December 30

Tomorrow could be a very important night for my love life, or at LEAST my chance of getting some temporary action. It's rather ironic, really. Well, no, it's more sad. I feel like a withered old cross dresser painting his wrinkled, worn face with rouge, not because he knows he looks good but because he is clinging to a lifestyle he has definitely lost the touch for. Yet he cannot let his former glory go because he knows what the future holds-he will die cold and alone in an equally cold and alone nursing home. Bitter comparison, but completely true. So here I sit, painting my toenails and tomorrow I will go tanning and shave my legs, but in complete honesty I know that the only one that will see my toenails is myself and possibly Rachel, and no one will know whether I've shaved my legs. I know that a perfect pedicure and a tan won't really fix whats wrong, nor even cover it up, like the faded cross dresser knows that he will not be suddenly beautiful with just a little more mascara, or a tad more eyebrow liner, or perhaps an extra touch of blush. He and I both know we're faded beyond repair; it's just a little game we like to play. I believe in fairies, you know. The tiny little creatures with wings, magic and immense sex appeal. I bet so does my cross-dressing twin. Why wouldn't we; it keeps us from committing suicide, believing that somewhere out there is unarguable magic and perhaps, maybe even definitely, we will find it. So I've wasted time apllying three layers of nail polish to my toes, and (feels like) caking my entire body with clearasil, for the dream of a fairy. A magical creature who will undoubtedly recognize my silent scream for love and set some gorgeous, intelligent and muscular boy in love with me. Oh yeah, she'll also send one to my cross dressing friend.