Okay, so in what may go down in history as The Most Ironic Thing Ever In The History Of Everything, tonight LaptopGirl took a step toward knowingly being my new muse, when she asked me why I'm not writing in my blog.

So much for secret number two.

I'll admit, I could certainly use a muse. I can't seem to find any motivation on my own. So I guess I should take whatever help and/or encouragement I can get.

But c'mon, LaptopGirl?

Seriously?

Okay, fine.

The other night, Saturday night if you desire any sort of precision, LaptopGirl seemed to take great umbrage at my near-constant use of the word "weirdo" to describe myself. I don't think it was because she really disagreed, on principle, with my use of that word - I think her outrage was a two-parter.

Part the First: She wanted to understand just what the fuck I mean when I write that I am weird.

Part the Second: I'm pretty sure that LaptopGirl feels that she has staked a claim for herself onto weirdness, and she isn't sure that I'm worthy of that label.

Anyway.

Questions questions questions.

What do I mean when I say that I'm weird?

Can I provide an example of my so-called weirdness?

Why am I weird?

Answers answers.

I think that when I say I'm weird, what I really mean is that I'm in a weird mood. My weirdness is certainly nothing like the weirdness which I'm constantly accusing certain people at Rich O's of displaying. Those people suck, while I myself am awesome.

Sure. Saturday night I felt that being at Rich O's was the stupidest thing that had ever been stupid. But, I also did not want to miss LaptopGirl if she were to show up. So my compromise was that I avoided everyone, sat in the parking lot for most of the night actually, until LaptopGirl showed up.

Now, that third question was a bit of a lit fuse, or so it seemed at first. When LaptopGirl asked me that question, everyone within 20 feet of us immediately stopped their conversations. I think they all held their breath. I know I held mine. Everyone looked at me, not even bothering with false apathy, to see what my answer would be.

Would it be, fucking finally, the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth? Or would it be a cop-out?

So I looked into LaptopGirl's eyes, as well as I could, considering the distance between us and the distortions caused by the lenses of our glasses. I looked into her eyes as deeply as I could, being very careful not to drown, and what I saw was that it wasn't a serious question.

She was neither looking for, nor expecting, a serious answer. The serious answer.

So I didn't provide that serious answer.

It was a cop-out. Maybe.

Okay, so now I've written something in my blog. Time for bed.