So i caught the Stomach Flu during my visit to Phoenix over the weekend. (I'm doing a write up of visitng my grandmother and will post that in bits later on during the week.) I don't think I can catch anything else. I've had the flu, an sinus infection, strep throat and other things that are contagious.
It made the trip back back from Phoenix much tougher than I would have liked. I've been taking Dramamine and Pepto-Bismol Max to make sure I don't purge everyplace I gotta go. It makes me really sleepy.
I accidentally ate a pop tart last night while watching tv. It hit me about 230 am. It wasn't pretty.
I have not "blogged" in conventional terms in a long time. I've "Twittered" and "Tumblred (If that is possible)" and "Del.icio.usED (If that is even more possible)" and even "Pownced (I actually still haven't done that yet.") But I'm agitated that I came from a quite damn good evening of Karaoke with my roommates and I'm angry. I'm angry because you didn't notice.
I'm not going to let on who you are but You are a girl and I concocted a deal so that I would sing before the evening was over because you were there and I acknowledged you were there earlier in the evening instead of ignoring you like I usually do because I did not want to accidentally throw a dart in your head instead of the dartboard.
I lost an amount of $40ish so that I would end the evening singing "You're The Inspiration" by Chicago. I have not sang that song since the one time it crashed and burned while singing it, but I did it for you. Because in the back of my mind, I hoped you might noticed me. I've asked your associates about your presence at the aforementioned Karaoke before because I thought you would have been told by them that your prettiness was asked about and would have been like "Really, that's cool, I think." I would have settled for that response. But I am a moron and life does not work out like a romantic comedy with Julia Roberts or Meg Ryan or Hilary Swank and "Insert IT dude for the moment." I guess the disillusionment of romanticism is something I need in my life.
You sat at the bar, wearing the hat of the dude that I sort of know from frequenting that bar. He's not the guy I would be like to you. Nor would I be the guy he would be to you. That's why you ended up wearing his hat instead of my arm around your shoulder. Because of my situation, guys like me end up on a reality TV series that has a marathon on MTV.
I'm sorry girl at the bar. I sit at home in my underwear, typing this little "blog" out while you might be home with him. You might have just gone home and wondered, "Why didn't I meet an actual nice guy at this bar instead of the usual sleaze bag that hits on me." You didn't meet him for the same reason for the same reason you didn't meet me, when you find out what that reason was, let me know. I just couldn't keep my eyes off of you, Frank Valli style.
