Now so older stuff I've been meaning to post. Older but not wiser. Probably just as weird and self-conscious though!!!
We met at a bar,
=================================
This is my idea for my Match.com profile
I would like to be in a relationship. A really serious one. I am fantastic with commitment. Just A plus plus plus. Basically, I don't even care who the girl is, I care more about the relationship! So if you wanna get married, step right up! No experience necessary. You don't have to do anything! Except like be perfect, actually. I mean, come to think of it, I would prefer to just date my soul mate and not waste my time on these dates. Also I don't want to talk to you about how much money I make. Or tell you about my dad's job. I'd rather talk about dreams. And music. And maybe my ex-girlfriend. Yes, must be open to talking about mothers and ex-girlfriends. Mainly mothers though.
Call me!
Now this poem sums up my thoughts about being young and single in the workplace and having to work with slightly older (25-30?), married, attractive, and flirtatious professional females. I like to think that it illustrates the point that although secretaries complain that they're treated like a piece of meat- young men in the workplace can sometimes feel like giggalos.
of course a bar,
but for work, right?;
still a bar.
You had straight teeth.
Your hair was blonde,
color of Kryptonite,
so I told myself it was suppose to be brown.
I think it would probably look better brown.
Have you thought of that?
Of dying your hair brown?
I mean,
you do have big brown eyes.
Regardless of your hair,
I did appreciate the conversation,
the jokes,
the flirtatious elbow touches,
the dreams of us running away together.
The thought that maybe you could put me under some spell that would allow me to forget my current curse. Until one day I show up at your door and I find you with your bags packed and you're saying some crazy stuff like "I'm leaving for Chicago, I told you three months a go I was moving and what the hell nate do you never listen when I talk to you?!!"
and I'm all like, "SAYYYYYYY WHAT?"
However....
I did not appreciate the ring on your finger.
That evil piece of carbon,
clinging so tightly to your left hand ring finger,
wrapped by the devil's hands himself,
so tight that as you grow fatter (probably from eating all those M&Ms that they gave us to snack on during the brain storm session. Don't act like I didn't see you eat all those!) it will squeeze all the blood to the top of the digit
until the very tip of your finger is a bright red cherry tomato about to pop all over my shirt and OH MY GOD, YOU'RE BLEEDING ON MY SHIRT! THIS IS FROM BROOKS BROTHERS AND IT WAS NOT ON SALE! AND I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT TO WASH THIS WITH- COLD WATER? X, SOMEBODY GET ME AN ICE CUBE! UHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
(see also: my heart)
So you're married.
So what.
We can network.
We can talk about social media.
Great.
Awesome.
I'm going to go stick my head in the sink and water-board myself.
Oh you're going to email me your info?
FAN-TASTIC!
This is my idea for a poem about still possibly being in love with an ex girlfriend who is in love with someone else, but you both still want to be friends because you both still really care for the other one but it's just awkward and confusing and messy, and phone calls never really end right for either party, and you don't know what to do because like I already said there's a chance that there are still feelings there, but I mean, I don't know it could just be remains of nothing and I don't want it to stop us from being friends, right?
Well this effing sucks.
