Thursday, March 02, 2006

diary 3/2/06

so, I just walked by what must have been that chick (name omitted)... and she was *hot*, and she was lugging this big bin of recycling out; and I should have stopped to help her. but I didn’t. I should have helped her and introduced myself as I have visualized doing countless times ever since I found out she was hot but I fucking didn’t, and now the struggle is to stop kicking myself in the ass over not introducing myself to her. some other chick that she seemed to know came up and helped her.

but fuck—I mean, I just looked like a fucking dick, since she was dragging the fucking – you know, that waddle-drag when you’re trying to “walk” some tall, heavy cubic object—or fucking rhomboidal or whatever—but clearly, if I had thought about it—not if I had thought about t—if it had *occurred* to me, because thought is passive… but anyway, I would have realized that she was clearly walking toward the copy room with it.—but fuck so basically I just looked like a dick for not helping her. fuck.so not only did I not get to introduce myself to a hot chick but also I came off as a dick. I was thinking—or was this something that occurred after the fact—that you know, a man, helping a woman—a woman would never see that shit and help a man. but I’,m just a dick. or I came off as a dick.


but yeah, now the struggle—it’s like the belt—if only I had done *this,* I would have met a beautiful girl with the advantage of having spoken to her on the phone before and she - she works like a right—a few offices down and she would have gotten to know me and eventually fucked me many, many times, but instead I didn’t—and it wasn’t like I willfully made a decision not to, except I guess I *kind of * did , who knows, if I had =-- I was lost in dark morning ruminations you know, if I had if I had if I had—fuck, the struggle now is to fucking get over it.

yeah, now that I didn’t talk to her I’ll never find a woman, she would have been the perfect woman. because it exists, it’s out there, just out of my grasp, but eludes me by way of my making just the wrong choice at the wrong time in a way I can’t really help.

the way she said sorry when she was backing into me, I just continued up the stairs—I’m such a dick.

yeah, I imagine the whole dialogue—she would have found my unusual candor so incredibly charming…

fuck.

yeah—she has a boyfriend. this -- *this* is where my cynicism helps me. of fucking *course* a good looking chick in Hollywood, in show business, working for goddamn (enormously famous producer of television and film) has a fucking boyfriend, so I better just chill the fuck out--. these missed opportunities weren’t there to begin with—plus my hair looks fucking stupid and I have a fucking nostril hair hanging out and I would have come off like a tool.

yeah, look at me for christ’s sake…

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