Secretly, I don't really know how I feel about the protests today. Part of me wishes that a million people came and and had wild gay-people-sex all over. Part of me wishes that nobody came to counter-protest at all and let them shout hatred into a complete void.
Secretly, I wonder if the first part of me only feels that way because I wish I were one of the people having sex.
Secretly, I think that some of the people in the opposite camp, some of the people contained within the other police barricades, looked like nice people. Except when they were calling random passersby "perverts" and informing them of their impending trip to hell. Then they looked pretty ugly.
Secretly, I wonder why one of them was wearing a South Park t-shirt. I wonder why members of this church have not been forbidden to watch a show that sometimes features Big Gay Al.
Secretly, I think that walking in on my roommate and his girlfriend having sex would have been tremendously entertaining. Unless it was on my brand new couch, in which case it may have been grounds for immediate eviction.
Secretly, I did not want to go to a birthday party tonight. I should have been more excited about it, but instead I wanted to curl up by myself somewhere.
Secretly, I am sad that one of my birthday friends never talks just to me when we go out. I am secretly sad that when I get a chance to talk to her on the phone, she seems distant, and then talks with one of my roommates for three times as long as with me, complete with a lot more laughter. Secretly, I think that is incredibly petty and stupid of me.
Secretly, I think I am foolish for going to the Boy's birthday yesterday. Why do I insist on following this latter-day Romeo around and watching him flirt with people who are not me? Secretly, I still construct scenarios in my head wherein he stops being a moron.