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| What do you do with hope
when
there doesn't seem to be a reason to hope anymore
when
you can't find the reason to hold on any longer
you can't hold on any longer
you won't hold on any longer?
How do you know hope is worth holding onto?
How do you know hope is still worth fighting for?
When do you give up?
When do you stop looking like a fool?
What happens when hope is empty, when hope is gone?
"I grow old . . . I grow old . . .
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
I do not think they will sing to me."
- T.S. Eliot
"The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock"
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HOLLYWOOD—Clooney,
whose steely gaze has captivated millions around the globe, has
attained the highest possible scores in every known measure of
attractiveness. ********************** Finally. Long overdue attention to a most important topic and a most favorite subject. 
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| I don't consider myself a child of the '80s but, lately, my favorite songs are from that era of frizzy hair bears, leggings and football player-esque shoulder pads. I love this song,.....
"You know I love you even when you don't try,...."
And I love the fact that the band was playing live on Soul Train. I <3 Soul Train. If that show is still around, how the heck do I get my 15 seconds of freaky-deaky fame as a dancer on the show?!? | | |
| I miss writing. Maybe I'll write more later.
Carrie, if you're somewhere out there reading this, I miss you. I got your letter and I wanted to cry.
Tina, if you're somewhere out there reading this in the Land of the Happily Married (haha) - I heard some news about you. (Good news. Exciting new!) IS IT TRUE?????
Liz - Where are you?? I miss you a lot, too.
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| I went to a Halloween party the other night. Probably wasn't a good idea. In hindsight, I think I knew it wasn't a good idea but, what can I say? I'm a sucker for parties and I hope for the best even when I know I can only expect the worst. =P Ugh. Dude. Can somebody please tell me when exactly did Halloween become a night to unleash, not the demons and dragons and ghosts and ghouls, but the divas and dragqueens and showgirls and skin? And since when did costume options for women become so limited? Let's see - You can choose from the naughty schoolgirl, the naughty nurse, the naughty French maid, the naughty cop, the naughty devil, the naughty teacher, the naughty pirate, the naughty Lil' Red Riding Hood, the naughty "fill-in-the-blank" What the bloody, man. You could probably be the naughty shoe or the naughty spatula and still manage to find some way to hike that skirt up a little higher or pump some cleavage out of that bustier. [Side note: Ladies, I just want you to know - you don't need to show all that to be beautiful. You ARE beautiful. That's it. But, who am I talk? I still struggle. *Sigh*] So, yes, on Halloween, suddenly everybody becomes, "Oh, you bad boy," or "Oh, you bad girl." When did the definition of "bad" become synonymous with "let's get into bed together, baby?"
I ain't gonna lie - there were some hot-@$$ women workin' it that night. (Wow. I would make a great shady Asian guy.)
Anyhow, the point of this entry is simply, "WTF, man. WTF." I don't get it. Do y'all remember that story I shared some time ago about a horrible, horrible night at a local bar where some idiot yelled at me, "Merry Christmas!" in the middle of February? WTF. How drunk was that mofo? So, I'm walking out of this Halloween party and a group of guys is walking towards my friend and me. One of the guys shouts at me, "Merry Christmas!" Umm. WTF. It's freakin' Halloween. Was I wearing green and red eye shadow? Did I have Christmas lights strung up? Was I sporting a tinsel skirt? Was I giftwrapped? NO. HELL NO. Did I run into the same guy again? Could it be that there is more than one village idoit in this town? Yes - that is very possible. I know, I know - it blows your mind. But, take a seat, people. It's true - there are probably more than a few idiots running 'round town on any given Friday night.
My friend hypothesizes that I must somehow exude a "Christmas spirit." Hahaha! I love it. I love it! That's like telling me Cruella Deville gives you that warm, fuzzy feeling. Hmm. I need some help, people. Calling all men! Ladies, you are also more than welcome to channel Sherlock Holmes. Why do you think guys shout "Merry Christmas!" at me? Are they simply drunk? Are they simply stupid? Are they simply drunk and stupid? Are some guys that desperate for Christmas to come around? Do I look like a reindeer?. Oh dear - Do I look like Santa Claus? Am I growing a white beard and a gut?
Somebody, anybody, please help me solve this mystery.
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