Last day of work went without a hitch. Or did it? I hate opening, it's bullshit busy work. Thank God for the iPod I own and it's ability to drown out the guy playing System of a Down for the millionth time on his small stereo.
The guy who took my place was slow as hell, but nice. I'm just glad I'm done working for the summer and now I can sit on my ass, listen to music, reading two more Chuck Palahniuk novels (Survivor and Diary), and wasting money on new clothes. Hey, can't a fella look nice with a new fall/winter collection? Cha.
I finally made my extremely delayed move on Taryn. All day she was smiling at me when we made eye contact, and we're talking noticable, genuine, "this is not an uncomfortable smile" smile. Later that night, since I knew she was working a double shift, I led with my best foot back into Applebee's. Not only did I jack a bunch of boneless chicken wings (more like chunklets), but I also dished out goodbyes to the guys on the line. As "hard" as they are, they can be pretty nice.
Anyhow...I came out the front door and delayed my exit just ever so slightly and she came out a few feet behind me. Because a girl had mentioned to us both that we attend the same college, I made some small talk on the way to her car. And it went like this:
Me: So what dorm are you living in?
T: Jessie.
Me: Oh my God, that place is a dump.
T: Oh my God, really?
Me: You're more likely to get stabbed than anything else.
T: (giggles)
(we approach her car)
Me: Ok, I'm sorry I never got around to talking to you at work, but truth be told, I'm pretty shy and quiet. But, if you'd like to, here's my number and if you want to get together and talk, just give me a call sometime.
T: Ok, great. I'll give you a call. Do you want my number?
Me: Sure...got a pen?
T: No I don't, got a phone?
Me: Yes.
And thus is the end of that story. I did get her number and I know it's legit because it's written in the schedule book. I'm not a stalker.
Who knows where this'll go, but I'm just playing the field and what I really want, is to know what she's all about. I guess I finally made it to that point in my life where intelligence and maturity make a huge fucking difference in the selection of a female partner. As crude as that sounded, it's the truth. I seriously want no part with a brain dead bimbo who, while listening to a gybe song with me, will have the initial reaction of "this song is long."
My knee is still bothering me from that fall last Monday.
Katie updated with a picture in her journal and all I have to say is, is there a more gorgeous, picturesque female? Of course I'm just rushing the thought process, but goddamn!
Smilies are fucking gay sauce.
The guy who took my place was slow as hell, but nice. I'm just glad I'm done working for the summer and now I can sit on my ass, listen to music, reading two more Chuck Palahniuk novels (Survivor and Diary), and wasting money on new clothes. Hey, can't a fella look nice with a new fall/winter collection? Cha.
I finally made my extremely delayed move on Taryn. All day she was smiling at me when we made eye contact, and we're talking noticable, genuine, "this is not an uncomfortable smile" smile. Later that night, since I knew she was working a double shift, I led with my best foot back into Applebee's. Not only did I jack a bunch of boneless chicken wings (more like chunklets), but I also dished out goodbyes to the guys on the line. As "hard" as they are, they can be pretty nice.
Anyhow...I came out the front door and delayed my exit just ever so slightly and she came out a few feet behind me. Because a girl had mentioned to us both that we attend the same college, I made some small talk on the way to her car. And it went like this:
Me: So what dorm are you living in?
T: Jessie.
Me: Oh my God, that place is a dump.
T: Oh my God, really?
Me: You're more likely to get stabbed than anything else.
T: (giggles)
(we approach her car)
Me: Ok, I'm sorry I never got around to talking to you at work, but truth be told, I'm pretty shy and quiet. But, if you'd like to, here's my number and if you want to get together and talk, just give me a call sometime.
T: Ok, great. I'll give you a call. Do you want my number?
Me: Sure...got a pen?
T: No I don't, got a phone?
Me: Yes.
And thus is the end of that story. I did get her number and I know it's legit because it's written in the schedule book. I'm not a stalker.
Who knows where this'll go, but I'm just playing the field and what I really want, is to know what she's all about. I guess I finally made it to that point in my life where intelligence and maturity make a huge fucking difference in the selection of a female partner. As crude as that sounded, it's the truth. I seriously want no part with a brain dead bimbo who, while listening to a gybe song with me, will have the initial reaction of "this song is long."
My knee is still bothering me from that fall last Monday.
Katie updated with a picture in her journal and all I have to say is, is there a more gorgeous, picturesque female? Of course I'm just rushing the thought process, but goddamn!
Smilies are fucking gay sauce.
I hear ya on the chicks. when you get older, a pretty face doesn't seem all that much important to you as it used to. not like you're wanting a mutant with badass personality, but wow'ing people with how hot your gf is just seems petty and really doesn't deliver in the end. there's a reason why they're called "sport-fucks"