digital pen, digital paper.

Articles of Confession

There is a girl that works at the Publix down the street. It’s not the closest Publix, but I drive the extra 10 minutes for a chance to talk to her so I can ask her out. My brain puts together all the right things to say, but the words always get chewed up in my mouth. What comes out is usually something better swallowed. Now I am having difficulty getting my brain to put together something new, so all I can do is smile and say hello.

Articles of Confession

Exerpt from back when my friends told me I should have a MySpace blog because posting random comments about my life was the cool thing to do. Glad I don’t mess with that kind of crap anymore. +Follower.

Friday, August 12, 2005

…

so i have this song stuck in my head. well, less of a song, and more of a song lyric.

“everyone is rock ‘em sock ‘em robots…”

its from a tenacious d song i was listening to in my car.

now i am at my parents house. they left for the weekend so i am taking care of rusty, my golden retriever. im bored, sort of hungry, my head is aching ever so dully. its hot here. i need to crank the AC.

im going to do that. then maybe go out and find food since my parents apparently dont eat anymore, judging by the fact that there is nothing in the fridge aside from an old banana and some cheese.

so we meet again, cheese. my arch nemesis…

Articles of Confession

I recently gave-in to consumerism, and purchased this for my kitchen.

…and I feel like replacing the figure and using myself as a knife block for not being able to talk to the cute girl at Publix. In fact, I have difficulty functioning when I see her. One time, I forgot I had to actually pay for stuff when checking out. Then I handed her my credit card instead of swiping it in the machine in front of me. Then, when she handed it back after giving me a funny look, I had difficulty swiping it.

It took three tries.

Everyone has license to mock me.

Articles of Confession

Tonight, I met a friend of friend. We shared stories, beers, and laughed at each other for the dumb things we did in college. When we parted ways, I shook his hand. Somehow, my pinky finger got mixed in between his pinky and ring fingers. We each said our “good to meet you’s” and headed to our respective homes. Though neither of us made mention of it or allowed facial expressions to reveal otherwise, the handshake was none-the-less awkward.

When handshakes go wrong…