Bastard Ipod!
I'm just sitting here innocently writing copy for my job...Not bothering anyone. Reading about ToCro's bizarre dreams involving birth, olive oil, rabbits and scooters...
and on comes "I Love NYE" by Badly Drawn Boy from the "About a Boy" soundtrack.
Christ on a stick, it's quite possibly on of the most wistful-stare-out-your-cube-office-or-bus-window-melancholic-with-just-a-dash-of-hope-songs ever written and it just bitchslapped me upside the head.
DAMN YOU iPOD!
and on comes "I Love NYE" by Badly Drawn Boy from the "About a Boy" soundtrack.
Christ on a stick, it's quite possibly on of the most wistful-stare-out-your-cube-office-or-bus-window-melancholic-with-just-a-dash-of-hope-songs ever written and it just bitchslapped me upside the head.
DAMN YOU iPOD!
posted by LC Greenwood at 10:36 AM
6 Comments:
The pure variety in your rage as of late is awe inspiring. George Stephanopoulis, Jane Austen and the shuffle feature on your iPod.
In the case of the last two, I sense that you sometimes lash out at things that make you to feel mushy or vulnerable.
For that reason, I'm glad we didn't go to high school together. With my luck I'd have had a major crush on you, giving you a flower or homemade card and getting a black eye in return.
LOL. No, my rage at that point wasn't as well-focused. I'd have been probably more than likely totally threatened by the lovely and nice gesture, asked myself what was wrong with you for crushin' on someone like me and more than likely miss out on something good. And then go chase after the asshole who I made out with the night before who never called.
Ah yes - art school chick with a taste for bad boys. The one who's mother likes me, which makes her repel me all the more.
You may have had a different name and face, but you broke my heart a million times, with your "we just make better friends" and "you're like a brother to me" speeches. *sob*
yes, well, take heart. Most of us now are single, unhappy, and taking it out on the poor, innocent internets. For serious.
Heart taken.
Still, there'll always be a part of me standing under art girl's window, holding up my boom box.
And hoping I'm not inadvertently supplying makeout music for them because she snuck him upstairs an hour ago, dammit.
When I want to run awaaay, I drive off in my caaar...
See, now that's just tantamount to stalking.
Yep, the romance has been bled dry.
You know, from all the cutting.
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