Jet

and please, God (or whatever), do not let me embarrass myself like that again. I wait months (MONTHS!) to talk to that boy and then turn into Woody Allen the second he has a minute to chat. fuck. now i am just like every other dipshit receptionist in town. bitching about co-workers is so fucking pointless, and i was just trying to separate myself from that...Oh, god. Why cant I just shut the fuck up sometimes?
It's so sad to always be looking for someone. He rides a bike for a living. So now, every boy on a bike has become him. (and im not even sure what his name is). And yet, he is standing in front of me (laughing at me) and all I can do or say is to make it worse. Stuttering...talking in circles...pointing out obvious confusion when there is NONE. Woody might be a nice nickname for me, if I got to choose. Which I dont. Nicknames dont belong to the person they refer to...they belong to the person using it. I learned that a little while ago and even wrote about in on here, a while back.
In Eighth grade, we had yearbook superlatives. I was in the running to win both Class Flirt and Class Couple. (This is a recurring theme. I decided to go with class couple. wouldnt want people to remember me for being slutty. we broke up before the book came out. ha.) Anyway, I'd like to talk to my 13 year old self, and figure out how to get that mojo back. Because this whole 'tripping-over-words-and-grinning-like-an-idiot' thing is getting old real fucking fast.