In which FHC is a sad, sad, pathetic tiny creature

I am always amazed on how I can manage to draw compassion from my blog. The tragic and Dickensian portrait of FHC’s loneliness in my last entries has gotten me in avery short period of time one invitation for dinner, one invitation for Halloween (as if I already knew if I’d be alive by then), a friendster message as well as two very kind e-mails from some estranged friends (one of them kindly wrote “…i see you are now alone and depressed instead of just depressed”…what did I say about telling the truth?) and maybe a smile in the street. I guess I should work on my next entry to see if I can manage to get some pity-sex, sexually suggestive messages or free furniture too.

My (ex)-roommate pointed out to me this morning that once again Miss Adam’s Morgan Pageant and HRC National Capital Dinner take place on the same Saturday: choosing between having dinner with bright but conceited gays or promiscuous cross-dressing morons is easy for me: I’ll stay home with a netflix. Clearly I should spend more time working on my entries.

Comments

[FB]

Sure, I'll f*ck ya...

[LL]

But FH, Dickens' poor and down-trodden always seem to find some way out. There's hope for you still!

[Jim M]

you know, estranged is such an ugly word. can we just leave it at as disillusioned?