The reason that I love the internet is the idea of interaction. With one click I can be directed to a website with a catalog of daily events from people (most of whom I couldn’t care less about, but the others are somewhat relevant). As much as people dislike Facebook for their disregard of privacy, it’s still an amazing tool for reconnecting, or spying, whatever. Shut up. Who are you to judge? Right now, I’m coming down a bit from a Tuesday-night buzz. This doesn’t happen too often, but I’m not ashamed to admit that it happens. Tonight, on the drive home from my local watering hole, I considered the idea of speaking with an ex-girlfriend, once I got home, on Facebook. I guess this would be similar to a drunk dial / drunk text, but a little different. I knew she’d be on Facebook chat. Somehow I just knew. And she was. I got home and changed clothes. I grabbed a few cookies and scarfed them down. I booted up my laptop and directed Chrome to Facebook. Boom. There she was. Here lies the dilemma. What do I say? Why am I saying it? Do I say “So, Detroit, huh? How’s that?” or do I open with a casual greeting? Hey. Hello. Hi. How are you? Do I play it cool or do I just do something else? I decided that this is too many questions, so I just didn’t talk to her.

I mean, at the end of the whole thing, it was like, “Hey we’ll be friends, right?” As if men and women can just be friends, especially after they’ve seen each other at least half-naked, and still broke up. I mean, it’s a special thing when a girl lets you see… well… never mind any of that. But, realistically, I think we’re all kind of jealous. (Maybe I shouldn’t make this statement, because, like Barry Egan in Punch-Drunk Love, I don’t know how other people are.) It upsets me to some degree, oftentimes very minimal but sometimes substantial, when a girl I dated or crushed on or saw once and thought was cute starts dating someone that, for some fucking reason, isn’t me. It’s blatantly illogical to expect cute, interesting girls to stay single, but goddammit, they should, right? I’m single. I’ve been single most of my life. So it’s weird, honestly, for me to be dating someone, let alone “in a relationship.” It seems so easy for these girls, all of them, as if it’s a hefty digit, ha, (it isn’t) to enter into something new and different and exciting. I know that I’m not new or different or especially exciting, but isn’t there something to be said about familiarity? Dependability? Straight up ballerness? Not that I know what that is…

Any way you look at it, the internet is awesome and awful. I’ve sent drunk Facebook messages and I’ve anonymously Tumblr-asked a girl or two, but that’s what makes it a beautiful thing. The choice between anonymity and unabashed honesty. Is there something weird about the desire to hook up with an ex? Or to just hook up at all? Not even “hook up” like teenagers say these days, bro, but like hook up, as in flirt a little over AIM. Push come to shove, it’s probably a bad idea and I’m most likely better off just admiring (readmiring?) from afar, but the thought’s always going to be there. What if I just said “Hi”?

I’ve been going to McDonald’s, because what better way to feed my instinctive laziness and delusions of grandeur than eating cheap, disgusting food but then winning at McDonald’s Monopoly? I usually get three things every time I go: a 10-piece McNugget, a large fry, and a medium Coke. This usually nets me 6 Monopoly game pieces, so even if I don’t win at the actual game, I might win a free menu item or at the very least, I can use the instant win codes to accumulate MyCokeRewards points and exchange them for free Powerades. Today, I went to McDonald’s and ordered the aforementioned menu items, only to notice upon my return home that only the McNuggets had Monopoly pieces on them. If I would’ve known they were out, I wouldn’t have even bought the fries or the drink. So, in short, McDonald’s, tell people when you’re out of pieces because we come to your establishment for the games, not the shitty food.

During the Michigan game today, I saw about 100 commercials for the new flatbread chicken sandwich at Taco Bell. They list and show the ingredients as flatbread, chicken, and cheese. It sounded awesome to me, for only 99 cents, so I ordered it and a couple of tacos. I come home and unwrap my dinner, only to notice that my new flatbread chicken sandwiched is lathered with baja sauce. I hate baja sauce. No one said baja sauce. Goddamn you, Taco Bell.

Some people can possess immense and extremely unfair power. Maybe this is just me and perhaps no one will relate to this at all and everyone will realize just how crazy I may or may not be, but, I digress… upon the sight or mentioning of certain people, always girls, always girls that I’ve somehow been in an awkward (on my part) or unfavorable (on my part) “situation” with, I get the feeling as if someone had punched me right in the diaphragm, forcefully expelling all of the breath from my body and making me feel quite uneasy and even perhaps a bit angry. Also, I love every cute girl. And I don’t just mean like, typical, average, cute. I mean like super cute. Something special.

And to further expand upon this, I mean I don’t even have to see these people (see: girls) in person. It can be on the internet! On the Facebook! I mean come on. Honestly. Chemical reactions in the brain are like little kids mixing food coloring with all of the condiments in the refrigerator and pantry combined.

May showers? It’s been rainy and cold for what seems like the majority of the month so far. The past couple of days have been in the low 40’s, with the temperature supposedly starting to increase tomorrow. On Thursday I’m supposed to go to Comerica Park to watch the Tigers beat the Yankees, but there is an 80% chance of thunderstorms. I hate rain.

Teenage girls love to strip reblog credit from the things that they post. So rude.