This Post is Long and Boring!

You're all invited to the party
You know you didn't have to come
No rotten apple gonna spoil my fun

If you don't like what you see here
Get the funk out
We won't try to force feed you
Get the funk out

Last night I was up until 1. I had gone to open mic and come back and wasn't in the mood to sleep, even though I had to open Starbucks the next morning. Rob and I stayed up talking about this girl we know. She's hung out with us a couple of times, and she just moved to Connecticut after getting out of a really long relationship that just didn't work out back home. We've been trying to cheer her up and be friendly, inviting her to hang out with us a lot, and I like her well enough, but she always seems down and bitter about life in general. Understandable, I guess, but it's getting hard to deal with. Don't get me wrong. If you're sad, be sad, and I'll be your friend, but don't bash me for being happy. Last night she criticized us both for being "annoyingly flippant" towards life. I think she means we have a lot of fun. Whatever. I'd rather be laughing than sulking.

I reached the conclusion she's one of those people who just might not like me. I get the matter-of-fact of it: there are people in this world that won't like you, no matter what you do, but it still bewilders me every time. It's just that, we concluded, we really want to be her friend. I just can't figure her and her moody self out. Girls are weird. I'm not going to let it change me, or Rob and me (who, after concluding our conversation, proved just how "annoyingly flippant" we are by having an unfair wrestling match that probably pissed off the neighbors trying to sleep. It mostly involved me getting body slammed and laughing so hard I was actually crying. This is what happens when you date a 24 year old wrestling fan.)

Rob's away all day and night tonight, so Matty and I have the apartment to ourselves. We both miss him when he's gone. I got out of work and hung out in the cafe for a while to finish up a book I've been reading, and then flipped through my phone to see who I could talk into giving me dinner (Grandma? No, her face is still freaking me out. Mom? Now that she smokes, I don't like to go over there. Jen? Probably working on their new house.) I was tired (so tired, in fact, that when I was driving to work this morning to the job I've had for six months, I was an exit north on Rt. 8 when I realized that I should be going west... on Rt. 25.) I decided on fast food, my own company, a book and a nap for the afternoon, so I stopped by the library after my extra-catsup fried chicken sandwich.

I wandered into the bedroom to change and the first thing I saw was a neon pink and yellow striped thong.

My mouth went dry and I got hot. It sure as hell wasn't mine. I haven't worn a thong since they were popular back in 1999 (and my ass was about half the size it is now). In the minute and a half it took me to realize that Rob had accidentally gotten it mixed up in the laundry he did in the laundromat last night, I had devised 7 different ways of cutting him open with a butcher knife. You think I'm kidding? Words of advice to my gentlemen friends: if you get someone chick's slutty laundry mixed up with yours, don't leave it on the bed you share with your girlfriend... at least, not without a note!

I fell asleep, and Rob called me on his break. He's taking voice-over classes in Manhattan learning how to read scripts properly for television and other voice-over work. I was drowsy so I mostly grunted at him, but it was nice to hear from him anyhow. The evening wears on. Matty will look at me occasionally and sigh, and put his head back down. It's really sad. I'm back to reading, I guess.

Long. Boring. Day.