Mr. Right isn't exactly a stud, he could be zitty, or short, or even a little scrawny for your tastes. He doesn't look anything like the last guy you were having sex with for an extended period of time. Yet, you wanna get to know him. Mr. Right is a talker. He's into you and you know it. You know you like him too, just aren't sure if you could hit that with a straight face.

Mr. Right comes to see you at work. You set up a meeting. It's not a "date" because you're not dating. You meeting ends up turning into a evening formal. Where he opens the doors for you and buys all your drinks. You go for a drive. Drive ends up as parking. Parking turns into conversation, and then he asks to kiss you. You're already drunk and agree thinking.. "I'm so fucking hot right now". Kiss goes terribly for the first two minutes, you use your teeth to get your bearings, and then remember what you're trying to accomplish and back those pearlies up. Kiss gets better, and then you lean in a little more for some tongue action. Ohhh what's this? A tongue ring. Yes a tongue ring. You spend the next ten minutes hoping to hell he'll make a move so you can get a little metal ball action elsewhere.


So after makeout comes more beer. Beer beer beer. Not quite as good as sex but it does the trick in a pinch. You're still thinking about the tongue ring, by the way.
Time to pack up and haul out. Mr. Right leaves with a promise "so tomorrow night?"
You giggle and smile, "definitely".


You're still thinking about the tongue ring. You've never made out with a guy with a tongue ring. Women with tongue ring, yes. Nipple ring, yes. Small penis, yes. A tongue ring, never.

tomorrow comes. And goes. The next week rolls around. Oh it's Friday and I'm going out with the girls. I'll call him so we can (you're thinking tongue ring right now) party. He says he'll try to make it. You wait an hour, call again to ask what's up. He says he'll be there. You wait 8 more beers, three more marriage proposals, two ass slaps and 5 pool games and go home. (unlaid.) lesigh.

You talk to your friend that knows Mr. Right. She says that he thinks your mad at him, you tell her you are but aren't because women never know what the hell they're thinking. And then you call him.
"hey what are you doing tonight"
"nothin"
"how was your weekend"
"pretty good"
"well I'm going out partying and I don't want to be the only one there that's cool" (You're thinking tongue ring. And how smooth that was)
"yeah Sherry told me, and I was thinking about it"
"oh"
SILENCE
"well you should come"
"yeah I was thinking about it"
"so yeah, how was your weekend"
"pretty good"
SILENCE
"well we're going at nine, so see ya later"
"yeah I'll probably come in"


That went swimmingly. Then you hit mental replay. (toungering) Yes, you did ask him how his weekend was two times within two minutes. (awkward laugh and sigh)

You go to the bar, with less friends than you expected, and less unknowns than you hoped. You sit there and drink and drink and drink. Then your friend calls Mr. Right, arranges a ride so he can drive us all home. Shitty deal because you wanted to get drunk with him and accidentally fall onto his erect penis. Then someone starts buying you drinks. Oh boy! It's not Mr. Right.

It's ugly 40 year old to the rescue!
"waitress, gimme a round of shots"
Shots come, and you know you puke instantly the hardbar hits your tummy. You do the shot anyway. Shaking it out like a pornstar. Mr. Right didn't notice because he's too busy conversing with the bar's own 65 year old male regular alcoholic. Oh well. You do a 3.2.1.go countdown to yourself, a little loud for attention, then slam your beer and clam to was the hardbar out of your kisser. Mission accomplished. (run to the bathroom now) You know what's coming.

You come back and spend the next ten minutes watching everyone around you spin. You feel left out because everyone is having their own conversations about stuff you don't comprehend. Then before you know it, Mr. Right slides his hand over your thigh, (toungering)and announces that he's way behind on paperwork and needs to go home. You give him the best puppy eyes you can muster with the inebriated state you've been given from ugly 40 year old. Statement still stands. Dammit all to hell. You get up, grab your coat and leave.

Silent car ride home.

No hug.

No peck on the cheek. You don't have the balls.

And most of all, no tongue ring.

Mr. Right calls you, sets up another "meeting" and then calls you more to say he'll call you back. Never does.

