I need a girlfriend. Not because of any feeling of loneliness or needy urge, or biological clock. I need someone to talk to on the drive back home from holidays at my parents house.
Seven hours in a car in the south is boring. You know what’s between Houston and New Orleans? Swamp, marsh and nothing.
I know what you’re thinking: “But, you probably spent that time coming up with all kinds of great ideas/thoughts that I’d love to read about.”
Yeah, not so much. Really I only thought about the lack of driving skills by everyone in Texas and Louisiana; and my desire to light my cigar without crashing my vehicle.
Of course, it’s entirely possible that one of the reasons I thought of nothing was because of the vegetative state that Christmas gifts put me in. How can anything in my life be interesting or worth discussing if all I am doing is playing NHL09, reading Jonsey (Keith Jones’ autobiography with John Buccigross) or Inside Inside (by James Lipton), or watching the entire first season of Chuck on DVD?
Basically, I’ve come a couch potato over the holidays and the key to significantly entertaining events is the improvisation of interaction with other human beings and/or personal reflection on those incidents.
What type of reflection can I do on watching an average Joe six-pack who’s life is going no where have his life interupted by top secret government spy work and a smoking hot girlfriend who kicks terrorist ass? (well, other than “I want one of those!”).
So there’s the last few days in a nutshell: I want a smoking hot girlfriend to spice up the life, through either internation espianage, or just chatting in my car.