Holy hell. Writing these out on a smartphone is a monstrous pain in the ass. Not only is it way too time-consuming, but the predictive-text/auto correct/whatever on an Android phone obviously does not 'learn' what words you type frequently. I know this because it keeps changing 'yeah' to 'Utah'. I have never been to Utah, nor do I ever have occasion to write about it as 3.2 beer and temple-approved undergarments aren't interests of mine. But you know what is? Cursing. And this phone makes that hard, too. I think it's trying to ben-hur me... Uh... That should say censor. And I honest-to-god did not do that on purpose, but had to leave it rather than edit it because that's exactly what I'm talking about. Seriously? Ben-hur? When have I ever typed that? So duck this piece of shirt phone.
I made some plans over the last couple weeks that fell through today. Not really a big deal, but something I was kinda excited about since it seemed I'd done good. Oh well. It'll work out, just won't be quite as neat.
Know what's lame? This. And me. And... What kinda cruel joke is the head/FSM playing when you find yourself absolutely, retardedly, and embarrassingly smitten with someone who seemingly has zero interest in you? And when you don't even know why they're so great in your mind in the first place? Total bunk, I say. What's the point of the whole 'chemistry' thing if it's nothing but a boy-who-cried-wolf for one person and a source of entertainment for the other? Really. Here's this thing that suddenly makes you forget your words and say dumb shit, if anything at all because by god, you can find something witty to say EVERY OTHER FREAKING TIME but not when they show up, and makes you feel like a bumbling idiot when you try to be cool and maybe show just enough interest to not be weird or over-do it but to try to get to know them better, but yeah, that backfires and all they see is the bumbling idiot. And just coming clean is most likely a bad idea anyway, for the obvious reason in that I don't see a mutual interest, but also because I can't exactly avoid them should it end up being a painfully awkward exchange and I don't like spending a portion of each day wishing I could dig a hole and hide out for a while. It's just dumb. That's all. Also, I'm not one to often come down with cases of the smittens. I just don't. Since it does happen so infrequently, I would prefer they happen when there's a chance. I don't wanna be wasting my limited supply of smittens on folks who don't want any. They're like Thin Mints. Yeah, you know they come out once a year, and you can even stock up. But you never get enough. So when you happen on that random box at the back of the cabinet, it's like gold. You keep most to yourself, but if any do leave your hands, you're damn sure to give them to people who appreciate it. And who will return the favor with their box of Tag-a-longs.
My cat Joe has developed an insatiable taste for potato chips. If he hears anything remotely similar to a chip bag, he materializes from wherever he was sleeping and will not get out of my face until I let him see what it is. He used to be this way about ice cream and chocolate milk, too, which is a little strange since cats can't taste sweet.
I missed the Christmas parade again this year. Oh well. I have no need to see it ever again, really, because nothing, nowhere, nohow, could ever top the Rotisserie Jesus float from a few years back. Nothing. Except perhaps a live depiction of the birth of Jesus, placenta and all.
