the eyes

three shots of straight vodka, a few beers, and a bruised vertebra = my night. a hangover fortified by my having forgotten to take my allergy pills and possibly a cold, with work barreling towards me by the hour = my morning. fuck you, saturday night. why aren't you ever as good as last year? when i was hooking up with 2 girls a night, having drink races into the morning hours, and making cute lesbians rethink their inebriated sexuality? now it's always me dancing like a little white man, drowning the music in alcoholic moose piss and hoping i don't slip into a dramatic episode. i don't do the club/dance scene, i just don't. i'm a talker, a charmer. not a dancer or a really physical guy in terms of meeting people. those rooms parties were my stomping grounds. no wonder alan hated me, i used to steal women from him at those apartment mixers.

i met a girl who lives in casc yesterday while i was moving my car. i bumped into her and we had the awkward OH MY BAD DIDN'T MEAN TO GROPE YOU WITH MY SHOULDER BONES moment...but she stopped for a second and looked into my eyes. it was very genuine. ah, what a thrill, the chase is. unfortunately, i've realized i shouldn't really be going for people living in this building. just another little tidbit for me to remember when i decide to go looking. it hadn't hit me until last night that what i did to lauren was tantamount to me breaking up with a girl and screwing her live-in sister. i.e. probably the scummiest thing i've ever done. and of course because she didn't get mad at me i won't learn. because to me i'm a good person and not in the wrong for living my life and pursuing a true connection with a woman. i'm not a tucker max, i'm no barney, i'm not an alpha, therefore i'm incapable of being an asshole. it's simply commutative.

but then again, i'm oversimplifying life by believing that. how can i think people are so flat? i don't even think that about most people! i'm just so attached to this idea of me weaving into this archetypical mold that doesn't even exist in reality, it's something i've made up to try and understand the absurd mixture of my quirks and flaws, in my inefficably desperate attempt to make my life easy like a television show. maybe i still believe in the magic window...i hope not. i really couldn't tell you at this point.

t-minus 3 weeks until i become another number on prozac's quarterly sales report. then again, once that happens, whoever i become won't care. it's sad that i'm no longer terrified of letting who i fundamentally am drift away into the inky abyss of my knotted brain. whatever. the only downside is that dust will now collect on my jams notebook.