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2009-10-18 - 11:45 p.m.

i still haven't called carlie back. i have 15 minutes to not have... oops, 14 minutes... to not have lied to her that i'd "call (her) back tomorrow."

i don't know why i'm not going to call her, but i just don't feel like talking to her. she sent me an email after we got off the phone telling me that she didn't mean to sound like she was lecturing me and other stuff like that, but i really just don't like it when people try to come off like "hey, i know i was kinda a dick to you, so this is me trying to reach out and let you know that i'm not really a dick..."

granted i do that because it's the only way to break the ice a lot of the time, but... fucking hell man. i have a blackberry. that shit got to me instantly. it didn't have a chance to let me cool down a bit.

and blane did the same thing to me today too, but it's not like i can be anti-social back to him. so instead, we made small talk about sports.

either way, i kinda hate people a lot right now.

don't worry... it's only "kinda hate them a lot" and not "really hate them a lot." there's a difference, there really is.

panda bowl won't introduce me to her cousin because she says that she's "intellectually not (my) type." daigle also says she's annoying as fuck. i'm going to file this as case closed.

i want to say that i am officially fucking bored of life again. i come home, i try to write or re-write a few poems, but i'm sick of my writing. i like it to an extent, but then i realize that i hate it because it's all about the same shit. granted, reading about happy stuff sucks, but when all you do is write about heartache and heartbreak, you're kinda lame... kinda gay.

not homosexual gay, but like... i want to kick your ass because you're acting "gay"-gay. you know what i mean, and if you're pretending like you don't know, then that makes you gay too... so stop being a faggot.

and if you're offended by how i talk, then my bad. i'm not going to pretend like i care that i offend you because i honestly don't get it. it's like that episode of south park where token is trying to explain to stan (i think it was stan) that he doesn't understand (and never will) what it's like to be insulted racially.

yes, i used an episode of south park to defend myself. that's what my generation does. deal with it.

it wasn't as expensive to fix my car as i originally feared. it was only a couple of hoses that died on me. $145 or something.

i could've called carlie back as soon as i found out, but i didn't. i don't know why. i just don't feel like i want to talk to her yet. maybe i'll just wait till she calls me.

this stupid ice palace meeting is fucking with my schedule again. i also had a haircut on wednesday. i'm so fucking pissed. i think i'm either going to be a jackass or really anti-social on that day because it's messing with what would've been a really good day for me. a poetry reading where i get to show the class how emo i am and a haircut? i'd have been the shit that day. instead, i get to go to fucking ice palace and hang out with work people for a whole god dman day... and then i get to go to a fucking inventory that night too. bullshit....

plus i played someone who had tom brady and wes welker today... they combined for eight td scores!!! (brady's six passing and two were to welker) and matt hasselbeck shit a fucking brick on the field. i think i'm down more than 40 points, and he's still got a reciever, a running back, and an idp playing. i just have one idp. no chance. oh well, it was nice being at the top for one week. fuck.

i re-wrote my last poem again... if you have anything to say about it, let me know. otherwise, i'm just going to hate it from now on because i'm sick of my own voice.

She�s 5�1� which makes her the perfect height for a hug. Any taller and we�d probably butt heads. Any shorter and I�d have to crouch down uncomfortably. She�s the perfect height. She�s also slender and athletic from playing soccer in college. This means our hands would be able to find a comfortable spot on the back of each other�s shoulders if we would ever hug. As far as I know, she�d be the prototype for a perfect hug.
She opens her arms, palms up, and cocks her head down and to the right letting me know that it�s okay to hug her. She steps in towards me closing the distance between us. I take a half a step towards her to do my part to close the gap too. My arms cross over hers and I can feel the perfection of this hug forming. Just as I imagined, her head is the right height to rest in the crook of my shoulder. Not so tall that her hair would tickle my nose, not so low that I�d be afraid she would hear my heart beating. Her arms cross under mine and I can feel them pulling herself slightly into my body. I can feel her open palms just under my shoulder blades; her finger tips pressed in just enough to let me know they�re there.
The length of our hug is only the span of a single breath. I inhale enough to let the air fill up my chest and press against her body. I can feel her take in a breath too as her chest pushes back. As we both exhale, we know that our hug has run its course.
We each let our hands slide down each other�s backs. Our hug ends when the tips of our fingers leave each other�s bodies. I take a half a step back, as does she. My hands find their way to my pockets and my eyes find their way to the sidewalk. She turns to the left and with her head down, slowly begins walking back to her car, her Ivy League school, and her Ivy League boyfriend. I stand there and watch the perfect hug walk away.

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