Hey there good looking. What’s your stance on Space Jam?

I’m backdating this to match my myspace posting because I have no respect for historical authenticity.

Anyway, that being said…

 

 

 

I like to think I’ve gotten less socially awkward in recent years.

I don’t stare incessantly at the ground while mumbling sorry. I don’t quite dread conversation with that cute girl with the charming smile that makes me feel too self conscious to allow myself a smile in return.

I’ve changed a little bit.

Now I confidently make jokes about people’s mothers and rehearse armpit noise symphonies.

So not quite that bad, but I definitely don’t blush when a girl says hi to me either.

Granted, I also don’t say Hey Baby and hand out numbers. But then again, I like to think I’m squarely in the anti-douche bag portion of the venn diagram coolness chart.

Anyway, the other day, I was randomly feeling pretty self aware. I keep checking for my image in all sorts of dull surfaces with zero light reflection. I keep checking my hair. -Yeah, The hair that I don’t cut and I don’t style. The unwieldy hair I’m content with when it does anything but assault innocents.-

I’m chilling in the hallway, and this group of girls walks by giggling.

Well, they were more laughing. But I’m gonna go with giggling because it’s more prototypical for stories involving self conscious high school aged boys.

So they continue walking by, giggling.

I glance at the ground, and start to push my glasses up.

…But, the problem, you see, is that I haven’t worn glasses in 2 1/2 years.

So finger + invisible x-ray specs = !Bam! Augie janking himself ungracefully in the eye.

Group of cute girls keeps walking by.

Luckily standing alone while yelling OWWW in the middle of a quiet hallway doesn’t attract attention. Neither does looking like you were going in for a quick nosepick and missing completely.

Was that a highschool flashback? Definitely.
…That was originally intentioned to be a rhetorical question but I answered it for you anyway. I realized if I asked you it rhetorically, you probably wouldn’t have replied “definitely”. Which I think would’ve then really ruined the overall feeling of the piece.
Go back and read the sentence again. -Now- Take a dramatic pause before, “Definitely”, and think to yourself, “Wow, what a great culmination to a pointless story. I’m going to mentally file this one so I can tell my grandchildren.”
So yeah, thanks for letting me feel self-aware and playing along with that one guys.

Ah well, back from the birdwalk.

Maybe I’ll plan that scene out again in my head and maybe they’ll all walk by in the same formation again, in the exact same situation. But maybe I’ll have gotten that haircut. Maybe I’ll pretend that that uncoordinated dude wasn’t me, and then convince them that I’m actually the Leader of the Pack. I’m the studly leather clad male lead in Grease sans the cheesy melodic interludes and oil spill hair do.

Because, Contrary to Guy Poking Himself in the Eye Unaided, I’m actually Alpha Male with Style. I’m Movies for Guys who Like Movies. But there’s an underlying sentimentality that means you’ll never have to watch A Walk to Remember alone. Granted, I’ll be laughing at all the inopportune cry moments, but I’ll still be there for you.

There will never need to be a pint of Ben and Jerry’s cause you’ve had a bad day. You know why? Because I’d be right there.

I’d at least have Hagen Daaz. And, if you’re cool, there might even be toppings. And If you’re really really cool, those toppings might not come out of my roomate’s cupboard.

That’s right baby. I care.

Then again, maybe I don’t need to care (Just play along with me) Maybe all the extra labors of love aren’t even necessary.

50% of success is just showing up. And you know what? 50% of 1 is .5. And you know what .5 does? It rounds up to 1.

That’s right.

100% of success is showing up.

So you want a successful man, ladies? I’m here.
I’ll even show up 50% of the time for you.

I field all calls to 867-5309. Ask for Jenny and stay on the line indefinitely.

[Cut to Augie reclining in front of fire reading the Wall Street Journal and wielding David Hasslehoff chest hair]

If you don’t understand tongue in cheek, I apologize.
Tongue in cheek doesn’t mean I think you’re hot and am hitting on you. Journey backward, cross out the above sentence, and pretend it wasn’t there. It’s not for you.

Jeopardy trivia of the day:

No one needs the 6 minutes and 15 seconds of D’Angelo from the Space Jam soundtrack.
Itunes landed on it, and it was anything but an uplifting experience.

I need to go watch Touched by an Angel and tell myself that everything will be ok.