Strike Up the Band and Pour Yourself a Beer Ringo; George isn't Coming Tonight

This is very stupid.

My eyes hurt, my head hurts, and my hormones hurt. It's too cliche to say that my heart hurts, and mostly because it's not true. My heart feels fine; it's beating along nicely, everything feels in tip top shape right there in my peristrunum sac....wait....did I just almost recall something from anatomy? That was weird.

Anyway.

My eyes hurt because I was staring at this pop art that I'm painting for my friend (word of advice: NEVER think, "A zebra head? How novel!! Oh, what's this, lots and lots of tiny, thin lines? I will have no problem whatsoever painting it with this 1/2" brush!"). My head hurts probably because my eyes hurt, except it's coming from the back and my neck, so it's more likely that I'm just tired. My problem is that despite my blunt and sometimes cutting wit (I'm paraphrasing someone else; I just think I have a big mouth), I really do like being a nice person. It's fun. It usually gets you stuff. It also gets you to stay up for hours while your roommate is typing a philosophy paper.

My hormones hurt because her partner for this photo project was here, and he reminded me of one of my exes, but less awkward. This of course makes him very attractive, and I haven't so much as flirted with a guy for about two months. Ok, that's a lie. But I haven't put much effort into the flirting. I guess the break up hurt me more than I thought. Oh, yea, I got broken up with. I don't like saying "dumped" very much because it sounds like I'm just some animal or grandparent that just gets left at a truck stop with the hope that someone will come along and put me in a shelter or a home.

If the grandparent thing offends you, sorry; I've read Choke by Chuck Palahniuk recently. If you know that book, that should probably explain everything.

So he walks in, and unlike the last time, I was clothed, and painting, and laughing at the Muppets' Treasure Island movie playing on YouTube. This, surprisingly, seems more embarassing to me in retrospect than the first time he was here. I thought my roommate was leaving to go to his house or dorm or whatnot, and I was tired of wearing jeans. I was changing into my pajamas, and lucky for me, decided to wear my bra until I was crawling into bed, because right as I was snapping my bra into place and pulling it up, my roommate opens the door.

Promptly, she shuts it, going, "Sorry!". I thought it was odd, and only part of me was thinking that she had a guy with her; she usually just has girlfriends come up (no, we're both straight; keep those thoughts to yourself). So I pulled on my shirt and yelled, "Okay!", but she wasn't opening the door again. So I walk up and swing the door open, and see her standing there with a rather attractive guy that put me in the indescision of going red from embarassment or just flashing him and showing him what he missed.

Thankfully for everyone, I chose the third option, where I just smiled and introduced myself to him. I doubt he saw anything, and if he did, it would've just been my back. But I like to think that my back's my best feature, so thank goodness we got off on the right foot.

So he and her were working on this photo project, and I can't remember what I was doing at that time, then he walked out, with my roommate walking with him to outside our dorm. The second time, I remember that he smelled good, he's artistic, and I have dated guys like him before, and it never ends well. But oh gee, is the ride FUN.

This is something I'm not planning on sharing with my roommate. I have a feeling that she likes him, and considering that she has his number, they're in the same class, and she's prettier than me, I'm pretty much sunk. Besides, she's also "very particular" about guys, so if she finds a guy that she likes, I'm not going to take him away from her. That's just rude.

So here I am, my hormones subsided because for some reason I'm starting to smell skunk, my head pain moving down my spine, which is probably just a strong signal to go to sleep, and my eyes drooping shut, which is just my whole body threatening to collapse if I don't go to sleep pronto. And besides, once the project's over, I doubt I'll ever see him again. I don't think he lives on campus, and my school's kind of big; you don't exactly bump into people a lot here. But don't cry for me, readertina (Evita; funny musical...but only because they have Madonna playing Evita), he and I will always have Paris. Or more like that poster of the Eiffel Tower that we have on our door. But you get the point.