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*As in "Welcome to" and where "Gator Country"
means "Los Angeles"
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Gator Country: Love Thy Neighbor
Because I'm incapable of building one around my heart, tomorrow I'm going to start building a wall around Los Angeles. Anyone who wants me must physically be on the inside of it (and west of Highland Ave., please). No more long distance fucks, e-mail fucks, phone sex, promises of future sex, promises of future living situations, proposals, quasi-proposals, declarations of love in the mail, none of that. Do not doubt me. I've turned off my cable (sort of), and I can just as easily sort of turn off everything else.
I can hear it now: What? Mina! Are you retreating into the sexual stone age? Well, yeah, sure. Someone long-distance recently made the mistake of asking me what my sexual boundaries are. (And you all know I have none. Well, maybe a few. But even those could get thwacked off the morality ledge by a well-swung bottle of Jägermeister.) But anyway, that really got me thinking. So, now I prefer the term "boundaries", but call it what you want.
And, yeah, it's all in spite of:
This is the internet and communication age.
I carry around a Blackberry, a Bluetooth ear-borg device, have a Skype account and can locate all of you on Google Earth. Even more so, I could call my uncle who worked at the NSA for 30 years, and he could even tell me what brand of cigarette you're smoking right now. Or who you're fucking. But I don't care.
I spend as much time on planes and at airports as you do sleeping.
We are perfectly compatible in each of the 4 zillion eHarmony dimensions.
I agree with you that Myspace will likely bring about world peace some day once it stops crashing and we all learn how to code.
It's heartbreaking.
Here's a little story. Once upon a time, I said to my long-distance lover, "I'll see you when I see you." Which meant, when you're here, it'll be real. He took that as a slap in the face. And guess what? Deep down he knew. It wasn't meant to be, folks. Simple as that. If only I had learned that lesson then.
Big exhale. So. I have recently decided to embrace my ex-nearsightedness (even though it was futuristically corrected with laser surgery two years ago), and reclaim my throne as Queen of the LDRDW Club. (That's Long Distance Relationships Don't Work, y'all.) Henceforth, my heart will no longer be affected by anyone outside my soul crenellations, which now extend along a sane radius from 2nd Street in Santa Monica.
The safety of distance bores me. You?
Surrender is indeed happiness.
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