7 types of Facebook friends

The title of this one is pretty self-explanatory. I'm pretty confident in the accuracy of this list, only stopping to point out that some people don't fit into just one of these categories. I would also like to preface this by saying I am, by no means, an expert on social networking, people, or pretty much anything. There's bound to be a few people who are offended, but whatever. I did it for the lulz.

The under-educated and over-opinionated
I begin with this one because I perhaps make the cruelest judgement of these people and why not start off with a bang, right? You all know these people, chances are you've been one at some point in your life. Like, when you're very drunk or very 14-years-old. Other than that, there are no excuses. When I speak of these plebians, I am specifically referring to self-righteous proclamations with little to no logic behind them. These are usually, but not always racist, homophobic, sexist, religiously intolerant, classist, ageist or etc.  I don't expect people to hold the same beliefs as I do (you know, that everyone is equal or some shit. Crazy, right?) but I DO expect people to do at least a little reading before they make absurd claims. I don't even bother responding to these people because it never gets you anywhere. They just use the same flawed logic until they feel they have "won" or they propose you "agree to disagree". No, I won't do that. Because you're wrong.

Not only that, but the under-educated and over-opinionated have the tendency to be hypocrites. This means one day they may be ridiculing the type of clothing they see someone wearing or how someone's accent sounds, then the next they are posting a status that is something along the lines of this: "ACCEPT ME FOR WHO I AM!!! GOD MADE ME THIS WAY, IT DOESN'T MATTER WHAT I LOOK LIKE OR WHAT I WEAR! I'M ME!!" Immediately after seeing a misguided status like this, I audibly express frustration every single time. The only other thing that involves Facebook that makes me yell (so angrily that people have been known to come to my aid mistaking it for a cry of pain) is Robot Unicorn Attack. If you have managed to make me so mad that it outweighs the fury of crashing into a wall during a particularly high score, you are a major fuckwit.

I would like to point out that there are a good number of people who do this sort of thing that do, in fact, hold the same views has I. Idiots come in all shapes and sizes.

Parents
We all wish our parents never heard about Facebook. Even if you love them and legitimately think they're cool people, you don't want them to "friend" you. I will use my own mother as a direct example, as her behavior is not uncommon as far as parental use of Facebook goes. Here is some recent activity:

Ahh..saturday night, stayed in and cleaned my kitchen..think I will go to bed now..goodnight FB

about an hour ago

Ma, no one cares that you cleaned your kitchen. Like, no one. Also, do not say "goodnight" to Facebook. It is a website, not a baby. Lastly, you have no idea how to use ellipses. I know if I don't specify what I am talking about tomorrow you will say "I read your thing. What are ellipses and why are you so mean?!" so here is a link for your use: http://grammar.quickanddirtytips.com/ellipsis.aspx

That kind of status isn't actually that bad, it doesn't annoy me past eyeroll level. What does, however, is when she contacts my friends when she can't get in touch with me. When I was living in Philadelphia and she was living in Florida, I would miss her calls a lot and maybe not call back right away. I was always losing my phone charger or the phone itself and I've always slept really crazy hours (sometimes I will not sleep for days and others I will sleep for 14 hours straight). Needless to say, it usually took me a day or two to get back to her. Regardless of the fact that she kind of expected it at this point, she would freak out every time she didn't hear back from me within about 4 hours. Freaking out means posting on my friends' walls or sending them messages. I can't even tell you how many times I've had friends walk into my apartment saying "Call your mom" as their greeting.

The worst, though, is the tagged photos. Dear lord, the tagged photos! I worked so hard to transform myself from the ugly duckling I was ages 5-16 to the mildly attractive goose I am today, I don't need my mom/extended family tagging me in photos like this:

I didn't even like soccer that much.

Clever assholes begging for attention through humor


For the record, I'd like to state that I love these people and probably fall into this category the most, myself. I have a ton of awesome comedian/writer/generally intelligent sarcastic friends to provide me with the lulz but being similar to them in my thinking style, they are completely transparent to me. I have never encountered such insecurity as I have with smart, funny people. These are your friends who post interesting photos with hilarious captions, witty statuses, and biting responses. They are brilliant and they know it. The problem with being brilliant, however, is that you're more likely to recognize your own flaws therefore becoming more likely to seek validation from others. In a nutshell, here is this person's general line of thinking: "Yes, I am an asshole. But look how funny I am! Don't you want to like my status? Does that mean you like me now? ARE YOU PROUD OF ME NOW, DAD?"

