A do-nothing tough guy is always to avoid sexual contact with a priest.
A sharp-dressed stickfigure is always carelessly penny-pinching.
A local politician near his bad daughter is always carelessly gentle.
A midget related to a nutcase is always secretly curvacious.
A vibrator is always mud-wrestler-like.
A cardinal number is always funky.
Another brumsky is always sought-after.
A peaceful shy brownie is always accurately hairless.
The male bonding is always well-thought-out.
A pitbull in bed with corduroys is always sought-after.
A suspender is always ostensibly tomboyish.
The Angel of Equations is always faggy.
An All Cows Eat Grass is always faggy.
The Texan is always sharp-dressed and faggy.
Peter Sellers is always stupid fresh.

a lot of Ass Parade pictures

An underhandedly dreamy tossed salad is always two-faced.
The red wheelbarrow is always inexorably bitchin'.
The red wheelbarrow is always faggy.
The red wheelbarrow is always myself.
The red wheelbarrow is always gentle.

In high school I'd spend a lot of time in this coffee shop, especially as the bitter cold of a winter in New England would settle in. I would sit there after school like some pretentious little art snob writing my poetry.
Damn, I guess I was really hip back then ...

During my junior year there was this girl who worked there -- she had henna-red hair and a smile that would brighten anybody's day. Her name was Heather. She was cute, interested in a lot of the same things I was, and most importantly for a high school art dork: she really liked my poetry.

At first, she and I would talk during her break, then we started hanging out after her shift ended. And the next thing you know, we were dating.

I'd dated a couple of girls before, but I hadn't been in love. Heather changed all of that, coming into my life like a whirlwind ... she even met my parents' standards. It was unlike anything I knew.

It was perfect.

After several months, things ended abruptly. She said I was too cynical, too bitter. She couldn't see me anymore. I flipped out and before I knew it, my friend Joe was talking me out of a near-suicidal state.

Months went by and I struggled to get over her. My family moved away, and the distance helped. I didn't bump into her anymore.

It was over.

And then she called. She'd had this horrible experience with some guy she'd dated. She realized that she was wrong, that she wanted me back. I was confused but after a couple of weeks, we got back together.

We dated for a month or so until the distance became too difficult, and then we broke up again. This time it was my decision, and I felt better for having done it.

Over a year passed without seeing her. She was away at school and I was living hand to mouth in Boston, pursuing my life as a writer.

A couple of nights before Christmas, I gave her a call. I knew she'd be in town, and I'd tried to convince myself that I was calling only for curiosity's sake.

We got coffee that night, rekindled old flames, and nearly wound up in bed together. She told me she was quitting school and that she'd be back in a month or so. We could finally make things work. I tasted perfection on the air again.

She returned in late January, engaged to some guy she'd met at school. It was over again, before it even started. The things we'd shared, the lamentations that we had not lost our virginity with each other ... all gone.

I walked away and didn't look back.

Of course, when their engagement broke off, all that changed. This time it took a coke habit she'd developed to keep me away.

I still think about her, no matter how much time has passed. Writing this now makes me want to call her more than ever.

But you really can't ever go home again, can you?

From my 8th grade journal
I'm reading this tonight at the Happy Ending series -- the curator, Amanda Stern, wants people to read and do things they haven't before. I think this self-motivating journal entry from when I was 14 qualifies.

March 25, 1982 To reach personal & spiritual perfection one must achieve a proper foundation [to] lay it on. One must live a clean, healthy life and have high morals and be virtuous. That is, you do not have to be divine to be perfect. Or do you [.] Benjamin Franklin tried to be perfect, using his little booklet with 13 virtues to combat the many temptuous [sic] evils. But he was defeated. That is not to say he was a better person in the action of this deed. He was happy to see himself improve day after day. What Franklin did (and so [many] countless others did) I must do. I am certainly not a good person. Far from it. But then all human beings, being driven by their human weaknesses, aren’t good either. So I shall try to be a good and wholesome person, imitating Our Lord Jesus Christ and the brilliant thinker & philosopher Socrates. Both kind of introduced things to us (ignoring any leanings to my Religion) that greatly improved the human race. I may not go that far, but as far as I’m concerned I’ll be satisfied with strictly internal, personal pleasure. Oh how I’ll be tempted. To just throw away all responsibilities and turn to Satan. That, I must admit, is very tempting. But it is through accepting our responsibilities and working toward richeousness [sic] that we shall achieve satisfaction and Eternal Life. Every step you take towards richeousness [sic] is a step on the flight of stairs to God. But I sure hope I won’t trip on the way up into the infinite flight.