06/09/2004 - 1:52 a.m. | but it don't do nothin' to attract you, so i don't know what the hell it's for

This will certainly be a lot less structured. Hmm - I'm trying not to let the psychosomatic get to me, but the fact is that I'm already feeling a little more awkward just a day in. Perhaps that is just because of my huge, flopping unsuccess with cute webcam girl. Surprise, surprise - not everyone finds my lack of confidence charming. Scratch that - "anyone" And boy am I ham-fisted when it comes to compliments. But it's how I think, you know? Or rather, it is because I think. Like I was saying, if I think about how boring and stupid most of the things I say are, I get wrapped up in them and can't talk at all. It's painful really, but it happens time and again, especially when the conversation isn't exactly a two-way street, which, ironically, is a double-standard. Again, ladies - you want equal rights, you hold up your end of the conversation please. I don't care how much you like being asked questions; it still isn't fair. Hm - tangent.

I mean, you read this, and I'm all verbose and witty or whatever, so obviously you would think I would have the capability... and I sort of do. It's just a very "in the moment" sort of thing. If stuff is going down - no matter how little or how much - and we are up in it, I can mostly knock your socks off. But... regular old conversation continues to elude me. And it eludes a lot of people, I think - they're just smart (or dumb) enough not to focus on it and just keep blathering. So that's what I should be working on, right? I can't decide. Partially because I can't block out those other voices in the first place. "Uh, what voices?" Ummmm -nevermind.

Anyway, as you may have noticed, it's sort of tough going back to regular old boring life from crazy drunken fun weekend. "Then I worked and read some and talked online very reticently. The end." Well, fucking Christ, let's just end the son-of-a-bitch here, you know? My efforts to be friendly would no doubt seem creepy to an outsider, but that is the line I walk. 100 years ago I wasn't alive. Uhhhhhhhhh.

At work I was left a note to dust off the candy and in the process did this crazy three hour process where I reorganized the candy by type and brand, possibly alphabetized. Nobody will ever, ever notice the difference, but that's sort of what I'm counting on because I didn't really ask if I could do this. Secretly, though, I am very proud of the limits of what my obsessive-compulsive disorder can take me to. Man, I bet OC people wish it were called an "order" instead. UGH. Bad Nate. I grow to hate the smell of Windex. Right before I left the fucking biggest spaz child in the whole world came in. So yes, he spilled the M&M's, which is never a good start, but then as I am cleaning them up and his dad is buying some more to make up for it, the idiot pulls another handle and spills a different color. I began to laugh at him. Then, immediately forgetting that his dad has just bought him a whole bag of suckers, Spaz starts wigging out and, I dunno, fake crying or something because he doesn't have the, er, "special" suckers up on the counter. Was it even fake crying? I started laughing at that, too, because it sounded like some sort of strangled, brain-dead animal. Mammal? Bird? Something in between, I think. Oh wait - hope he wasn't retahded. I bought books because I love them and Thai because I can't get it out of my head. Unfortunately, garlic death is killing me now. And while whenever I am actually at the candy store, I think I could never ever want another piece of candy again, it isn't long before I am Glutton Boy once more. So I'll just try and restrain. Hmmm - man, you have no idea how internally worried I am right now. And of course that has me worried. Stupid, stupid being off.

So, in summary, charm up, paranoia down. Got it? Break.