Over 9000 statuses a day users


I don't have much to say on this subject other than: Holy crap, do we really need a constant update on your life? Oh, you just went food shopping? That's nice. I don't give a shit, that's what Twitter is for.

Morons who talk about their significant others way too much


I think we've all been guilty of spending a little too much time describing how good our partner is at Rock Band or how amazing their Chicken Marsala recipe is, that's normal when you feel a certain amount of affection for another. The difference is how publicly we discuss this kind of thing and at what frequency. When I see people repeatedly posting statuses about their boyfriend/girlfriend/etc, I automatically think "Their relationship must suck and they are trying to compensate for it with PDA." I realize this is probably extremely presumptuous and a little heartless, but I myself, am extremely presumptuous and a little heartless.

I actually really enjoy the occasional "So-and-so is so amazing, he/she did this today and I love him/her!". It gives me hope in the idea that romance is not dead and I don't feel the overwhelming urge to drink myself to sleep as much that night because life is not so bleak and unforgiving as initially thought! However, when it is done to the extent where it appears forced, it does the exact opposite. In fact, when I come across something like this, I am much more likely to go rummaging in the cabinets for liquor.

Young mothers/fathers who use their babies as accessories


There is a bit of a running gag that people should be subjected to an IQ test before they are allowed to have children. This is flawed, unfortunately, as I know plenty of "stupid" people who make damn good parents. Intelligence and common sense are two entirely different things. I propose, instead,  we administer a simple, one question test consisting of only the following: Do you think your infant is a purse?

Taking pictures of your offspring is by no means wrong or strange. Seeing the growth of a child through time can be rewarding for many. Be that as it may, taking bathroom mirror pics while holding your baby and making a "sexy" face strikes me as a little odd. Ladies and gentleman (and those in between), please don't use your children as a cry for attention. It's kind of pathetic. It's not uncommon for these parents to also be the type of people who regularly update their statuses with details on how drunk they got the previous night. There is nothing wrong with letting loose once in awhile but once you're knocked up, it's time to let go of your party girl/boy image. Especially if your little one is old enough to check out your tagged photos. No one wants to see Mommy taking body shots.

Those who use Facebook as a soapbox


I saved this one for last as I knew it'd be the hardest for me to write. Why is that, you ask? Because these are the people I am most connected with and the most afraid to offend. Those who use Facebook as a means to "get the truth out" are inspiring to me. They truly do not give a fuck if people think they are crazy/disagree with what they believe in. But holy crap do they make me feel guilty. Whenever I click "not attending" to an invite for a community outreach workshop or I ignore a petition to save the whales, I feel as though I am a terrible parasite to society. I've made calls for Greenpeace, donated time and money to various causes I support, I get daily emails from the ACLU and text messages from the Human Rights Campaign. SEE, I'M A GOOD PERSON, I CARE ABOUT STUFF OR WHATEVER! I do feel like I have an obligation to take action and there's always more I can be doing but sometimes I just really don't feel like reading my friend's 4-page manifesto or watch their 20-minute long video on the benefits of eating gluten-free. I care about this stuff, I really do! But man, sometimes a girl just wants to watch a video of a llama getting tickled...and if that's wrong, I don't want to be right.



I've been trying to update this, no really, I have. I've been so exhausted and stressed that every attempt just turned into some melodramatic prose, but I gots me a nap and now I'm rarin' to go, yeeeehaaaaaaw!

Florida in a nutshell

As of yesterday, I have been in Florida for 3 months. It's been quite an interesting period for me. The first month was spent half in a haze of depression/loneliness and half in a state of excitement. Tiny lizards? Awesome! Sunshine? Awesome! Booze sold everywhere? Double awesome! Since then I've kind of settled into "Florida life", although the novelty as not fully worn off yet.

