Day 351
Can I just go on the official record and say that I hate, hate, HATE pretty writers. It really pisses me off that they can be clever AND beautiful it doesn't seem possible. The really brilliant ones must have asses covered in boils, have been hideous children who through the miracle of surgery came out gorgeous, or at the very least have some sort of herpes that afflicts them near constantly. I wonder if the lady who got the confidential blogger gig I wanted was a pretty lady. I suppose I could hate her for getting the position but I more so hate that I found out I didn't get the position not by a rejection but by going onto the website and reading her charming little bio.
This evening I met up with a very innocent (never been kissed) friend of mine and told her the history of my sex life, in detail. A short story. She listened but when I started to talk about masturbation she literally squirmed. But, she did enjoy the rate-the-hotness-of-the-stranger passing by game. But, it could have been she enjoyed it because it was the only part of the evening when I wasn't yelling hysterically via cellphone into her ear.
So, earlier in the evening, my friend told me to meet her at the beach that I had met her at once before meaning, the time I was pissed off and just stopped by super fast to say hello and left in a huff. When I got to the beach (23 minutes late due to a talk about Evangelicals at the dinner table) I called her up and told her that I had just arrived and was heading out to the spot I remember last meeting her that horrid day. She told me that she had walked down a few blocks, which would've meant she was right near where I was had I correctly remembered where I had stomped off in a huff months ago. So, after many expensive minutes had passed we finally found out that we were both indeed by volleyball games, basketball courts and restaurants at the same time it's just that these things happened to be two miles or so apart.
Is it evil that I love that the hottest friend of mine on facebook hasn't gotten a message on his wall since Tuesday? Or is it super pathetic that I know he hasn't gotten a facebook message and am really just mad at him for not returning my texts? Either way I am going to go with him being a dickhead loser so I guess it really doesn't matter all that much.
Alright I am too tired to keep my yesterdays mascara laden lashes apart or are they just sticking together? Shit. Anyway, the only other exciting moment of my day was when I discovered that in 1988 Quentin Tarantino played an Elvis impersonator on The Golden Girls.
Tip of the Day: Don't eat the jalapenos.
-Canadian Castaway
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