Textual Exhibitionism

LAST FIVE ENTRIES
The Sunday Suicide Ritual - 03.19.06
somnambulism: n, Jeremy on a Sunday night - 03.13.06
careful what you wish, you may regret it... - 03.05.06
somebody gona geta hurt real bad - 02.20.06
=NOT(rain V sleet V dark of night) - 01.31.06

two scoops of deadly sins - (05.28.05)

I must be a glutton for punishment. Or at least I'm hanging around with people looking to punish me.

Today our ultimate frisbee practice was moved to Locarno Park (sort of? maybe? isn't Locarno over there? but the map said...), which is quite a nice park. It was sunny and hot, so we called the practice early and headed down to the beach area to set up for our BBQ. The BBQ was great; we ate burgers and wings and chips and watermelon and all the things that are essential for BBQs like...raw broccoli(??). And despite cutting our ultimate practice short, we still went and killed ourselves by playing a whole bunch of frisbee down by the beach. This, however, is not the punishment of which I speak.

You may recall, not 24 hours ago, that I had myself a big ol' pity party (the only one that most of you know about, anyway) about how being down at the beach is depressing because there are all sorts of hot girls and sigh sigh sigh. Well, to make matters worse, it was really hot today so there were tons of guys not wearing shirts. Now before you go thinking that I'm a fence-sitter, that I swing both ways, or that I can't decide between a hot dog or a taco, allow me to clarify. Because it was really hot, I was sweating like a nerd at a Lara Croft Convention, as fat hairy white guys are wont to do. Being able to remove my shirt would have been so fantastically great that I just might have popped a bit of a chubby, which would have created an even worse situation, but let's pretend that wouldn't have happened. However, thanks to the adjectives I layed down two sentences ago, I couldn't ditch the threads, and so was forced to endure my sweaty shirt (which is supposedly one of those dry-fit shirts) sticking to me for the better part of the afternoon and evening. Which, as you can imagine, gross.

Oh yeah, ladies, I'm single.

I know, I know. Too good to be true.

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