But I digress, what I really wanted to talk about are the types of people I have observed while living here. I've come to the conclusion that there are three categories the residents of my area can be grouped into:

1. Mid-life crisis transplants
Mid-life crisis transplants probably hold the biggest market of the population. No matter where you live, chances are you've encountered them. These are the 40-50 somethings who commonly move to Florida to "start over" after a recent divorce, retirement, drug addiction, or run-in with the law. If you ask them why they chose to do so, however, you will probably get the ever-popular response of "To get away from the cold" as the majority are from the North. With their children all grown, these men and women are usually experiencing their second childhood in the most stereotypical of ways. You can typically find them at bars playing pool, trying to get laid, and laughing way too hard at dirty jokes. But they also waste their days away on beaches, attending rock concerts, buying knick-knacks at flea markets, and driving around in convertibles. They're likely to be afraid of commitment (an after-effect of their failed marriages) yet they're also just as likely to wed a stranger during a trip to Vegas.

Almost every single person I've met that fits into this category adores the state of Florida and couldn't imagine moving. My own mother is a prime example of this.

My mom (Mommadukington the 3rd, if we're going to be formal about it) moved down here about 2 years ago and had been begging me to do so since day one. Everyday in the winter she would call me and ask how the weather was. If I responded with anything other than "It's warm and beautiful! There are children playing and birds chirping! A butterfly is emerging from it's cocoon!" she'd quip "Well, if you came to Florida you'd never have to deal with the snow again!" It became so annoying that I started telling her it was nice out during blizzards. When introducing me to her friends, she'll say something like "This is my daughter, she just moved here from Philly. It only took me two years to get her down here!" Cue laugh-track.

In the time that she lived here and I did not, she would occasionally send me gifts. She sent me magnets with my name on them below dolphins, t-shirts (and one belly shirt) with pictures of kittens and "FLORIDA" in big print on them, a glass bowl with a bag of green sand and the handwritten instructions "POUR SAND IN BOWL. STICK INSECTS IN." She meant incense, of course, but Mommadukes' spelling has never been her strong point. My favorite gift, however, was a music box with figurine penguins playing amongst a seashell background. There was a light you could switch on and it would change colors as the music played. I remember staring at it and thinking "This is very pretty, but why are the penguins in a seashell? Don't they know they are arctic creatures?"

2. Young adults and teenagers who hate Florida
This group is constructed of both natives to the state and transplants alike. With the natives you get the usual "I wanna get outta this town and see the world!" attitude that you'll really get anywhere while the transplants are wistful for their lives before they were towed along here by their parents. The reasons for the dislike are pretty varied; it's too hot, the governor sucks, there's too many bugs/snakes/alligators, the humidity messes with your hair, there's nothing to do.

The last reason "there's nothing to do" is one I would like to focus on. I live in an area where the older crowd and young children heavily outweigh my age group. There are plenty of bars and such, good ones, too, but there aren't many where the general customer base isn't over 40, maybe 35 if I'm being generous. I'm sure this is different in other areas like Miami, for example, but where I live seeing someone in their 20's outside of the fast food joint they work at is pretty rare. The first official day I spent in Florida as a resident, I went to buy a pack of cigarettes at a nearby gas station. When I presented my ID, the attendant looked at me with some suspicion (Yeah, yeah. I look like a 13 year old boy, I get it already!) and asked what part of PA I was from. After explaining I had just moved from Philadelphia to go to school she replied "Oh, you're going to hate it here. There's no young people. No, really. You're going to hate it." Welcome to Florida! The worst part of this story is I was actually in St. Petersburg at the time, which is a significantly "younger" city than where I'm living now.

Admittedly, I don't mind the age difference too much. I like the older crowd. They're fun and always willing to pay for your drinks. I do sometimes long for the dance clubs and binge drinking that comes with having companions my age, though.

While seeing young people is somewhat uncommon, the bulk of them fit into this category. Most of the natives have either never left the state or were forced back to it by necessity and are very resentful for it. Both the natives and transplants are generally more liberal than the majority of residents in the area (an older population usually translates into a more conservative population) and they're pretty resentful about that, too.

Besides what I've actually witnessed, I've come up with my own theory to why transplant teens and 20 somethings may hate Florida: They're tired of watching their mid-life crisis parents grind on anything with a heartbeat. It's gross to watch your mom get low.

