Inglorious Death
Welcome back to blogging, Goat. I missed you. I cried. I humped things for comfort in the style of a bonobo monkey. And your take on the key to a long distance relationship, which suspiciously did not contain any keys, has inspired me to reveal my own secret recipe: money. Lots of money. I actually pay Lizett $500 a week to let me tell everyone she's my girlfriend. What does she care? She's in Texas, she never has to see me. She's eating caviar every night and I get to tell everyone I'm dating Boobs McGee. Win-win. Plus, it keeps the other ladies off my back so I can pursue my true life passion: hand painting delicate porcelain cherub figurines. Also, did I just call Lizett Boobs McGee on a semi-public forum? Uh-oh. Well, too late. I've come too far.
Speaking of Lizett, I was texting her on my bike ride back to work after lunch today and it hit me like a hammer to the forehead: WHAT THE HELL AM I DOING? How did I ever come to this? I've seen people chatting away on their cell phones as they ride by and thought, that chump is about to meet an inglorious death, and I shall not weep. And here I am texting? I always ride hands free so if I ever happen to pass my mom she will be impressed with my balance and athleticism, and I usually have my iPod in hand for quick easy music selection, but texting? Is there a Japanese word for dishonorable suicide? Anyway, instead of putting the phone away I added a little blurb to the end about how I was texting from my bike, and yet I live, so Jesus must really like me. Or Lucifer.
Today was official tie day at work, where all the good little Golden Dome employees have to start dressing up again. AND name tags are mandatory this year. I will miss you, endless array of solid color Express For Men polos. Hello endless array of solid color Express For Men button ups, all of which are now comically small on me. So small, in fact, that I have to roll the sleeves up to mid length on most of them to hide the fact that said sleeves don't actually come down to my hands. Get ready to look SO GOOD.
Speaking of Lizett, I was texting her on my bike ride back to work after lunch today and it hit me like a hammer to the forehead: WHAT THE HELL AM I DOING? How did I ever come to this? I've seen people chatting away on their cell phones as they ride by and thought, that chump is about to meet an inglorious death, and I shall not weep. And here I am texting? I always ride hands free so if I ever happen to pass my mom she will be impressed with my balance and athleticism, and I usually have my iPod in hand for quick easy music selection, but texting? Is there a Japanese word for dishonorable suicide? Anyway, instead of putting the phone away I added a little blurb to the end about how I was texting from my bike, and yet I live, so Jesus must really like me. Or Lucifer.
Today was official tie day at work, where all the good little Golden Dome employees have to start dressing up again. AND name tags are mandatory this year. I will miss you, endless array of solid color Express For Men polos. Hello endless array of solid color Express For Men button ups, all of which are now comically small on me. So small, in fact, that I have to roll the sleeves up to mid length on most of them to hide the fact that said sleeves don't actually come down to my hands. Get ready to look SO GOOD.
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-LB
9:23 PM, August 16, 2006
I have no idea what the key to LDRs is. What I DO know is that buying Ginger delicious food whenever I see her keeps her coming back.
2:40 PM, August 17, 2006
2:54 PM, August 17, 2006
3:45 PM, August 17, 2006
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