4:55 p.m. - Tuesday, Oct. 19, 2004
Huh what show me what you got
Dudes.
Yesterday I encountered, bar none, the most beautiful boy I've seen since I moved to this god forsaken burg four years ago.
I mean, its not god forsaken really, but the boys...meh. Too much product, to much cologne, too much package hugging, bicep baring, intentional fashion...even the punks and the indie rockers are consipcuously self conscious. Its not attractive, dig.
So I rarely notice the opposite sex, and generally go about my barren days meandering through life, thinking about subjects far less titillating than the possibility of dirty hot metro lust. But who doesn't love that? Who doesn't LOVE seeing some fox on the metro, and making eye contact, and getting off at a stop that's four before your's just so you can walk behind him for a while, and continue the intrigue...its hot.
So, sufficed to say, I've been sorely missing this sweet metro action in my life. Truly. And then yesterday, I was on one of those endless escalators at the place des arts station, the kind where you can't see the bottom from the middle, and I heard a busker from the lower level. He was singing Sun is Shining, and he was playing it on this tweeked acoustic that was just a little out, but in all the right ways, you know? Made it all lazy and sexy...and the groove was different, not necessarily better, I mean its bob marley, but by the sheer fact that it was altered and not worse made it better in a sense..it made it his own, and he was rocking it.
So, I'm thinking, wow, a busker at place des arts who's not nasally screeching Nirvana songs in a heavy quebecois brogue...nice. Too bad its going to be some grizzled old maniac playing it - I know that sounds mean, but suspend your judgement, I'm letting you in on a glimpse of my inner dialogue, I cannot be responsible for editing it...
And anyway, IT WASN'T. It was this sizzlingly, scorchingly, smokingly, blisteringly, center of the sun, burning down the house hot boy, with a face like a young Steve McQueen, and a countenance like Cool Hand Luke. He was fucking me up. I mean, I felt all unstable and shit.
I kept looking too, I mean, I kept really looking, to make sure you know? I was convinced that it was an optical illusion, and that I'd look closer and his eyes wouldn't really be that blue, or his bone structure wouldn't be that fucking street regal...but they were. It was all there. And he had converse on, and a blue prison style shirt, and rolled denim; He was a fucking dream.
So I gave him a buck and told him his shit was hot. I think he gave me a bit of a sexy grin, but fuck it, of course I was on my way to the library with no make up, glasses, and my bangs parted in the middle? Why in the middle? Why do I have to care so little about my appearance when I leave the house on the very day that Zeus hurls lightning down to the earth, cracking open the ground and summoning from the depths of Hades a dark but golden demi-god, right here on Bleury street?
From this point on I solemnly vow to arrive at the metro looking aces every day. I'm going to wait it out dude. I'm going to blow out my hair, and wear my tweed skirts and my mary janes; I'm going to use mascara and lip gloss, and dab Stella McCartney behind my ears...I'm going to knock that boy out if I ever get the chance to see him again, JESUS CHRIST as my witness, he's coming back with me if I have to drug him and drag him.
Wish me luck.
