twenty-something

It's 11 and I'm home. That was interesting, I suppose. I'm fairly drunk -- surprisingly articulate for how drunk I am. My Friendster meeting turned out to be fine. Fine if you like listening to someone else talk a lot about boring and unimportant things, treating them like they are the most important and crucial bits of info out there in the world. He was nice enough, but not my cup of tea. For a friend, or a date, or a fuck-buddy, or whatever. He was cute, I guess, but not quite like his picture. And though I went into this without any expectations, I guess I am a little disappointed. Towards the end, I was actually thinking, "I need to fuck him or ditch him" and, thankfully, I was able to get rid of him through the latter means. I'm home now and I'm waiting for some take-out. Might go to a party, might not.

I miss Yelli. I miss Malden and Boston. I miss college. I miss the way things used to be with Dunc. I miss having a life. But on the bright side: Duncan aside, I think if it ever comes down to it, I am ready to start dating again. And doofy little Friendster meetings and the like are thickening my skin for it. That's an up, eh?

I suppose this is exactly why part of me hates all this online blog/journal stuff from unqualified folks like himself. Unnecessary posts about unnecessary things. Forget drunk-dialing. I'm drunk-blogging.

This is on my mind: