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Thursday, January 15, 2004

Well, isn’t this great. My boyfriend Dante--well, he’s not really my boyfriend; I just like to say that because of my erotic fascination with him--well, he, er, likes me too. This should sound ideal, but it’s not. This means that I am one step away from falling into the abyss that is Leticia’s Attraction, where if I fall into the trap of living my dreams, I may never go back to a mundane high-school lifestyle.

Take stripping. I can never, ever let myself admit to wanting to be a stripper. Why? Because then, all my hopes of growing up and living in a white house with a picket fence in the suburbs and marrying a handsome businessman who slaves away at OmniTech Industries making gadgets for the local fat cats, and having sex with him precisely 2.3 times, to result in 2.3 children, one of whom will be a boy star baseball player, one of whom will be a girl ballerina dancer, and the point three will be a tomboy assured to grow out of it—all my hopes of this (and a dog, named Rufus, who never has to shit) will be dashed. I can never let myself be who I want to be, because, as Dan Quayle might put it, I run the risk of failure.

Fuck this, man. I’m going all out. I’ll call back when Dante’s bending over for my love.

(p.s. Today’s fantasy is at the chocolate factory, the hidden enclave of eroticism. On a school field trip there, we are standing on a bridge while the air-headed tour guide is busy explaining the inner workings of the giant mechanical abyss surrounding us. Then, the Evil Mean Preppy Girls [with their nasty black jackets and pink hair clips] laugh and shove the shy, pleading Leticia off the bridge and into the Big Chocolate Machine, a giant mechanical iris thousands of feet below us. I wanted to get to the part where I come out of the other end as Creamy Chocolate Leticia and get eaten up by the football players, but I came too quickly. Dammit.)

(oh, and the Dante issue isn't new, our mutual attraction has lasted for about two years now. We are the definition of "dysfunctional.")

(Like in those old Stan Lee comics...)
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