Monday, April 30, 2012
Saturday, April 28, 2012
Thursday, July 14, 2011
TEST
This is only a test. If my blog autofeed is indeed messing with me, then you will be reading this on facebook too. If you're not, then I have no idea what the problem is and I'm screwed. On second thought, I will just blame this all on facebook since they're famous for their little glitches anyway! Google+ for the win! ;o) Yt
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Mea Culpa
Dear Jill (not her real name of course),
Our mutual friend set us up, we met her and her beau for a double date at the local bowling alley. I liked you at first, you had a nice handshake, trusting eyes, a sweet smile and a very nice can. Your boobs were nothing to write home about, but even if they were, I don't think my mom would have appreciated such a letter.
Being an old fashioned sort of guy, I took care of the expenses, shoe rental, lane fees, even bought you a beer and some food then spent the next hour cursing my maker as you talked my Goddamned ear off about the most random nonsense I've ever been subjected to in my life. I especially loved how whenever it was my turn to bowl you spoke even louder, almost to the point of shouting so as to be heard over the din of the alley. You know, because it was important that I not miss out on your views about how hi-top sneakers help prevent cankles.
However, even though I didn't get so much as a handy-J out of you at the end of the evening, I probably should have called you sometime like I said I would. A fact that was explained to me days later (in some very colorful language) by our mutual friend who, it so happens, is no longer my friend as a result of our failed encounter.
So to you Jill (still not her real name) and to our mutual friend, I officially apologize for being an assjack.
There, now I can get into Heaven.
Our mutual friend set us up, we met her and her beau for a double date at the local bowling alley. I liked you at first, you had a nice handshake, trusting eyes, a sweet smile and a very nice can. Your boobs were nothing to write home about, but even if they were, I don't think my mom would have appreciated such a letter.
Being an old fashioned sort of guy, I took care of the expenses, shoe rental, lane fees, even bought you a beer and some food then spent the next hour cursing my maker as you talked my Goddamned ear off about the most random nonsense I've ever been subjected to in my life. I especially loved how whenever it was my turn to bowl you spoke even louder, almost to the point of shouting so as to be heard over the din of the alley. You know, because it was important that I not miss out on your views about how hi-top sneakers help prevent cankles.
However, even though I didn't get so much as a handy-J out of you at the end of the evening, I probably should have called you sometime like I said I would. A fact that was explained to me days later (in some very colorful language) by our mutual friend who, it so happens, is no longer my friend as a result of our failed encounter.
So to you Jill (still not her real name) and to our mutual friend, I officially apologize for being an assjack.
There, now I can get into Heaven.
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