Dear blog. I’m really, really, profoundly sad today.
I got stood up by a girl again. I got there five hours early, even though that involved getting up at 2am. We were supposed to meet just after midday, but I stayed an extra six hours just in case she was running late, and she never showed. In fact, nobody showed. I didn’t see a single person all day. I mean, you’d think the service station just off of route 63 would have at least one customer, even if it is a six hour drive to the nearest town and has been shut down for the last four weeks because someone ate a sandwich that had sperm in it and contracted HIV and then died leaving a wife and seven children to fend for themselves. Now that I think about it that seems an absolutely stupid place to meet up. I don’t know why CallGirl696969 didn’t just meet me at the train station like I said, it’s only a five minute walk from where I live, but she insisted that I come all the way to that service station. Oh well, maybe we’ll have more luck next time. I’ve sent her an email explaining everything to her, and I’m still waiting for a reply. I know she hasn’t sent one back yet because I check every thirty seconds, so there’s no way I’ll miss her twice! I really hope she replies and we can try again.
I’ve lost count of the amount of times this has happened to me now, it’s just like, a profound amount of times, you know? You’d think if anything I’d have accidentally run into a girl by now, even if it’s not the one I set out to meet. Except for that one time I did meet up with a girl, but it turned out to be a fifty seven year old man who called himself Nancy. Nancy was quite nice, it turns out. There he was, wearing a tank top and shorts that didn’t quite cover his pendulous nads. I almost didn’t stay, but then I did, because he looked like a wise, cultured kinda guy, like me, and I thought maybe he’d know a thing or two about poetry and stuff, you know the deep, cultured things like, poetry, and, the way a flower drips with water after the rain, and, like, poetry. Yeah, poetry’s so good. It’s so, so profound, you know? Unlike the other crap you’ll see on the tv. Except for Gray’s Anatomy. I love that show. I was soooooo psyched when Shonda Rhimes confirmed it will continue to run after season 8. You should go and read her blog, it’s really good, really profound. I wrote a poem about it:
Oh Grey’s Anatomy,
I watch you on Saturdays,
And Sundays,
And Mondays,
And Tuesdays,
And Wednesdays,
And Fridays,
But not Thursdays because I have work late at the damn burger bar.
Oh Grey’s Anatomy,
How can I flatter thee?
I’d rather splatter me,
Than live without ye.
Oh Grey’s Anatomy,
I have all the box sets see,
And I know each and every line
From each and every scene.
Oh Grey’s Anatomy,
I love you so profoundly,
I’d give you the best of me,
From Guy, yours sincerely.
I think I might call it Grey’s Anatomy. Get it? Because it’s about Grey’s Anatomy, see?
Now that I’m thinking about Nancy again, I’ve started to wonder if I could pull off a tank top. I might have to try that out. Maybe then the girls would actually want to meet me. I’ll upload a new pic (or probably more like fifty!) to Beebo and Myspace and DailyBooth as soon as I get my camera back from my neighbour, Dave, who has been borrowing it and quite a few of my other things for a while now. He said he was just borrowing them for a trip, but that was about four months ago and I haven’t seen him since. Hmmm, maybe he was just having so much fun he decided to extend his holiday a few times. I wish I could go on holiday, or have fun, but I just don’t think I’m the type. Besides, fun is overrated, unlike my blog, which is underrated and always there for me and always cheers me up when I’m feeling sad, which is all the time. You just don’t get that level of connection in real life, you know what I mean? Real life relationships are so fleeting, and they’re just not profound enough. I’m just too complex a person for that, I guess, which is why people don’t understand me or my poetry.
Like this one girl I met in a forum once about how Ken and Ryu should just settle their differences with words instead of resorting to muscle all the time. I mean come on guys! You should use words more like me, words that mean something, like profound. It’s my favourite word right now, if you haven’t noticed. But anyway, I met this girl in this forum. I spent hours and hours talking to her, really deep conversations like, ‘what’s your favourite colour?’ (red by the way) or ‘do you have any friends?’ and ‘how many friends do you have?’ and then I told her I didn’t have any friends, but then she got all hissy and started saying all these mean things to me and then she just stopped talking to me normally and started saying haha, haha, haha, again and again. But then it turned out she was just an IM bot. I don’t know why I, but I still get upset about it sometimes. I felt I had a connection with this girl, you know? I felt like maybe I’d finally met someone profound like me, but she turned out to just not be real, like all the girls I seem to meet online. Maybe the reason I felt such a profound connection with her was because she repeated everything I said, so I wasn’t really having a connection with her, but with myself. Maybe that’s the only way I can ever find someone as profound as me, especially if they keep standing me up or turning out to be robots.
I don’t know, bloggers, sometimes I just think nobody understands me.
Until next time,
Guy
