fuck. fuckity fuck fuck.

my friend, who shall hereby be known as... my friend... the same friend who asked the girl if she thought i was a "hottie" has been asking a lot of questions of the girl lately.

and im pretty sure one of the questions coming up, if it hasnt already been asked, is if the girl "wants" crayon.

which such a... eh... way of putting it.

my friend... i know she's doing what she thinks is right, because, yeah, she's heard me kicking figurative walls in fits of confusion and... pissiness at my own inactions.

but. to... put herself right down in the middle of it all...

i dont know whether to feel partly grateful for her, for her balls to go and just ask the girl this and that without regard, but to also feel partly put off by the fact that the girl might hear it, plainly spelled out that i sometimes run in cramped places in order to get the heat out of my system late at night over her.

if nothing else, hell, maybe this will open up the gates to talking to her, really saying this and really knowing she gets this and everything.

der.

man.

on another note: my grandfather is now in physical therapy. he cant stand or move, but he's now sitting in a wheelchair which is a huge step.

on another note: i had a wonderful dinner, but i long for a this one salad i can only get in this one restuarant. ooohhh man. i salivate.

i masticate.