Sick Obssessions

i have a lot of 'em. hell, i could write a lengthy list and have it published as a coffee table book. what the hell is a coffee table book anyway? like, a book for display? who thought of that ass-stupid idea? what the fuck? books are for reading. words. strung together to form sentences. that together make up paragraphs. all for the purpose of conveying ideas and stories... coffee table books... i read coffee table books, and you know what, they're not particularly well-written. because no one expects you to read them. grr...

so even though i feel emotionally wrecked, and up for the stimulation inherent in skinning an orange, i continue to check my online sites. i log in, i search for members, i look at head shots, i read profiles, etc. at work, on occassion; not a brilliant practice but hey, i have nothing better to do while i'm here. i do, but i have plenty of time. actually, there's a chingon of work waiting now that i'm back from my coffee break. please hold...

back. i have work, but its easy, so i'll deal with it after this post, the point of which i've completely forgotten. hell, i don't need one... i write the words, you read 'em. its as simple as that, really. fuck-all. so yeah, um melissa just shared with me a list of exchanges taken word for word from the pads of court stenographers. so for officebiatch and speechie, you little less-than-paralegals-you, here's one to brighten your day:

Q: Now doctor, isn't it true that when a person dies in his sleep, he doesn't know about it until the next morning?
A: Did you actually pass the bar exam?

moving on... right, sick obssessions. trawling the sites... i do that. i continue to do that. even though the thought of actually going so far as to meet someone from the sites stirs panic deep in my heart-chamber. but i'm still lonely, and its still the easiest way, in that it doesn't require the actual effort of figuring out where to go, screwing up the courage to go there, going, and then the anguish of awkwardly standing in a corner and maybe making small talk with some ugly little dwarf who has "taken a shine to me," as they say. in the eighteen hundreds.

i rarely run across anyone up to my impossibly high standards, my standards being what they are (impossibly high). the only people who seem to mail me are really really young people (i firmly believe that young people are only here to serve as a viable food source if the sun should burn out and mass famine ensues) and twitchy aquarians. the aquarian and i have been mailing. the young people, i simply don't respond to. not kind, but kinder i'm sure than giving them some horribly transparent lie about why i won't talk to them. (BECAUSE I DON'T LIKE YOU!!!)

i don't know what i'm doing here. i'm tired of being lonely. and really, i'm just looking for someone warm and witty, funny, intelligent, attractive, sensual, good, kind, and at least half as amazing as me.

apparently thats a lot to ask for.