3. Proud natives
Proud natives are simultaneously my favorite and least favorite people in Florida. They are some of the nicest and most polite people you will ever meet. And they will always make sure to draw attention to this fact. These are the people who always hold doors, start friendly conversations with strangers, say "please" and "thank you", and are more than willing to do a favor for just about anybody. They also have the tendency to harp on how rude Northerners are which, to do so unwarranted to someone who is from the North, I think is pretty rude in itself. They feel an overwhelming amount of pride from being born in a state that people from other parts of the US flock to and will gladly tell you any bit of Florida's history you'd like to know. Or wouldn't really like to know. Whichever. The information they provide is usually very interesting but goddamn it, if I have to listen to another condescending asshole tell me how inexperienced I am with Florida weather, I am going to explode. Yes, I know, it gets really hot and there are hurricanes. These are new things for me and I will understand soon, can we move on?

One of the most common questions a native will ask me is if I've tried alligator yet. I'm told it tastes like chicken, only chewier. No matter how many times I explain I've heard plenty about the subject and I have no interest in eating it myself, I get a full run-down of how it is prepared and what is to be expected. This conversation isn't nearly as bad as the one described above, as these are people who genuinely want you to understand their culture, but it gets old.

The majority of "proud natives" I've met have been surprisingly smart. It's not as though I was expecting them to be stupid, it's just that there have been particularly intelligent and insightful people I have had the fortune to encounter. Don't get me wrong, there's still tons of idiots. It's going to be like that no matter what part of the world you live. Here, there are pick-up trucks with "Git-R-Done" bumper stickers and douchebags in cargo shorts and sandals. In Philly there are SUVs with spinning rims and douchebags in Jersey Shore-like garb. Small differences.

There is one thing I often wonder about, however. There are many Florida natives that speak with a southern drawl. Everything sounds cooler with a southern accent, I admit. The thing is, I've met natives who have no traces of such. I'm sure that it probably has to do with what part of Florida you grew up in...but there is a small fragment of my mind that questions whether there are people who exaggerate their accents for the benefit of the impressed Northerners.

Overall, I like Florida. I don't love it, but I like it. I can wear tank tops everyday and no one notices how much I sweat because EVERYONE is sweating. There's more nature than I'm used to, the produce is cheaper and tastes better. I got to fall in love here. But just because I like something doesn't mean I'm not going to make fun of it. A lot.

The Unattainable Pursuit of Beauty: Weight

I apologize to anyone who actually reads this. My lack of updates mostly stems from the belief that my time is better spent reading or doing push-ups these days.

After a pretty eye-opening conversation with my boyfriend, I've been thinking about body image even more than I usually do.

Perhaps a week or two ago, Mike and I decided to spend our day carousing through Barnes and Noble (side note, it's sad times when the closest known bookstore is a large chain the next city over). We ended up in the cafe section of the place, he with a stack of books so large I was impressed by his ability to balance them all and me with the second issue of Sin City and a book of essays called Feed Me!: Writers Dish About Food, Eating, Weight, and Body Image. As far as representation of women goes, these two things are obviously quite different as, if you've never read it, Sin City's depiction of female beauty is pretty stereotypical. Not that I'm necessarily complaining, I'm a huge fan of anything Frank Miller.

So here we were, sitting across one another, reading with no intention of making a purchase. Mike would occasionally read aloud an interesting fact or opinion while I stayed relatively silent, immersed in my graphic novel. When my eyes tired of the monochromatic art, I switched over to Feed Me! and read the first essay entitled "He Called Me Fat; It Set Me Free". A thought rose in my brain, a thought that does so pretty often but I never voice in fear of sounding insensitive or politically incorrect. I considered stifling it for a moment but that would go against my ever increasing practice of radical honesty. So I set my book down and spoke.

"I'm always somewhat torn on how issues of body image are represented. On the one hand, I'm in full support of accepting what a person looks like no matter what and think society's standards are ridiculous. On the other, I feel as though recent portrayal of 'fat' being beautiful in media gives people an excuse to behave gluttonously."

At this point, Mike closed his own book and looked at me quite sternly.

