Werther de Goethe in Blue's Journal

Subject:	apparently...
Time:	2:17 pm.

I don't spit game. This is the phrase I've been taught by a 15yr old I met through the Charlotte Players. I'm doing Fiddler on the Roof and after pictures (think I got a link to them somewhere) on Monday I drove her to the mall while we were waiting for rehearsal to start, my inability to "spit game" was pointed out when I completely failed to hit on the big tittied tattooed manager of Journey's. (Her ears were prominent it disconcerted me.)

So how is it that last night at Czar while I was enjoying a stolen ciggy drinking some Italian beer (Peroni?) that I was descended upon by 3-4 females of much hotness? I learned their names and we all took pictures together (if I can get copies these too shall be posted) and I even obtained a myspace name from the incident. Very odd. If I knew how to bottle whatever pheromones I was exuding when I got surrounded I would be a much happier chap. (Of course it might have something to do with the fact that I was at the only table with open chairs... but a lad can dream, right?)

Ok... ugh I had to join snapfish to be able to look at the pictures. Why do old people not know about photobucket or flickr?

( let's see if I can rape their bandwidth )

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