So where does that leave the woman? Bitching to mutual friend about how much you don't know if you like him even when you really do because if you didn't you wouldn't care. Then a day passes and you bitch to mutual friend some more about how you stayed up til 2am waiting for the phone call when you had to work in the morning and were tired to begin with. (toungering) Then you have a deep conversation about Mr. Right with mutual friend and explain to her that you don't know what's going on, but it's fucking with your head and it's pissing you off. Mutual friend assures you that Mr. Right doesn't know what's going on either and wants to talk to you.

But he doesn't. No phone call. No stop in to see you at work. No tongue ring.
By now, you're trying to convince yourself that you don't care and you don't want to call him, and he wasn't that cute anyways. But in your head, you know you've fallen and want to hit it so bad that it's killing you a little more inside each day. You can't concentrate on anything, and he's always playing in your mind. The geeky laugh, the undershaved, almost pubescent mustache, two millimeter difference in height. He's with you all the time, but not the way it should be. You want commitment, you want closeness. You want to call him up and go have endless fun. You want someone to be there to talk to, you want a guy to take you out and stand up for you when ugly 40 year old starts sweet talking his way into the invisible pants that he thinks you should be wearing.


You're in like. Well LIKE LIKE. You know now that you could hit with a straight face. You know now that this guy could make you very happy (toungering) if he ever calls you again. You know his number, but don't have enough time to put what you want to say into a two minute chat. You're thinking this can't happen to me. I'm the level-headed straight-shooter. I'm too cute to be 21 and single, and you always get your questions answered on the first "meeting".

To make yourself feel better you're thinking about the way you promised yourself at 14 that you would never date someone scrawny, or geeky, or short. In case (toungering) he doesn't call.

XOXO

Heated discussion about cows.

Me: why don't you just have a steak.
Amanda: because I don't eat meat.
Me: so tell me then, why do cows exist? If we didn't eat them do you think they would live in nice little cow houses and send their little calves to cow school and work infront of a computer all day? Would there be famous cows? With multi-million dollar movies, would cow mom sit at home all day reading "cow weekly"?
Amanda: no.
Me: exactly. The only thing cows are good for is smackin over the head and throwing on the grill. Maybe leather jackets too, but they're not cool anymore.

IM BAAAAACK!

It all started Christmas eve.

I went out with my friend Amanda and got just a little drunk. I have a Christmas tradition which consists of me and a friend going out in the snow and taking down all the pink and blue lights in town and smashing them/eating them. I used to do this with my college roomie Tracy,(you all remember good ol' trac right?) but seeing as I'm a million miles away from her now, I convinced my hicktown friend Amanda to come help me. So, we both agree that something needs to be done about the huge (by my standards) lighting display downtown in Rycroft. I took a picture. oh yeah. its dark and my cam sucks so fucking sue me.


So we get to work. After about ten bulbs and three more beers we decide that its way to much fucking work and just UNPLUG the whole fucking thing. I took a picture.



ya see that light in the distance? Turns out that's some old guy that works for the town out walking his dog. He sees what we did, and starts yelling at us and chasing us. (as fast as he could)

At this point I should mention Amanda's fear of anything with four legs and the ability to bark.

She sees this fucking mutt and freaks out and runs off screaming, until she slips on a patch of ice and falls on her ass.

I'm like 30 feet behind her just standing there laughing, not comprehending the fact that this guy can get me put in jail. Amanda's fucking yelling at me and trying not to laugh too, because she damn well knows it's funny. So I catch up and we hide in this little old train station that's still standing. High school kids go here to get stoned. Well, ok maybe drunken ex-college students use it too.

Anyways, it's snowing, two girls are hiding in a small ass shack that's about to cave in any second, drunk out of their mind. Ask yourself, what would I do if I was in that situation?

If you answered go back and turn the Joseph and Mary statues into something out of a porno, you think just like me.



after that little diddy, I'm tired and drunk, and want to go to bed. But first I wanted to tell you guys about my little adventure. I go home stumble to my desk, fall into my chair, and turn on my old computer. I then try to plug in my USB cable. Unsuccessfully.
So I turn it around and shove as hard as I can, and then I hear this "dit dit dit dit dit" noise, so I reboot, and it wont do anything, not even go the DOS shell.

So let's do a recap, I've went through 2 keyboards, 3 towers, and 2 monitors within 8 months.


I AM FUCKING AWESOME.

so that's where I've been. Getting drunk and breaking stuff.
Don't you miss me more now?

It's my new radioactive mouse! HURRAY FOR DEFORMITY!