Sappy Fool

I like playing the fool. I spent a lot of time trying to be solemn and respectful, and I still am. I do happen to be generally a nice guy. But I like playing around, giving people I like a hard time. I'm just a big kid. I still read comic books and eat junk food and play too much video games. This is me. I like it.

I had a great Saturday. But other people had an even greater Saturday.

Trish is getting fucking MARRIED. I've known for a long time but it really kicked in the night of her bachelorette party. Not that I went (Dallen: that part is for just chicks only, even Dragons know that).

But Matt (Dallen: HI MATT) came over for some pre drinking and hanging out so we could meet the bachelorette party at the bar when they were done all their chick only junk. We had a great time, we had another night where we turned all the lights off and lit candles and people sang and played the guitar. One of my favourite things about living where I do. I get blown away, I love nights like that. Plus, we had pan-cake and pudding cake. I can't wait until I can join in with more than a tambourine.

Oh yeah and Matt brought over Stephen king's writing book, On writing. We've been talking about him lending it to me for months now. I am a happy camper.

At that point I was on cloud 9 and grinning like a fool.

Anyway we got downtown and met the ladies as they were making their way to the the club, and we got to see some people I haven't seen in a while. The rest of the night is a blur of dancing and beer and tequila shots. I had a good time. I especially like the sashes that Rachel and Alison were wearing stating "Maid of Fucking Honor". So awesome.

I think. Things get a little blurry.

I know I walked Cassie home. I have this thing about walking young women to their doorsteps. I've been doing it as long as I can remember.

Apparently I got home in the wee hours of the morning and asked for some tweezers. Rumor has I punched a rosebush.(Dallen: understandable, rose bushes are uppity) Of course I got that bush back. I threw up in it. Allegedly. Also I supposedly went on a huge rant about my love life. That's pretty believable though as it definitely sounds like something drunk Spammy would discuss.

Sunday was hangover day. I woke up at 8:30am and went downstairs. I watched Star Trek and complained. I got my lunch burned on me (Dallen: No thanks to Hombre!) and I ate it and I complained. I watched Good Will Hunting, but I didn't complain cause I was feeling a bit better and cause that movie kicks so much ass. I went to work and complained. I called Jay and complained. Mom tried to call me and I complained. I went to sleep. I might even have complained.

But I'm cool now.

Well kinda.

Today I am a sappy idealistic fool.

You have been warned.

Romance?

Yep we're going there. I blame the weird conversations I've had the last few days. And maybe Trish for getting married and making me think about all this crap. And maybe my playlist.

Screw you. Marilyn Manson make wonderfully romantic music. Also Dry Kill Logic, Trivium, As I Lay Dying and Killswitch Engage.(Dallen: He's not even being sarcastic or nothing).

Bt yeah, here goes:

Sitting in a basement with a very inexplicably sad person I cared about. Pouring rain pounding against the glass door leading to the backyard. And me, always in a little bit over my head. But I remember something, a conversation, that we had a few weeks before. I don't think. I move. I have a weird hatred for rain. She knows. But not on that day. I throw open the sliding door. I walk over to the bed she is sitting on. I tell her to come with me. She sits up. She is confused. She wants to know what is going on. I didn't take that for an answer. I pick her up and carry her outside in the rain. I put her on her feet. The confused look on her face is worth it. I take her into my arms. I start into what I best recall of a simple waltz. I am a terrible dancer. She knows. The warm summer rain is cascading over us. She melts. She starts to cry. Because I remembered. I angle her towards the drain pipe, drenching us both. I lean in. Our lips touch. I forget where and who I am for a minute, or two, or ten. I don't remember.

She always wanted to dance in the rain.



That's me. It only happens when you're not trying.