February 12, 2010

8:43 am: wake up alone again, my hair looks like crap – worked the closing at Starbucks last night.  I really need to fix my hair.

9:23 am: my hair is finally right – it's doing that floppy forehead thing, a few strands in my eyes for effect – it's a little irritating, but it makes my eyes look steamy.

9:24 am: I tried pulling on my hoodie and it fucked up my hair.  Dammit.

9:48 am: hair is OK again – going out in short-sleeves instead.

9:52 am: can't find a shirt that's tight enough.

10:00 am: I'm just going to stay in.

10:06 am: all right, hair looks good, it does – I've got to go out while it lasts.

10:09 am: windy day outside – hair fucked up again – lesbian makeout videos on Youtube and then a nap.

12:02 pm: going to Seattle's Best on the corner.  I stand outside for 15 minutes and try to look disinterested – accidentally farted in front of a hot girl – blamed it on a dog.

12:34 pm: singing along to the faux-indie songs on the Seattle's Best stereo – while mouthing the words I accidentally slobber on the woman in front of me – blamed it on a dog.

12:47 pm: Seattle's Best baristas are way hotter than Starbucks – not fair.

1:15 pm: my hair won't stay in my eyes like I want.

1:20 pm: muffin.

1:23 pm: muffin crumbs on my shirt – made attempt at flirtation with woman at table next to mine – crumbs fell out of my mouth.

1:24 pm: I hate my life.

1:25 pm: going to pawn shop.

1:48 pm: tried talking really loudly to the owner of the pawnshop about his guitars – no one noticed.

1:54 pm: took out my notebook and started writing a song.

2:07 pm: pawn shop owner tells me to “stop making creepy faces and singing”.

3:10 pm: in jail after attempting to punch the pawn shop owner.

4:02 pm: my harmonica is taken away after a bunch of uncultured swine complain about the “emo kid making pig-fucking noises”.  Jerks.

5:07 pm: after crying for an hour I vomit on the floor.  No dog to blame it on.

6:05 pm: there's a black guy in the cell with me!

6:07 pm: after trying to get the black guy to sing some blues songs with me, he tells me that, “Just because I'm black doesn't mean that I like the blues, asshole.”

6:09 pm: he punches me.

7:10 pm: manage to snag a copy of “US Weekly” - Jessica Simpson is high-waist jeans.

7:11 pm: cellmate yells at me for my groaning noises.  No dog to blame it on.