That Yardbirds song, “Over, Under, Sideways, Down,” completely and accurately describes everything I’m overgoing or undergoing. Days like these leave me feeling high as a kite, but can abruptly leave me in a pool of uncomfortable sweat and anxiety. Often times, I find myself with a barely controllable urge to rip the heads off of anyone within my immediate vicinity. But I fight that urge with a smile, and sometimes they put bread in my tip jar. I suppose it’s more appealing than being put behind bars.
I’m a very spiritual person. Seemingly not, but I understand and bow with my soul to a higher being. You probably call him God, and frankly, i will too, just to avoid having too many gods to keep track of. (Like Greek Mythology, which I firmly believe was the first version of Grand Theft Auto 4) It’s a wide conception that that bearded Mofo works in mysterious ways. (I don’t say Mofo blashphemously, but he really is sometimes, and he’s hip enough to not take it to heart by now… it’s 2010.) His mysterious efforts have led me to meet two people. Now the significance of these two people, isn’t anything sexual or other, but moreso that they were bitchslap reminders of my former fiance.
I have a great sense of humor, I really do, and the only way I’ll be hurt is if you joke with something i’ve invested my heart into. besides that, I really don’t have one to invest anymore. C’est La Vie. So person one, polite, friendly, great laugh, great sense of humor. Then I discover her name is an anagram for my previous love interest. I kid you not, a flipping anagram, letter for letter. Plus she had a pending review with the school my excakes attended. Needless to say, I drank myself into oblivion because that was painfully funny. God’s sense of humor is extreme.
Now, second person I met happened the next day. I was minding my own business, putting books back to their original positions, (for those of you who trash bookstores, fuck you and your inability to alphabetize,) and this little number asks me a question. I turned on my professional face, ready to tend her literary needs, and she asks, “do you smoke?” “No,” I said, “weed turns me into a fuck tard and mild dyslexia kicks in.” It turns out, that was needlessly said, because she only wanted to bum a cigarette, but she acknowledged the sense of humor in my syntax. I had a break waiting anyway, so I left with her to the parking lot and made her a cigarette. Yes I make cigarettes. and if you’ve ever seen one of mine, you’d soil your underpants, cause they’re fucking brilliant. Conversation ensues. 10 minutes later, I drink myself into oblivion because of His sense of humor again. Turns out, she’s from the same state my Edie Sedgwick was from, and also a dancer. However, instead of passionately being spiritual, she was passionately into microbiology. Slight difference, but… not fucking slight enough.
Now, my former and I still talk. Yes we do, And I love her very much, because not only was she my dearest lover, but also my best friend. “If i could have feelings at all, I’d have them for her.” She speaks of a similar situation. She went out with this guy, who had everything in common with me. EVERYTHING, now if that isn’t a blow to my individuality, then I don’t know what is. The guy talks to her for about a week and incidentally “dick pic’ed” her. Now I’m not saying it isn’t a working method, but if you dick pic someone after about a week, it’s basically saying, “Hey, I like you, but my felt tip pen likes you a little more.” Depending on the sluttiness of the girl, she could go for it for a quick bang, although this DOES involve someone i gave an engagement band to, so thinking about it isn’t really on my list of things to do. (check previous posts for disordered lists) Even I didn’t have the courage to dick pic her, but i did send her plenty of pictures of me flexing as hard as I possibly could to hide my beer gut. speaking of beer gut, I’ve gotta get ready for work. Til next time, bitches.
So, me and my Homie have great senses of humors. the end.
some indian guy offered me 40 dollars an hour to tutor him on physiology, because somehow( I looked like a physiology expert to him. I think he just wanted to touch me. now that i think of it. 40 dollars an hour to touch me isn’t so bad.)