(this is annie)

For years now, I have been convinced that my thought process is perhaps a bit more neurotic than that of the average bear. It has to be. If everybody went around overanalyzing and daydreaming like me, nothing would ever get done. The planet would be populated with anxious, giddy, goofy people who take frivolity very seriously. for instance, here is an excerpt of this morning's e-mail to Owlie.


gary sinise: why do men act like they are interested, and then they ask
for your phone number, but they do not call? jerkass. maybe he lost it.
yeah, right. more likely he talked with foxy mcfoxerson after we left, and foxy mcfoxerson was all "she sucks, dude. i'm going to go drum now." then gary sinise
ripped up my cute phone number drawing and spat on it. conversely: after
we left, foxy mcfoxerson let out a big sigh. "i'm in love with that girl," he
moaned. "and i fear i've ruined everything!" gary sinise looked over at
foxy mcfoxerson and felt a pang in his heart. "how can i possibly call that fine
lady when my friend foxy mcfoxerson is full of woe?" thought gary sinise as he
tossed my phone number into the garbage along with his hopes and dreams.
either way, the phone does not ring.

Speaking of Foxy McFoxerson: On the way out of Earwax, I ran into him! Oh god! Why is it that now, everywhere I go, there he is? He has become the Leroy of March. I don't know why I still blush and smile upon seeing that boy, and why he does a little of the same. It just seems unfair that things (didn't) work out like this. Or could it be (maybe, just maybe) that I am attracted to people who are unattainable, therefore protecting myself from any sort of emotional closeness and scarring? Gee, I wonder.