. Right in that cluster of countries. Where is this mythical Land o' Plenty, pray tell? Never mind that. I'll tell you some other time. If you ask me real nice.

What do you think? Is a better guy selection a valid reason for moving to another continent? Give me your answers ... I'm eager to know.

(Don't worry ... I'm not seriously considering this.)

I'm listening to a lot of Elvis Costello & the Attractions these days. It's not the sort of music I usually listen to ... I tend to favour a darker musical genre for everyday listening. But I'm liking Elvis Costello. I can't say I like all of the songs, but the ones I do like, I REALLY like. Like Watching the Detectives. So good. And damn, those are some sexy glasses. Young Elvis Costello was cute. I don't care what anyone says.

Here's another random question. Do you think it's acceptable to walk up to a complete stranger in a public place (other than some bar or typical pick-up joint) and just come right out and ask them for their phone number? I mean, supposing you've played a little eye-tag with them or something ... I don't know. Or better yet ... does anyone have any ideas for good excuses to talk to random guys in public places? I need some sort of pretext ... anything. Really.

Do I sound desperate to you? Well I'm not. Just ... wanting. Wanting, but not desperate. That's it. I swear.

Goodnight.


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