Starved of intellectual stimulation, last night I went to a "poetry event," which, much like Frommer's list of the world's 10 worst airport terminals, was absolutely terrible. Text back and forth with the bffer beside you like you're 14 years old terrible. Constantly hold your drink up to your face because it is the only way to not crack a vicious grin terrible. While I can't wait until I go back to the comforts of intellectual elitism and spend all of my time with other people like me who hate on almost everything all of the time, there is a very special feeling that comes with knowing that you are too good for everything around you. I shall miss that.
Sigh.
when the "highlight" of the show - which had writeups in both time out and the most popular english newspaper in this city of 15 million - is a overly-hyper-sexualized individual's poem about getting her pussy eaten out, you know your life has gone in a horribly wrong direction.
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