Blah. Or perhaps Blarg would be more appropriate.

I was going to play basketball tonight with The D.J, The Mustacheless Man, and his bland friend The Italian, but, the gym being closed, that has fallen through. I'm not bummed because I have an extra hour of time, or because I can't play basketball and exercise and keel over exhausted after half an hour, nay, I'm mildly bummed because I haven't randomly socialized with The Mustacheless Man for about a month.

I've decided that The Mustacheless Man is the new Dylan. A great guy I just don't get to hang out with that often, who is largely a dork. I saw him today and we were both so bizarrely overjoyed that I wanted to punch him goodnaturedly in the gut, and said so.

Ah, it's nice to be around someone with the same sense of humor. Still, random socialites we must remain; I'm always suspicious that he doesn't remember my name, what with the infrequent interaction.

Here's where I stuck some passive-aggresive overthinking disguised as meaningful commentary. Reverse-blogging saves my readers once again!

In any case, I last night I was going to write about guilt and confusion and maybe a few more of the incredibly-egotistical-brand of human emotions, so I suppose I should do that, but not now. I'm in too shiny of mood with too sharp an edge.