Saturday Night Live

It's 8pm on a Saturday night. Delilah and I are kicking back with some Coronas.

I had my first stressful week at work because of a couple spats with one of my bosses, GP. Out of the 3 peeps above me, GP and I have a history of butting heads. Long story short, he wants a few projects to go-live when I know the data is wrong. What's better, getting a project done fast or right? Luckily Fi and Mags are going to help out, so the week ended on a high note.

I don't know if it was the stress or an allergic reaction, but all week I got these ugly sores along my jaw, hairline, and neck. They look like picked at zits, which is weird because I've had pretty good skin my whole life. It's clearing up now, but I still don't know what caused them. I think it may have been this sunscreen I don't usually put on my face, but did on Monday. Yes, I am so pale that I put on sunscreen before I go to work. I've been known to get sunburned on lunch breaks. In March.

I was also bummed out about something else on top of that poop, too. I'm embarrassed to write this, but if this blog thing is going to be real, well then I'm going to be real.

I'm having a hard time getting over Dickfart. I know we only went out that one night, but I really felt like something was there. I know, I ALWAYS feel like something's there, but this was different.

I think the reason why I felt such a connection with him is because of his blog. I only started reading it this year and I immediately felt that we were the same person. The way he writes, the way he jokes, everything seemed so, so...me.

Maybe that's just what good writers do though. They tap into what gets you almost as if they are writing only for you. Rage, my favorite writer and good friend does that. He's so raw, so honest, and so fucking out there that he makes me feel sane. Dickfart did that, too. His writing makes me feel like I'm not alone, that there are other people out there who are truly awesome, but have a hard time seeing it for themselves. Plus he is a gluttonous pervert like myself.

Or maybe it's not Dickfart I'm upset about. Maybe I'm upset that I have to get off my ass and keep looking for The One. I mean fuck, I ain't going to meet him in my office or on my couch or when I'm shitfaced at a bar with friends. I need to put myself out there for real, not any of this dramatic "I-went-to-Ohio-or-emailed-a-quasi-celebrity-to-find-love" bullshit.

Furball made fun of himself by saying he's boring, that this weekend he's hanging out with his family and fixing up his house. While I don't want kids yet nor think that going to Home Depot is an eventful weekend, I want what Furbie has. I want to always be with the people I love, in a place I love to call home. I'm halfway there, but now it's time for me to have it all.