A study in social retardation

Last night, Curly was kind enough to accompany me to the Killith Fair. After Crisis brought down the house in a most spectacular fashion, we went outside to decide if we wanted to stay for M.O.D. or not. While outside, I smoked a cigarette and we discussed.

(Total tangent here, but I'm barely a smoker anymore. Thursday? No cigarettes. Friday? One. Saturday? Okay, Saturday was kind of a bust because I was drinking heavily and making out with 25 year olds. Sunday? None. Monday? None. Last night? Two. Go me!)

Anyway, this totally hot guy walked over and asked me for a light. Naturally I gave him one. Then he sort of stood there like he maybe wanted to talk to us. Had I been a normal person, I might have struck up a conversation, given him my number, fallen in love with him, married him and had babies. Instead, I turned back to Curly and resumed our conversation. I want to punch myself in the nose sometimes.

Just kidding about that whole falling in love ramble. I don't even like babies.