bus rides home and entires unfinished.

As we were forced to go home this weekend and I was blessed with two long long bus rides, I got to a lot of thinking. Particularly in the time between the bus rides while sitting at the Carle Place diner with Dah-veed listening to his eventful, yet claimed coke-free life at NYU. Do I really want to be a rock journalist? Am I cut out for the job? Is my hip hipster enough for any magazine I want to write for? Do I even know enough? It’s not like I really need anything Comm is going to teach me to write for any of the magazines I want to write for.
Every time I’m with David the answer to all of those questions posed above is no no no and no. He’s much hipper than me (even though I hate that goddamn word: hipster/hip), he knows so much more about music (the entire damn field of music) and he never lets anything get boring ever. I, on the other hand, only want to listen to what I want to listen to, I get boring easily (mostly because I enjoy extrinsic silence and intrinsic thoughts), and I have been calming down in my outfits (and even my crazy ones aren’t hip, they’re pretty lame). So as much as I have the passion, I just don’t think I have IT.
I constantly try to repress thoughts about the future, not just because at this point in my life they’re a waste of time, but because I’m pretty sure I’m going to end up in advertising (most likely for sugar high cereals causing more people than ever to get diabetes), or in PR (kissing ass to Paris Hilton (causing the other half of the nation to vomit up the sugar high cereals), or in publishing (banging my head against the wall for watching Scrubs throughout college instead of taking Bio 101 and saving some people with diabetes). I just don’t see the New York Times or Spin or Filter or Fuse or anyone with a music say wanting me. It’s terribly sad. But I’m sticking to my dream anyway. Because the thoughts of PR or publishing or advertising make me want to cry.
Being with david makes me so happy that I’m not him, and so jealous that I’m not him. He constantly gets compliments on his sweet hipster styles. And yet fuck him! Fuck him so damn hard for rejecting Jae-Honey. She was by far the coolest person (maybe besides Leslie Faylor) that he knows at NYU and he rejected her. Four years ago he would have killed to have her (because she is a shorter me). I fucking hate him so much for that. For fucking over another girl like me. He is such a tool. He knows he’s a tool and he loves to dangle it above me. He loves to brag about his lady friends and rub in his offers to be the bitch for some record company. And then he loves to degrade everything he knows I want to be. tool Tool TOOL! I hope Jae-Honey realizes that he’s not worth any of her time. Not even as friends. This is partially out of jealousy and partially out of hate. The way I’ll always feel about him.