Author Archives: Filemon

Okay, So I'm a Little Tired.

So, JungFroid tells me, “Dude. My parents are going to be gone Friday and Saturday. I’m going to have a party!”
I say, “Okay.”
Then, Saturday morning, around five o’clock, I start to think, “Whoa, I have to work in six hours.“

4AM: Stop Karaoke
5AM: Arrive at home
9AM: Get up for work.
11AM: Arrive at work.
2PM: Leave work. Head to Farthest end of Metro system from where I am currently to help friends move.
3PM: Arrive at Chipmunk’s house. Play with three month old daughter and three year old daughter for nine hours.
1AM: Arrive at home and hopefully fall asleep.

Chipmunk: “Oh, and these are pictures from when I was a dancer at Masquerade.”
A short silence is observed as pictures Chipmunk dressed as the “innocent one” in white stockings, garter belt, bustier and heels are perused. Chipmunk beams.
Krasota: “Look at her shoes, they’re beautiful!”

PraxisLoki: “There are shoes?!”

I smell like baby. Not that that’s a bad thing. I find it interesting that I actually enjoyed myself–not a surprise, since I’m usually good with children that aren’t mine. (Like I’ve had any.) They’re much easier to deal with when you can just give them back. I had to tell the guinea pig story tonight, at Krasota’s insistence. Ask me about it sometime. It’s actually somewhat amusing.

Tagged

Where Does the Time Go?!

Wednesday: Karaoke
Come home at three in the morning. Sleep at four.

Thursday: Pump It Up night at Dave and Buster’s in White Flint
Come home at midnight. Sleep at four.

Friday: Anime
Come home at two in the morning. Sleep at four.

Saturday: Pump It Up (again.)
Come home at yadda yadda yadda yadda. Sleep at four.

Tagged

Perhaps this next train is the one. The one that contains the girl that you’re going to marry. A smile creeps up onto your face.

Or, it could contain your true death, the one to end your suffering, the one to end the little deaths you experience each day.

You scan the cars for beauty and instability. Neither category in the cars tonight.

Sometimes, you see it on the platform waiting. Either putting on makeup or mumbling curse words and kicking recycling bins.

Neither is very hard to spot.

9/11

What can I say?

What words?

We all wish to sleep, and wake up and find that none of this ever happened.

I’m okay–but I’m not.

Dance Dance

Join the Revolution.

(banner for ddr petition)

You know you want to.