hodge podge of frivolity

I've written about nine different opening paragraphs tonight, but nothing I thought would pass muster with you, my dear, single-digit number of an audience.

I threw down some shit about the end of summer (who cares, we know, it went by fast). I thought writing about this girl I'm seeing, and her irreprebably bad breath, might be funny. It would be, but I would feel terrible. Then I copied and pasted a list of the entries on my bank statement and thought it could be entertaining. It wasn't.

So here I am at 1:15 AM on a Sunday night, armed with not a lot. I could launch myself into a stream of consciousness festival, but it's way too early in the evolution of this blog to reach down into the bottom of that barrel.

Well, if the substance suffers this week, at least the style will not. I got some really nice tips from an expert blogger today. As you can see, it was really helpful. I don't have those random, dorky pictures on the right side anymore and I got rid of that amateur-ish format. She was so gracious about teaching me and it seemed like she was genuinely happy to welcome a new person into the blogging fraternity. I also learned that anyone who doesn't try to communicate to an audience and/or make a few bucks via the internet, is either lazy or stupid. Now if I could just get the number of readers into the ranks of double digits.

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Pedro prediction: 4 1/3 innings, 3 Earned Runs, 5 hits, 2 walks, 4 strikeouts, 82 pitches.





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I think I actually will touch on this girl with the halitosis.

She's very sweet (in most senses of the word), she seems to like me, and we have a good time together. But is it a good thing to dread having to kiss someone three weeks into a relationship? It's like her tongue is coated in this glazey film of lemon juice and garlic powder. It's unbearable. Kissing and gagging at the same time is never good.

I mean, I know I have plenty of peccadillos, but what the hell am I supposed to do in this case? We woke up this morning and she started getting affectionate. At this point, I knew that 'morning breath' was about to get a completely new definition. I just kept praying that she was she was headed south. Then I started weighing the possibility that this type of radio-activity might actually melt my penis. I got up and told her that I had to take the dog out.

I deprived myself...of sex...on a Sunday Morning. Walking the dog at 9:00 on a Sunday morning was a better option...than SEX...three weeks into a fucking relationship. Can you believe it?