I realized this evening, as I sat at Hooters enjoying a yummy Newcastle (9263), that I was feeling very writey. This, of course, being much different than feeling writerly.
I used to feel writerly, every now and then. Usually when I was feeling particularly
sad crazy. But it hardly ever happens anymore. I'm happy now, for the most part. I'd say that I was a happy camper but I haven't been camping in years.
Anyway, I'm going to share a couple of secrets now. I can do this, well, I can do this because of the secrets themselves. They will reveal why I can reveal them.
Does that make sense?
No? Maybe it will in a minute.
Secret number one: When I'm at all vague as to who I'm writing about, it means, 99.99% of the time, that I'm writing about one certain person. Always the same person.
Secret number two: Some people don't read this blog.
See what I did there? I made secret number two rely on secret number one for its meaning.
Because I'm all clever and shit. And I'm betting that my readers are, too.
Anyway, I can't decide if Saturday sucked or if it was good.
I made a comic about it, but I don't really like it. It's not very funny:
See, I'd spent the entire day emailing and texting back and forth with LaptopGirl. About all these tentative plans for Saturday afternoon and Saturday evening and Saturday night. It was all so fantastic and surreal. I was so fucking looking forward to seeing her. But, when she showed up, she chose to sit at the end of the conjoined tables with the dorks and the hot girls, and there wasn't a fucking thing I could do about it. Except sit at the other end of the tables. Like a weirdo.
Things got better after that, but I think that my mood was already shot. I seriously didn't know whether to bust a gut laughing or to spontaneously burst into flames.
As it turned out, I did neither of those things. I pretty much stayed in weirdo mode until LaptopGirl went back home.
Anyway, I could list the beers that I had Saturday night, but I seriously doubt that anyone cares.