Alright, so maybe the problem has nothing to do with any of the things that I mentioned in yesterday’s entry. I think that it actually may come down to selfishness. In making such a concerted effort at observing my own responses in these interactions, I’ve actually ignored those of the other. I’m such a pout, believing that I’m just so great that if these men simply do not want me there must be something wrong. Oh, how hilarious. I think if I stopped flaunting my goals and my pristine new perspective I just might be a more interesting person. Alright, let’s start now.

Last night was wonderful. My new friends Christina, Keary, Bethany, Marsha and I went all the way to Rio Rancho (a suburb of Albuquerque) to get Krispy Kream donuts. With the exception of a disappointingly not eggy cruller, the trip was decidedly worthwhile. After we got back downtown, we all (spare Marsha, who carried the sidewalk chalk) put on roller blades and went down to the University of New Mexico Campus to meet Gabe and a girl whose name I’ve forgotten. It was Gabe’s first night roller blading, and the one time he did fall, he managed to almost not drop his cigarette. So suave. Keary and Marsha tagged the hell out of the brick center square, turning someone’s lame “Do It To Me Here” tag into the far superior “Do Yatta To Me Here!” After we had all been blading for about an hour, Brian, his best friend Autumn and Autumn’s man Shiloh showed up. We all decided to split soon after that. Bethany’s pre-pubescent stepfather is being a curfew Nazi, so we had to drop her off before heading out to Village Inn. She’s supposed to be preventing me from taking up smoking, but instead she donated a cigarette to the “Caitlin Needs an Addiction” fund on the way home. I’ve been smoking on about a once a month basis for over a year, but it’s already been twice this week. How did I date a smoker for two years and not pick it up until now? Not that I’ve picked it up, mind you. Nope nope nope. Oh, I am such a bad shoe salesman, typing on this cute little laptop at work. It is so unbearably slow.

Summer people at the mall make it feel like the late eighties again. Everything seemed so huge then, but in that “Never-ending Story” way. Now everything feels huge in a way that no synthesized eighties movie ballads or furry dog-dragons can touch. Now I just feel an enormity that suggests that comprehension wouldn’t make it any better and that no legitimate mystery holds half the potential as my earliest dreams. So, it’s reality for me. It’s a pirate’s life for me. So many bad innuendos attached to pirates now.

We’re all going to Karaoke tonight. We’ll strike fear into the deepest hearts of all bar dwellers with the mad Karaoke styles. There will be more on this later.