"I don't think you really understand unless you've been big yourself."

I was taken aback by this admission. Unless we are discussing something that directly relates to our relationship or relationships in general, Mike is one of those people who uses cold logic to make his points (which is something I very much like and respect) as opposed to his own emotional experiences. So for him to say something like this, I was totally thrown of balance and forced to see things from a different perspective.

I have not, in fact, ever been "big". The most I've ever weighed is 135lbs and, while this was due to poor diet and inactivity, I have never had a BMI that would be considered overweight for my height. Even so, my weight has fluctuated enough that a number of people have commented upon my recent weight loss. At first, I was thrilled that I suddenly seemed to be more attractive in the general public's eyes. That got old quick. Those making said comments are good people, often people I am close friends with. They mean in it as a compliment but it only serves to slightly devalue my lifestyle change as a superficial matter rather than one based upon health and practicality (for anyone who is unfamiliar, I've been working out and eating better to get in shape for roller derby and parkour). I now have little to no interest in being skinny, I only want to be strong and I don't give a crap how that is reflected in the shape of my body. The point I'm making with this is that it bothered me to know that others apparently noticed a relatively subtle weight change and I can't even imagine what it's like to be judged that way for those who are truly considered to be "big". So no, I really don't understand.

Often times when I think of someone being big and beautiful, I think of my best friend Sabrina. Sabrina and I have been friends since the 8th grade and throughout the years she has gone through too many diets for me to really recall. When you have a body type that is considered to be large, you pretty much have two options for how you portray yourself in our society: You can either be fat with a self-deprecating sense of humor or fat and desperately trying to become skinny. For the first few years I knew her, Sabrina didn't seem to know which one she wanted to be and ended up in some unhealthy middle for a long time. She has always been "loud and obnoxious" and generally considered to be hilarious. She comes off very confident so it was very odd to witness her "eat nothing but Eggo waffles or toast with fake butter spray" phase. During her stint with the South Beach Diet, I was encouraging and even decided to give it ago myself when I thought I could "stand to lose 5 pounds". I'm pretty ashamed of my attitude in the past but alas, that's what being a teenager is all about.

Then, like magic, she didn't care. She didn't care if she was fat. She didn't care if she gained weight or lost it. She still referred to her size in her humor but now it consisted of "I'm fat and I'm hot as shit" jokes. It made me realize that I never really thought of her weight as a flaw, I never considered her to be anything less than beautiful. My concern and encouragement towards her diets came purely from the fear of how she may be perceived by others. Furthermore, if that's where my line of thinking stemmed from, whose to say that's not really how we ALL feel (or at least a strong percentage of us as human beings)? Maybe no one truly finds "fat" unattractive, we just think everyone else does. Her not giving a fuck made me want to not give a fuck. It made me want to accept myself and work towards it everyday. Sabrina unintentionally lead me down the road of healthy body image and as I was teetering over the line of "I still want people to think I'm pretty" and "Who gives a fuck?", Mike gave me that last push.

I am still very much of the opinion that people should treat their bodies well for health issues, but who am I to say what that entails? Perhaps the increase in the our society's average weight is merely human evolution, maybe climate change will soon cause an ice age that will kill off all us skinny bitches leaving the big and beautiful to roam free with no fear of judgement. It doesn't matter how ridiculous that sounds because the point is, it's not my place to decide how a person should live. If I was really as accepting and progressive as I like to think I am, I would never notice what a person was eating or how much exercise they were getting because when it comes down to it, it doesn't affect me in the least (with the exception for someone I cared for that had serious health concerns that were lifestyle related).

These days it makes me genuinely sad to hear my friends discussing dieting or wearing "slimming" clothes. After my conversation with Mike, I notice these things constantly. Men, women, those in between, we are all so image obsessed. Can you imagine what we could get done if we weren't all so busy reading about the benefits pomegranate juice has for your metabolism or cutting carbs? I really wish I could.

If you really want to be healthy, instead of dieting, I suggest you follow this simple guideline from Michael Pollan's In Defense of Food: Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants.

To sum this exceedingly long post up I'd like to share Feed Me!'s I-Love-My-Body Pledge.

"I pledge to speak kindly about my body.

