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Andrew George

January 1999

Life, love, and other mild forms of depression.

I know, I know, you're probably thinking, "What the hell does a 13-year-old know about life?" but hey, hear me out. My first problem, other people. Don't they just piss you off? They don't see things the way you see them, don't think the way you think. You loved this movie, and they despised it. You feel that people sometimes should voice their opinions, they think that that's just being whiny and bitchy. You see the stuff that Jean-Paul Gaultier is art, they think it's trash. Let's face it, people can just suck. But on the other hand, sometimes a difference of opinion makes great conversation. Opposites attract, yin & yang, all of that stuff. Hell, if we all thought the same way, the world would look something like a Helmut Lang show; carbon copies, Xeroxed. Bland, like mashed potatoes.

Problem #2, fate. That horrible little thing that Aquarians (not the zodiacal symbol, the way of life) think holds the whole world together. How dare it make things go a certain way? Like, when you're totally into some guy, and then he turns out to be straight. Or you're just starting to get in to the whole "brown is the new black" thing, and it becomes passe. Like I just bought a new shirt from Gucci and, of course, it shrinks to a size even Kate Moss couldn't pull off. Damn. I used to think I just had bad luck, but now I know better, I just have bad karma. I think karma is contagious. Once, I had just partied with some trust-fund girl whose boyfriend (boyfriend, sugar daddy, pimp, whatever) had just bought a beautiful Andrew Marc fur coat, and the next day MAF and PETA splashed her with red paint. Like, sure, I'm PC et al, and I'm against fur as much as any of them, nut still, it's a $20,000 coat for crissakes!

Numero trois, love. Love can be a beautiful thing, hell, even I crave this elusive and coveted feeling. But, after the honeymoon period is over and you're left crying on some old fart's porch, you just start to hate it. You despise it. You start to wonder why you even bothered. Like, once, I was way in to this guy, and I thought he was way in to me. He was so hot! His looks were so good they get intimidating. So I started to look in the mirror and think, "Would he be attracted to me?", "Would he think I'm too thin?", "Is my ass too narrow?" So I went on a serious self-improvement kick. I went to the gym every day, twice a day on weekends. I had a lot of work done on my face (nothing surgical, plastic surgery is icky). I even had cosmetic dentistry to fix my bite so my chin would stick out more! So I finally decided I looked good enough, and I start to flirt and put on my moves (and a lot of way too expensive clothes) and he just sort of looks me up and down and starts to flirt with the bartender. I was crushed. I stopped going to the gym. I started to smoke again. I hid from the rest of the world. But now that I look back, if he had such high standards, he's probably going to be one of those neat freaks. Those people who like everything straight, narrow and neat. Architects, perfectionists, people who buy Helmut Lang, whatever. I'm not into that.

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Anyway, enough bitching for this month, cyas. Oh ya, mail me (kippler19@hotmail.com), I love to get email, I'm an email junkie!

Andrew


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