T h e A d v e n t u r e s o f C h i c a g o J o

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Passwords, Poop Chutes, Poetry, Pointless

2005-12-12† Ė† 5:25 p.m.
As soon as I logged in this morning, I was prompted to change my password within the next twelve days. It took a total of about twelve seconds to change it, removing my Benito-related cutesy password. Talk about timing... There would certainly have been a bit of vomit retched each time I typed ď[real name] greatestĒ.

I have awesome friends in each of you, and itís much appreciated. Really, people, Iím doing fine. The sweet letters are making me cry more than his recent poop-chute actions.

I was having a conversation with a friend about writing poetry and how itís just too wussy. Maybe your woman digs that. I wonít fault you there if sheís the gushy type. However, if a guy were to write me poetry, Iím a lot more likely to punch him in the belly and then dump him.

I once had a boy write me poetry about how my eyes were like something really nice and blue and how my skin was creamy and my lips like pillows or some bullshit like that. I was young, but it still made me want to upchuck. I much prefer something simple and to the point:

Roses are red
Violets are blue
You are a jerk
Fuck you, fuck you

Donít read too much into that. Itís not directed at Benito. Blue and Fuck You happen to rhyme, and it made me giggle when I was IMing with my friend.

Sure, I have plenty of things to say to Benito right now. But, really. Whatís the point? If he ever came back, Iíd have no assurance that he wouldnít flake again. (Isnít there a quote about shame on you and shame on me? Note that thereís nothing about what happens a third time...) And without assurance I could count on, what would be the point?

Sure, take my heart again. Allow me to do everything I can to be a more emotionally available and open person with you, only to be left guessing when you mumble a few apologies and then scamper away from my condo.

I want me some collateral, and words certainly wonít be enough. If he wants to come back, Iíll take a fat diamond. If nothing else, I can pawn it when if flakes again.

So there.

Now donít go thinking that I think heís coming back. Iím no dummy. The manís gone. Gone-gone-gone.

Like the hair swept away after a haircut... Like the thought that the world is flat... Like rotary phones, cassette players, and the Commodore 64... Like the band Creed being called good music... You get the picture.

G-O-N-E, gone!

On that note, Iím leaving work. Like dinosaurs, dodo birds, and the Australopithecine...†

Miss something?

Moving Day - 2008-02-15
Working from Home is Glorious - 2008-02-13
Speaking in Tongues - 2008-02-07
I Have My Reasons - 2008-01-25
Got an Itch, Fix it, Shine it Up, Sing it Out - 2008-01-23

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