These Strings We Say Lead Somewhere

“I’ve got a twenty dollar bill that says no one’s ever seen you without makeup. You’re always made up. And I’m sick of your tattoos and the way you always criticize the Smiths and Morrissey.”

I tried to scare her off today because, apparently, I am a crazy person. It didn’t work, and I’m not sure if I should be happy about that or not. I mean, she’s still around, so that’s good, right? But her crazy detector is clearly broken, which means she might be a little crazy. And what if it had worked and she left? Well, then I’d know I screwed myself over. Uphill battles are fun. I stage them all that way.

“And I know that you’re a sucker for anything acoustic, but when I say, ‘Let’s keep in touch,’ I really mean I wish that you’d grow up. This is the first song for your mixtape, and it’s short just like your temper.”

I must be out of touch. Second date. Try harder.

“And I’m sick of your tattoos and the way you don’t appreciate Brand New…or me.”

On a separate note, given that one of my friends described Facebook as “high school on the internet” (and I think I tend to agree), should I feel like an ass for judging this dude in the coffee shop as he updates his Myspace? I’m gonna judge him, anyway. I am in desperate need of a drinking buddy for tomorrow night. Who’s game?