of o.j. and vampires

It's a low key evening with some Magic Hat 9 (a surprisingly delicious beer) and Mandy telling me that it's bullshit that I'm updating my blog only once a week. Umm, okay. That's not what I said. And to prove that her worries are ill-placed, I'm updating with a promised story.

Yes, that's right. A story.

Fun and awkward and real-life.

Sarah B. (she's actually Sarah C. now, but we all still call her Sarah B.) is apparently fed up with my bullshit. Having observed some vegetables on the table, I inquired as to their purpose, and Sarah told me that I should just up and move out because she's tired of all my bullshit, and she doesn't know if she can handle it anymore. Writing it down, it sounds pretty awful. In reality it was hilarious. That's just how she is. 

So the story. I think this happened Saturday. Let me check... Yep, Saturday. I'm back at my parents' house hanging with Sky, feeling kinda sick and drugged up and craving orange juice. Periodically I'll be overcome with an insane craving for orange juice. It's about 11:00 at night and instead of going to bed I go to the Speedway on Austin and Yankee. The petite, blonde, vampire-toned girl was there. Think I'm pale? I'm like an African spider-monkey compared to this chick. And she's super cute, too. I was feeling kinda loopy, what with Nyquil surging through my system, and I made some chitchat with her because I've moved away and I didn't care about making a fool out of myself, and it turned out that we were flirting. She was flirting pretty hardcore, especially this time. It's happened before, but it was just the two of us in the store, and we're talking, and I'm realizing that she's into me, and that I'm kinda into her, and she asked me my name. Apparently that was too much for this little koala brain pigeonholed into eucalyptus daydreaming, and my mind just shut down with alarms blaring, and I said, "Have a good day," (despite it being around 11:30 at this point). I half-walked, half-tripped out the store, hastily and nervously unscrewing the cap to my orange juice so that it sploshed out onto the linoleum as I reached the door.

Smooth, Killer.

Next time I'll just apologize for being a fuck-show.

Leave it at that, see what happens. 

I'm awkward, sure. But I can be charming. As a matter of fact, the majority of my exes always loved how charming and playful I would be, without it being obnoxiously nauseating. But when it's with someone I don't know--such as a super cute girl--it never flows right. Except for every once in a while, with girls I'm for some reason comfortable around after seeing them only a handful of times (how strange that is), this seems to be a rule in my life. Damn my INFP personality type.

t of the store, hastily and nervously unscrewing the cap to my orange juice so that it sploshed out onto the linoleum as I reached the door. Smooth, killer.