ytics.google.com into my search bar because you would have to type out anal first. I guess it’s because I have such a deep hatred for anything anal that it irks me even when I’m not specifically searching anal-type things, like google analytics.
I feel like I’m in high school again, finding music for the first time thinking that these waves pulsing through the air where the only thing that understood me; nothing else. In reality, it’s written by someone who understands my predicament more than I do myself.
The other evening, I had a date with a Brooklyn girl I’ve been seeing occasionally. The night started perfectly fine with a lovely dinner at some trendy new restaurant followed by drinks at some trendy new lounge. Around midnight, the yawning started for both of us, induced not by boredom but by sheer exhaustion, as she’d been out until 5am the night prior and I’d just returned from a week long jaunt to Cali. After she’d stifled a fifth yawn, drinks were downed and we made our way back to my place.
There was constant kissing caressing and fondling in the cab, elevator and hallway of my building and when we got inside, we didn’t even bother turning on lights since clothes were being unbuttoned and a hasty retreat towards the bedroom was well underway, a trail of carelessly strewn garments falling in our wake. Condoms were retrieved and it wasn’t terribly long before they were employed.