I need to be taken seriously. And I also need for you to laugh at my jokes.

Chaos and pajamas, with a side of perverts looking at your socks
From the yuppie bar, of course, where else?

"Your sweater says, I'm sexy, but no grabby grabby."
That's exactly what I was trying to say with this sweater.
I mean, only grab me if you love me.
I'm also wearing a ski cap that gets me mad props.
The girl from Spain said it was the BEST kind of hat.

Both of us furrow our brows when she tells me the story of how hers was stolen right before Christmas.
I imagine hers was coral or tangerine.
She was grieving her ski cap.  It's true.
The theme of the day was grief.

My old friend shot himself a few weeks ago.
I obviously remember the last time I saw him, selling DVDs at the Mt. Royal Tavern.

I remember his pet ferret.  I remember when he stole a golden cross necklace from the house where I was house-sitting.  I remember he was always slinky like a cat burglar with everything from women's hearts to regular larceny.

Back to this weekend;
I was too tired and I had been out all day watching the break dance competition.
This was the after party.

My ski cap says that I am pretty much a teenage boy and you should leave me alone.
Unless you love me, of course.

But my mind is always drifting toward what Little Joe calls a
Hollywood Kiss.

Lay down.

C'mere.

Get away from me.

We laugh about this shit.  Give nicknames to people, but, it's not a joke.
Like, MRSA, lolz.

I need to be taken seriously.  And I also need for you to laugh at my jokes.

No wonder your grandfather said you were sexy, he said.  I can just see you with your hand on your hip, looking, how old were you?.... Eight years old.  

We really laughed hysterically when he said that.  Like a fashion show no matter what you wear.

It was a compliment.

You could wear a burlap sack and look good.  Stuff like that from amputees always comforts me.  
I know why and it would just take way too long to explain.  It's not as much of a bummer as it is weird and awkward.

Growing up with the Munsters.  

It's muscle beach when someone can tell you to grab onto their elbow
and then they make a muscle and you fly up in the air like a monkey on a tree branch.
It's like Popeye.  Spinach.  It's childhood.  

Adolescence.
C'mere.  I wanna tell you a secret.
I need you to steal your mother's car tonight.  At 2am.

The phone was tapped.  It was the very early nineties.  My friend's father had his own phones tapped.
It's hilarious now.  It was NOT funny at the time.

Stream of consciousness.
I have to do something terribly adult tomorrow.
A memorial gathering.  None of this was what I intended to write.