I plotted Richie's death today. I wanted him skinned and his head on a plate just for me to grab and kick around like a soccer ball.

I got to White Plains a little after 11. I was feeling pretty damn good. Somehow, everything just felt good. I felt 'Bjork' beautiful. When I walked into the lobby, the concierge asked if Richie was expecting me. I almost snobbishly scoff 'yes' as I headed to the elevator. Maybe not almost. I get off and walk towards the apartment, smiling and floating. Butterfly wings fluttering around me. Humming a song. Probably a Bjork song. 'Domestica', maybe.

I rang the doorbell. Nothing. "Oh yeah, he said he wouldn't get here till after 12 but the door should be..." I pressed the handle. "Fuck!" I rang the doorbell again. Nothing. "No big deal. I'll go over to Kinko's for a half hour or so. Got back to the lobby.

"That was quick," from the now-smug concierge.

"Fuck you, pal!"

Went over to Kinko's. Butterfly wings disappearing. Listened to music. Felt like writing but was only getting increasingly irritable. Went back and sat in the lobby, listened to music and started to angrily write HTML for a site I don't even have to work on. I bored off my ass. I asked the concierge if I could make a call.

"We don't allow people to make calls. I'm sorry."

"Ok, can you make a call for me?" I smiled.

He laughed and I called out Richie's cell phone number. He wasn't picking up. I left a message and went back to sit, listen to music and grind my teeth. Butterfly wings replaced with dark cloud. It was already after 12, I barely had any money since I went up to White Plains knowing I'd get paid. Barely is an understatement. To get there on time, it meant leaving my apartment before getting breakfast. Breakfast had to be bought at Grand Central. And then there's the whole bus + subway + train fare.

In the end, I had to go over to the mall, call Eric's office 800 number and get him to call Richie (who was out on Long Island). He didn't get there until a little after one. And because he's so damn lovable, all the ideas I had for his death went out the window. Along with the dark cloud I had hanging over my head. There wasn't much there for me to actually do and by the time I started, I was packing up to leave.

I called up this guy I know, Ron before I left White Plains. Ron: ref#: 5,109,209. Age: 37. Yup, met him online. Ages ago. I've known him over a year now. I love how I say 'I've know him over a year' almost to justify letting whoever I'm talking about stick their tongue down my throat. I've said before I try not to be a hypocrite. Ron's tongue made it 1/8 of the way down my throat. He was very shy at first and extremely self-conscious of some weight he apparently put on. I found him adorable. His weight wasn't an issue with me. Weight's rarely an issue with me. Though I can't say I've ever been with someone who's grossly overweight.

Ron and I basically just made out. Hands were roaming. Mouths on mouths. Mouths on skin. I think the whole thing was a good end to my weird/frustrating day. Neither of us reached orgasm. I don't think either of us wanted to. I know I didn't. Although I was turned on, I just wasn't in the mood for a goal. Ron jerked off before I came over so he definitely wasn't meeting a goal any time soon. It was nice being with him though. I'd even spent more time than I'd planned. I didn't leave his place till a little after eight.