Apparently the roaches have developed a degree of intelligence to surpass the humans living there, she says, pointing out that a set of them re-enacted the opening scene to the "Lion King." I will quote, it is "hillbilly Hell;" its an honest-to-gods roach motel.

So naturally we get into some existential talk about her future, setting up contingency plans in case she doesn't get into the college she shot for, etc. I used to do this all the time for people back when I was a teenager. I was young, I thought I could make a difference in people's lives and spare them some pain .

So of course, as per our usual ritual, we complain about how we haven't had sex recently and how, if the other person were there, we'd be indulging ourselves wantonly. A few euphemisms here and there, some cute ways to say "I want you," some even cuter ways of saying for how long, in what positions, etc. etc.

As per usual ritual, we quickly come to the realization that certain fantasies can pop the top of that old can of whoop-ass when you close your eyes to savor the moments. Namely, she's in love with some bastard that rejected her and fears that the same would happen with me. We'd both ideally just want to use each other for sex. I'd still get attached, though.

Damned fantasies.

She is of the school of thought that love and sex are always connected. I envy that idealism. I would never want it, but I envy that resolve.

So, pappy Daath has a lesson in this after all: opportunities come up now and again to be coy or coquettish, but in the end it's a wash with alot to lose unless you've got a signed contract or the resolve to back up your coital liason. And really, who has time to sign on the dotted line in blood?

But maybe I'm just bitter. Yeah, that's it, bitter, definetely bitter, yeah.

Hey, that was easy to dismiss. Go us.

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