I promise not to talk about the size of my thighs or stomach or butt, or how I have to lose 5 or 15 or 50 pounds. I promise not to call myself a fat pig, gross, or any other self-loathing, trash-talking phrase.

I vow to be kind to myself and my body. I will learn to be thankful for its strength and attractiveness, and be compassionate towards its failings.

I will remind myself that bodies come in all shapes and sizes, and that no matter what shape and size my body is, its worth kindness, compassion, and love."

It's 6AM as I begin to write and I, as usual, have not slept yet. I've had too much coffee to do so and not nearly enough rest to write well. You have been warned.

My weekend was lovely, as always. Bars, rolling around, cute guy with a cute dog, finally getting my Nook to work, sudoku, skating, spending time with Nicole, cooking, flooding my kitchen. Today (or yesterday, in non-gamer days) was spent productively. I wrote, worked out, read, registered for this summer's social justice institute in Denver, and ordered a copy of my birth certificate.

There are things in my life right now that are overwhelming and complicated. Nothing is quite as simple or as easy as it seems these days. But it's kind of amazing. I feel more like myself than I have in years while still being the person I really want to be. It's always been one or the other for me. I am, of course, not thrilled with how things turned out with Dan but I am pleased that he has been so honest and mature during our rare instances of recent communication. We're both slightly bitter, which is healthy at this point, but we've done well not to lash out at each other. Him even more so now that he is aware I am serious with someone. That being said, I am looking forward to when we can move on to a real friendship rather than the inevitable limbo of forced, polite conversation.

I'm also very grateful to be with someone who understands how tricky the situation is. I certainly don't believe it to be anything that should be a cause for concern but I do, however, realize most people aren't too happy to know their significant other is speaking with their ex. Especially during the beginning of a relationship when insecurity is at it's peak.

I'm rambling so I'm now going to abruptly finish this post. Goodnight (in gamer nights).

Missed Connections: Booty Like a Rainbow (rough draft)

The February night air was frigid and my thin, hooded sweatshirt was hardly providing the warmth I sought. As a lonely young man of 28, I was merely a face in the crowd in the bustling streets of Philadelphia. Walking by myself, I turned onto a street that seemed oddly desolate for this part of the city. The empty chill my surroundings supplied only served to lessen my resolve to continue on my journey and when it began to rain I became desperate. When my glasses began to fog and slip down the bridge of my nose from the moisture,  I ducked in to the nearest store, seeking shelter from the storm for a moment.

The bright lighting of my new environment made me suddenly aware I had entered a Dairy Queen. It seemed like an odd place for anyone to be while the gray slush-like remains of snow still littered the roads but I suppose I was really in no position to make such a judgement, as I was currently standing in said establishment. I noticed my Che Guevara messenger bag was completely soaked and swiftly went into action in finding a table and checking for damages to my belongings. My Moleskine journal was only slightly damp but I set it on the surface of the chipped, ugly table to air out the pages just in case.  Rustling around in my bag, I came upon a bus token for my ride home, a pamphlet an exuberant religious nut had shoved my way at the Frankford Terminal, and a few crumpled dollar bills soaked from the horrid weather.

I placed my things, save for my money, back down on the table and lifted my head to really take in my surroundings for the first time since I walked in. It dawned on me that if I wanted to continue the enjoyment of my temporary haven, I'd probably have to make a purchase. My idea was to scan the menu for something mildly appetizing I could nurse as I waited for the rain to slow, but what I saw distracted me from any previous intentions.

She was a vision. Clad in skin-tight booty shorts with the word "Juicy" written across her bottom, a boast I wouldn't dare to disagree with, and legs that seemed to go on for days. Her long, yellow hair flowed behind her, playing across the back of her shimmering gold tube top. I could only assume from her outfit that her blood was so thick and warm that the freezing temperatures outside did not effect her. Her skin, a hue of orange I had never seen before, shone against the fluorescent lighting of the ice cream freezer beside her and made her hot pink lips look even more tantalizing amongst the contrast. Another asked for her name and when she said "Sarah" it sounded more like a musical note than anything that could be formed with the English language. Her acrylic nails tapped against the counter as she loudly berated the young cashier for skimping on the chocolate fudge upon her sundae and I was instantly taken. Here was a woman so obviously well versed in the irony of American culture that she lived it in every moment! Dreams of our future and what our children might look like danced in my head. My usually pessimistic mind was overloaded with a hope that I thought only the sight of a rainbow could induce. She truly had a behind that could only be described as such. A booty like a rainbow.

