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May 29, 2005 / 12:15 p.m.
It figures that on my birthday i'm as depressed as i can ever remember being.
Came home from the party really early last night, as i didn't feel like standing around with a beer can in my hand amongst a hundred hipsters who i didn't know at all.
I said hi to my friends, got a birthday mix tape from andie, and that type of stuff was all that really mattered.
Basement show that had the wreak of body odor, trips to plaid pantry after i already arrived at the party for a sick amanda, awkward remembrances of calls that did or did not happen third person.
I was biking home with my oxblood red shoes, thinking of how everytime i ride my bike i'll have to make the commitment to spit shine them the next day with an old t-shirt or something, since the pedals always scrape em up.
The chain came off three quarters of the way home, and i got off and had to get my hands completely greasy, only to be washed when i got home. Before putting the mix tape on, going to bed and waking up at four in the morning with it skipping on the fourth song into the 20 song mix tape.
The old guy who writes letters to the editors all the time is sitting across from me, typing incredibly loud with single fingers. Like he was playing one of those games where the head of dolls pop up and you have to bash them while others simultaneously come up.
I really need a 20 oz latte right now.
I really need a hot bath right now.
I really need a warm body right now.