I Feel Like Shit Right Now

Everytime I feel like this I try to remind myself of things like "Happiness is a choice" and shit like that. Well, I don't think it's shit. I think it's true. But sometimes, when you feel like shit, you just feel like shit.

I don't know why I'm writing my post, because I'm going to regret it later when I look back and see that my second-to-last post on The Nerd Archives was a post about how I felt like shit. But write these wimpy-ass posts where I bitch about my stupid white boy problems has been one of my favorite parts of The Nerd Archives. So I thought I might as well.

Actually, I'm not going to talk about why I feel like shit. I don't want to go into it. I will, however, post a text conversation I had. I never thought I'd post text conversations ever ever ever, but I guess I was wrong. I had this about a week or two ago after my friend and I bumped into that girl I'd been avoiding for the entire year so far. It was at about 8. Here's how it goes. Also, yes, we actually did use all of this correct punctuation and impeccable grammer. You don't make many friends when you're a Grammer Nazi, but it's worth it because you make friends with other Grammer Nazis.

Me: Also...about today.

Him: About what today?

Me: Nevamind.

Him: Now you have to tell me. Is it about the girl?

Me: Um. No.

Him: It's fine. Do. Not. Worry about it. You didn't look like an idiot at all. Trust me on that--I'm usually quite blunt.

Me: The thing is...I caught up with her later today.

Him: Oh, well, listen. Don't go into it if you don't want to. If you do, I'm listening.

Me: I do.

Him: Alright, what happened?

Me: She was reading, and I just walked up and said hi. Well, actually, first I had to knock on the window.

Him: Wait...What?

Me: Just listen.

Him: Okay.

Me: It turns out the window was unlocked, so I just let myself in. She was in her pajamas.

Him: Wait, how much later was this?

Me: About thirty minutes ago. She started screaming, which freaked me out, so I got all nervous and started knocking stuff over.

Him: Wha

Me: Then her mom came in and screamed too, because I was naked.

Him: What?!

Me: Then I started sobbing and yelling. I scrawled over to her bed and crept under the covers. They were so soft...so soft...

Him: Um, well, okay. Hey. Are you anywhere near my house? Just wondering.

Me: I'm at your house. Gimme some sugar mama. Give your baby some sugar.

Him: I'm calling the cops.

Me: NO POLICE. PLEASE NO POLICE. I DON'T WANNA GO BACK TO THE DARK PLACE.

*End of conversation.*

That really was the end of the conversation, because he really did call the police and then the fun was over. But anyway.

I have the URL for the Web Comic, but we haven't posted anything yet. Join the mailing list, though, and I'll repay you in sexual favors! Here's the link. Ask your friends to join to. I don't know if I can repay all of them in sexual favors as well, but maybe if we increase productivity by doing several at once, everyone can have a go.

Do any of you still read my other blog?

Yeah, I didn't think so.

Anyway. I still feel like shit. I'm listening to Radiohead, but it's not helping a lot. I'll be in a better mood when I write the last post and then end it all. An observation: ending your blog by a gradual process is not good for traffic. But anyway. It might be a while. I'm flying to Texas this weekend for my grandfather's funeral. And I might be busy until next weekend. But don't forget about me. Don't let me die alone.

Movie Quote of the Day:

...oh fuck it.

Cheers,
That Blond Guy