Jesus Christ, Columbus Is Boring the Living Shit Out of Me

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Look. I’m willing to give anyone the benefit of the doubt. But Columbus, Ohio, is seriously boring the living shit out of me.

I know, I know it isn’t fair. And what’s wrong with football?? Well, if I could just go look at a goddamned tree without 50 strangers jogging by, listening to Arcade Fire, that’s what. And that’s if I’m lucky.

Look, people. Do something surprising. Catch me off fucking guard. PLEASE, for the love of CHRIST. I know, I know. I need to just move away. And why not? Maybe one day I’ll be like Arthur Russell or Charles Burchfield, and everyone will say, “Oh yeah… that girl… I was at a party with her once”, or whatever.

If you’re entertaining, please be my friend. I have had enough of stupid hipsters whose brains you could go effortlessly spelunking in. You throw something in there, you never hear a sound. It’s bottomless and puffy, like an animated cloud in a Youtube video. Smooth sailing.

I’m too old to be young, and too young to be old. I liked Lou Reed at 12 years old and have pretty much been 12/49 ever since. Please help me. I am not being superior. I am just bored out of my goddamned mind.

What makes it worse, is the horniness. Yes. I admit it. It is spring, and I can tell. But I’m physically incapable of making it with anyone who isn’t ideal. At this point. It makes for a lot of crappy encounters. Dumb dudes who want to sleep with me, but can’t carry on a conversation. Smart dudes who aren’t quite my type. Maybe I’m being too picky? I don’t think so. To be tacky and quote E.T. , “This is reality.” Babies happen, all kinds of shit happens. Emotions happen.

What I want is not findable. I want Buddy Cole from Kids in the Hall, but I want him to like women. And also overcome me physically. And for him to listen to old R.E.M. and not be a dude. But he has to like bacon, and be a farm husband. And have dimples, and brown hair and brown eyes. And dress sharply. I’d like to iron things, fold things and make beds. He has to understand Andy Warhol, or at least Bresson. There have to be things I don’t understand about him, just a few. Nice hands. Most of all, please don’t bore me. And love me. Be a reader.

This is why I’m going to be a cat lady. The worst feeling, is feeling so full of wonderful things, and not knowing where to put them, or give them to. No one. No one.

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