-- Besides giving myself a kick in the ass, and besides moving out to the
much more happening and babe-o-liscious city of Santa Monica, one other
reason why I'm glad I'm moving out is that I'll feel like I'm out of Ray
and his mom's hair. Living with me becomes a tiring experience, as
Jenny will soon find out, b/c I start to get inconsiderate, and eventually
people get tired of me because I'm so damned boring.
And I am boring; yesterday when I was on the phone with Akiyo, I told her how work and my webpage were the only things I have in my life right now. She's said that's pretty sad, and that recreational drug use doesn't count (damn, that is a third thing!). But with everybody moving out of town (Ray might be headed out to DC), there really aren't a whole lot of people left for me to hang with, compared to when I first came back to LA at Christmas of 97. Maybe I just smell bad. (Have you ever smelled someone who just reeks all the time? What the hell is up with that? Hasn't anyone ever pointed out to them how bad they smell? Or haven't they notice that birds fall of tree limbs when they walk past? Yeesh.)
Anyhow, I'm digressing. It's pretty easy to sense that Ray has gotten tired of me; I interpret his semi-frequent excursions away from LA as little breaks to get away from the humdrum of me. And his mom can't like me much, either. I don't really talk to her, which annoys Ray, and so Ray sometimes has to act as the intermediary between her and me. That bugs the shit out of him. Plus I'm not much of a housemate; I come home, play with my Playstation or watch TV with Ray, maybe eat something, and that's it. I guess it's the uncommunicative nature of me, particularly when it comes to authority figures (which is sort of how I view Ray's mom). I don't know how to talk to them, or what to talk to hem about, so I just shut up and keep to myself. That's gotta be annoying -- it'd annoy me! And so I feel like I'm contributing to the tension in the house between Ray and his mom, and I feel like shit because of it. Ray doesn't deserve that kind of shit from a friend, and neither does his nice ole' mom, who really is a sweet lady.
Of course, now I'm also afraid she'll find my bongs. I haven't had much luck with hiding bongs from mothers; my mom found my old one, and then Winston's mom found the one I left at his house a week after I bought it. Lucky for me, she didn't seem to know what it was for. Good thing, too, b/c Winston's dad is a heavily armed communist.
On the other hand, there's boob jobs. I've never cared much for boob jobs, not being a real tittie man myself. I think I really started turning against boob jobs when I started going to strip clubs and I saw how easy it was to distinguish between real boobs and fake ones. The fake ones look like flesh-colored softballs stapled to their chest. Granted, when they're shoved in your face they don't seem as bad, but they just look so damn unnatural. I guess what really worries me is what's going to happen to all these women when they get older. They'll be 50, wrinkly and sagging everywhere except for their chest, which will still be perky and sticking straight out. That'd look freaky. Then again, maybe that's what old doods want.
I've only seen one person who really needed a boob job, and that was the last time I was at a strip club. This girl had practically no boobs, just golf ball sized sacks with really droopy nipples. They looked like a ten-year old's breasts with the nipples of a twenty-year old. Yick. Too bad, because she was actually pretty damn cute; had a nose stud too, which I kinda liked. So she could have used a boob job. But nobody else. I remember when my favorite stripper at the old club I went to in Inglewood got a boob job. I hadn't seen her for a while, and so when I did, she said, "Do you notice anything different about me?"
So I checked her hair, her waist, her fuck-me heels; nothing. Then I thought, Oh , boobs. So I asked her inquisitively if she got a boob job, and she said yeah, and took off her top to show me. The scars were still fresh. I said I liked her boobs the old way, and she smiled and said thanks, and she was sorry if I didn't like her new ones. Well, it wasn't that I didn't like her new ones...Anyhow, she was the prettiest, friendliest dancer I ever had. Hannah from Chula Vista. <SIGH> Let the stiffy commence...
I haven't even mentioned the problems that fake titties could cause. There's leakage, and they could slip out and some woman could wind up with a boob on her armpit or all the way around to her back. Or the chick could just change her mind, and then she's gotta get em' removed and have boobs that were saggier than before she implanted em'!
The perils of vanity. Natural women of the world, unite! Just make sure you shave your armpits and your legs.