Though I don't want anyone who may happen to read this to discount everything I type out of hand, as these are my true feelings, I should warn any prospective readers I'm coming down from being almost as drunk as I've ever been; so take the following with a grain of inebriated salt.

You know, sometimes being an intellectual just seriously fucking sucks.

And not in the good way.

On the one hand, I really need to get laid, regardless of the "source." (and yes, I feel terrible for referring to a woman, even one unnamed and there simply for the purpose of our mutual sexual gratification, by such an impersonal word as "source")

On the other, I don't just want a one-night stand, but an emotional comrade with whom I can both have regular sex, and--of at least equal importance--discuss the things important to me such as politics, religion, philosophy, etcetera. (which is not to say I don't expect to discuss the things important to her--though, ideally, we'd share such interests--merely I wish for nothing more than to meet an intelligent young woman who won't immediately disqualify me for listening to NPR rather than the local independent/corporate music station)

I suppose, despite the wonderfulness of alcohol (which, I've found, truly does live up to the name "liquid courage"), that's simply the unfortunate burden I bear for having had the misfortune of being born/living in Utah. (I'm sober enough to realize this last paragraph is a pity party, but drunk enough to include it anyway)