Did you know that I have a birthmark in the shape of Africa on my inner thigh?
I had honest-to-goodness forgotten about it for the longest time. I used to be terribly insecure about it, because it's the colour of milk chocolate and roughly the size of a human fist. Lost interest in caring, though. I asked my mother if I could have it surgically removed when I was about ten years old, and she said that I'd grow to love or at least appreciate it.
The skin right there is marvelously soft, and always has been, for as long as I can recall.
I don't love it, but I can acknowledge its existence and leave it at that.
It's awfully difficult to be graceful while filling a soda cooler in a skirt, in case you weren't sure. Work is bloody boring. I mostly just talked about Star Wars and sex with my coworker. He acknowledged that yes, Storm Troopers are rather attractive in a strange metallic sort of way, and that there's nothing he'd rather see up close and personal than a four-pronged attack with a light saber in each robotic, half-human hand.
Wait, I lied.
Both of those are my fantasies, not his.
Um.
Okay, so, there's this boy. He's really fabulously nerdly in a non-pretentious sort of way, and he let me look through his sketchbook after saying that he rarely lets anyone take a glimpse at it. He said he wants to make me a mix tape. We're going to have a movie marathon day sometime soon, and go book-shopping another day.
I developed a crush on him sometime during the period of time at my housewarming party where he was vomiting in my kitchen sink, my hand drawing drunken circles on his back.
Eep. I don't need distractions right now! Must focus. Italian. Reading. Writing letters to distant friends. Late walks at night. Iced tea. Shows. Scrabble. Movies. Work..
Logic will break your heart.
I want you around. Do you want me around, bychance?
I had honest-to-goodness forgotten about it for the longest time. I used to be terribly insecure about it, because it's the colour of milk chocolate and roughly the size of a human fist. Lost interest in caring, though. I asked my mother if I could have it surgically removed when I was about ten years old, and she said that I'd grow to love or at least appreciate it.
The skin right there is marvelously soft, and always has been, for as long as I can recall.
I don't love it, but I can acknowledge its existence and leave it at that.
It's awfully difficult to be graceful while filling a soda cooler in a skirt, in case you weren't sure. Work is bloody boring. I mostly just talked about Star Wars and sex with my coworker. He acknowledged that yes, Storm Troopers are rather attractive in a strange metallic sort of way, and that there's nothing he'd rather see up close and personal than a four-pronged attack with a light saber in each robotic, half-human hand.
Wait, I lied.
Both of those are my fantasies, not his.
Um.
Okay, so, there's this boy. He's really fabulously nerdly in a non-pretentious sort of way, and he let me look through his sketchbook after saying that he rarely lets anyone take a glimpse at it. He said he wants to make me a mix tape. We're going to have a movie marathon day sometime soon, and go book-shopping another day.
I developed a crush on him sometime during the period of time at my housewarming party where he was vomiting in my kitchen sink, my hand drawing drunken circles on his back.
Eep. I don't need distractions right now! Must focus. Italian. Reading. Writing letters to distant friends. Late walks at night. Iced tea. Shows. Scrabble. Movies. Work..
Logic will break your heart.
I want you around. Do you want me around, bychance?
VIEW 17 of 17 COMMENTS
Star Wars is equivalent of a first love that, with the benefit of distance and time to realise the folly of the strength of my former ardour, I still can't help but reminisce.
It's not so hard to let go though.
If this boy really loved you, he'd burn a CD for you.
And are stormtroopers really metal? I always thought they were kinda plastic/cermic-y.