Secondary note. Having just one wingman in your posse that perpetuates this style of misguided flirtation can sour the flavor of the entire mack stew. Commence corrective choke collar jerks on the miscreant sooner than later. Heel ya bastard, heel!

Unable to battle with myself for three nights in a row, I went out. I've set a personal record of looking in the mirror and cussing myself out this past week. Couldn't continue to tell my skull to shut the fuck up.

Met the kids for drinks and pool. Joe's Pub teeters just enough on the edge of local dive to be comfy. Unusual collection of Yalie school chums decided to test their mettle against our barfly billiard skills. Resembled a scene from a Popeye cartoon. Freshly devoured spinach, the mob of brutish ruffians line up by twos to get slugged out of frame, nonsensical mumbling taunts and giggles from our hero ( that would be me by the by ). Accusations of portraying sharks in drunk's clothing. Whatever, like you were gonna do anything admirable with those quarters, keep plugging them into the coin slot you bitch and rack em.

Let my tolerance superpowers relax and only drank a half a tub of booze. Didn't keep us from combining green subsidies and smoking a potluck salad of everyone's end of stash amounts. Luckily the bong bash was hosted at someone else's apartment. Don't mind company, the requisite beer spillage connected with this group of company is already deeply ingrained in my hardwood floors. Anyway, smokin it up here boss.

Combination of loud music and my brink of insanity, I mostly reclined on the couch, staring at my thumb massaging my palm, and scrolling through the myriad of internal complaints that have collected in my cranial suggestion box. Kept getting poked trying to snap me back into the realm of conversation. Unsuccessful. Interplanet spanky soaring through space on his silver surfboard, contemplating the bullshit of it all while peering deep into the birth of a quasar. Need a brain enema.

Attempts to be good in preparation for possible indoctrination into boyfriend statehood have strayed left of perfect. Christ, maybe I will end up boning the babysitter. Pussy is my favorite bounty this blue orb has. I'm trying people, I'm trying.