As I regained my composure, I was made conscious of the fact that she was heading out the door. I painfully stammered to myself, not knowing what to say. She seemed to look behind her shoulder for an instant, the smile in her eyes connecting with mine. That brief glance said more than words ever could. We were soul mates. She loved me. She wanted me. She needed me. She'd rather die than be without me. Alas, the charge of emotions must have confused and frightened her because as quickly as she appeared, she was gone. I felt myself falling into a hopeless void of despair with the thought of her shrill, grating voice the only thing keeping me from being pulled under.

Sarah, my angel with a bottom of refracted light, where could you be?  I ache for contact with you again, my colleague lives in the area and I frequently visit. I am already discussing renting a bedroom in his house to be closer to you. My heart is yours, as is my time. We could make this something beautiful.

Original post:

booty like a rainbow – m4w – 28 (philadelphia)
Date: 2011-02-10, 12:03AM EST
Reply To This Post

i saw you at the diary queen you girl got it goin on. i heard you say your name is sarah you were wareing that silky smoothe booty shorts with the name “juicy” . you got me thinkin about wanting to make babies sometimes soon. hit me up i know a dude there i hang out a lot

* Location: philadelphia
* it’s NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

PostingID: 2206584259

Keep in mind that this is only the rough draft. Sabrina will be editing it for me (and has already provided a ton of super useful suggestions) and I'll be tweaking a few parts.

Okay, so I screwed up on the whole "update every day" thing already but...okay, no I don't really have a way to justify it. Oh well.

It's raining now. Hard, too. There isn't quite enough thunder or lightening to make me fearful so it's actually really comforting. It seems appropriate for my current mood. Being lucky enough to have someone you want around all the time but not being able to is bittersweet, much like how the rain makes me feel.

It's been a fantastic weekend emotionally and mentally but not so much physically. Ate too much, smoked too much, drank too much, and didn't work out nearly enough. Like an idiot, I tried to go for a run midday yesterday. It had to have been at least 80 degrees outside. Experiencing the horror of jogging in the heat makes me wonder if perhaps Florida has a lower crime rate than colder states. Who the hell wants to run from the cops in this kind of humidity?

Katrina and James may be visiting in a couple weeks and I am beyond excited. Katrina and I were nothing short of attached to the hip by the last few months I spent in Philly so I miss her probably more than anyone else.

Oh, so the price of a 4 year college here is still cheaper than a 2 year one in Philly. Jus' sayin'.

I'm going to try to make it a point to write every single day, even if it's short and horrible. I read this little piece of advice Chuck Palahnuik gave for aspiring writers not too long ago...he said that you should dedicate 20 minutes a day to writing. It can be total bullshit and if you're really not into it that day, you can stop at 20 minutes and just be done with it...but often times you find yourself really getting into it at that point and want to continue after your time is up. So that's what I plan on doing.

It's almost 8AM and I haven't slept yet so my thoughts are bound to be a bit erratic. In fact, I'm not even going to attempt to keep them organized right now.

I spent the last year or so learning how to be truly content in any environment. Now I feel like I'm learning how to be truly fulfilled, too. I thought for a long time you would have to choose between the two and I don't believe that very much at all these days. It's fucking incredible.

I lost body fat and gained quite a bit of muscle since I've been in Florida. The waistline to my pants are loose, the pant legs are tight, my shirts are overall bigger on me but the sleeves are tighter. It's sickening... in the good way. I plan on eventually posting some before and after photos but I've been lazy with actually taking any. I feel confident that I could keep up with the roller girls now but I don't want to just keep up, I want to be good. I'm either going to continue to lose body fat so I can take the route of speed or start really bulking to be an all around badass. I'll probably end up bulking just because I eat so freaking much and have no plans to stop doing so.

I'm tired and sore as all hell now so this update is going to be abruptly cut short.

End transmission.