Today I did something splendid. I went shopping. Express is having a huge sale, so all you metrosexual anonymous people, get your money's worth. I got two shirts and a polo. I feel good. The only problem is that now I own too many shirts and not enough pants. Dilema! I guess I have to continue shopping until a perfect equilibrium exists. Shopping rocks and kicks major ass at the same time. I have my mother to thank for that. Oh and all my female plutonic friends during high school and after. You guys didn't give me any sex but you showed me the meaning of looking good. You molded me into the Metrosexual that I think I am now. Why do poeple deny it? I think it's an honor to be labeled with such an awesome distinction. Jane Addams is a wonderful high school. Free manicures and massages, and a greater understanding of the women mind. I am no expert but I aspire to learn more as time flows.
Back to the clothes, I have two upcoming dates and I hate for my dates to see me in the same clothes more than once. Thats crazy right. And I have clothes that she hasn't seen but hey, who can take a chance?

Anyway today has been a pretty good day. I feel appreciated and I am hopeful for the future. My endevours are still very paitent. Part of me wants to speed everything up, but the rational side of me knows that anything worth waiting for, is heaven upon arrival. El que por su gusto muere, la muerte le sabe a gloria.

Those are words to live by. I am happy. What else do I have to be.
Dancing at umbrella on Friday is something that I am anticipating. I love dancing, and I love girls that can dance. Even if just a little.
Cabaret at Danny's skylight is whats in store for monday. Then acentos on tuesday. Damn I have a pretty busy social life. Finally. But a girlfriend wouldn't hurt either. A steady one. But I take what I can get, and I must admit that I am having the time of my life.

Sparatic sort a poem:

When adding faces to empty asses images may appear larger than proximity.
Thoughts too dense to be ever written down on toilet paper made of bamboo leaves.
Images too blue to be painted on an empty sky.
High as a kite.
High as a word junkie.
Ephedra rejects, coming out of pozac nightmares.
Uppers, downers, inbetween butt cheekers.
Lost in emotional anarchy, found in bullshit heaps of smiles and shitcrumps spilling over streets paved with water down lemonade.
This is poetry standing still, through motions only visibal in the churnning of bowels.
Intestant genius.
Paranoid judges who wear black thongs with white ties over the rims, under robes washed in used cooking grease.
Even worst, McDonald over used cooking grease.

The End I guess.

I just wrote it, I have no idea what it means. Please don't over anaylize it. I just wrote it. Anyway thats it and thats me.