Oh, this guy burns me. He’s such a stupid pussy bitch. Oh well. It’s his own fucking life. Let him run it however fucked up he wants to.
I’m speaking of myself.
I’m such a pussy-ass bitch. I keep going back to Jeana like a whipped puppy, piddling myself when I get petted. No. I won’t do it. Not anymore. Just because it’s become easy and comfortable to talk to her doesn’t mean I have to keep going back. No. It’s hard, and I’m a wuss, but I have to move on. I need to go call Emily. I can move on with Emily.
I’m such a wuss. I should go do it. I should go call Emily and ask her if she wants to go. But will I? Probably not. Cuz I’m a wuss.
She knows I like her. I’m damn sure she likes me. The way she looks at me. The way that she touches my arm when I talk to her, or draws me closer. But do I have the balls to go call her? No.
Sunday was her last day. I knew that for two weeks. But I kept putting it off. Finally, right before she leaves, I got up enough balls to ask for her number. Just for her fucking number. I’m such a bitch. She gave it to me, or course. Of course she would. I should go call her now and ask her if she wants to go thursday. I’m fed up with Jeana, a ‘friend’. I’m not mad at her or anything, just fed up with this SHIT. But damn. It’s so easy to stay where I’m at with her. No pain, but no gain. So I should ditch her and take Emily. I’m pretty sure Emily would go. And it’s a safe environment, there’s going to be a bunch of us. But will I get the balls to punch in this number in my pocket? No. Swingers told me to wait two days. I’ve waited two days. It’s safe. But I ain’t got the guts. I’m a yella belly. OOOH I piss myself off.
I guess this comes from Elementary school. I was the ‘funny’ kid, not the ‘cute’ kid. Didn’t have girlfriends, but damn did I make people laugh. Dressed wierd, had wierd hair. Then I was fat for a while. Now, I’m skinny, (somewhat) buffed, most girls would say I’m quite attractive, but I’ve still got the girl and dating skills of, er, well, a kid. I could flex the fuck out of these muscles, if I could get the balls to use them.
Yeah, I can magically attract any girl I’m NOT interested in. It’s so laid back, so easy. Just be somewhat aloof, humorous, but smart, and ‘cool’, and they flock. Do I want them? No. But I like them, I’m pussy stammering dorkboy, with the self esteem of the chubby, dorky, oft-beaten sixth grader I was. Oh, geez. People say I’m handsome. People say I’m funny. People say I’m charming. But the second I punch in her number, it’s a foreign language.
I did the same fucking thing with Jenny last semester. FINALLY got the balls to ask her out. No, she had a boyfriend. FUCK that didn’t help any.
OOOH this guy burns me. I wanna kick his pussy ass. He should just call her. He knows she’ll go. He’s such a bitch.
Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Tim. Yeah. That’s me. I’m such a whore.
–Tim
We are the children of the Eighties. We are not the first “lost generation” nor today’s lost generation; in fact, we think we know just where we stand - or are discovering it as we speak.


