Like today. Talk about tension that you can cut with one of those infomercial knives that never bend or break. The story we were workshopping had this brilliant conversation involving sexual innuendos. Because you can't read the story I will just divulge that it was all about butt sex.
So. This guy that wears his shirts tucked in, jeans up to his chin raises his hand and goes:
"I think that maybe Michael (one of the characters) is gay and that ties back to his possibility of having HIV"
And unfortunatly he thought he had said something so incredibly insightful that he was beaming. That didn't last for long. Because the teacher began to itch and shift and we were all staring at our desks. The teacher wasn't going to say: "Look shitface your comment is implying that the only possible way someone can get HIV is if they are gay because there is no way some trampy tramp can be spreading HIV. And you just ruined the laugh we were having over the innuendo by making it political. Way to fucking go".
But she was definitly giving off that vibe.
I felt like I swallowed a brick.
Nonfiction is nuts. It's real so at home when you are looking at the piece and it's about some guys stripper girlfriend, or someones parent passes away, you have to look them in the face the following day and say: "I liked it but I felt there was no narrative arc".
But that is besides the point.
Je veux aller en France demain. S'il vous plaît? Je mangerais fromage et boirais du vin. Beaucoup du vin. Je parlerais en francais avec les hommes de beaux. Les hommes de beaux qui sont noir aussi [:
Wouldn't it be splendid if I owned this french toast stencil. Ha!
I watched three (three!) soccer games yesterday. Intense, man. First basketball now soccer. Who am I? Then Noelle and I drank far toooo much boba tea at Life Cafe. I woke up still full. Repulsive, but wonderful!
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