mychai's Diaryland Diary

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S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y NIGHT!

Ahhh... Saturday night. I'm doing my normal Saturday night routine: Sitting around, cooking, cleaning, watching whatever's on the tube (nothing AT ALL), and writing in my diary.

Yep. I've said it before, and I'll say it again: Yer ol' bud JP has noooo social life.

Ich bin ein LOSER.


I'm listening to a CD I got at Barnes & Noble's. The band's called Gaelic Storm.

They're Irish.

The CD is really great! Especially if you are like me and dislike bands that are composed of only 3 instruments. You can only do so much with three instruments.

I mean... look at Hanson.

They have a female band member who is just absolutely lovely. Flowing brown hair -- my favorite. She looks to be my height. And I am willing to bet every penny I have (which just happens to come to a little over sixty-five cents) that she has an Irish accent.

Girls with accents rock my socks. Ever since my summer visit to Chicago, where I met Emma I have wanted to date a girl with a British accent.

Or Irish. I would take Irish.

So, if you are a British girl who doesn't live far from Columbia, Missouri, send me your application to be my girlfriend.

Hell... you'll at least get a free meal out of the deal.

By the way, the invitation goes out to anyone who needs a date. But it's a definite plus if you have a British accent.


The more I think about it, the more I think I really screwed the pooch on my Diary Survivor application. I answered all of the questions in pretty short and only somewhat witty responses.

So, I'm still hoping I will get selected to be on Survivor Diary. I wanna be the Naked Fat Guy.


As an addition to my story about going to see Monty Python at the movies last night...

Don't go with people who have seen it more times than they have seen a real-to-life naked woman. You won't be able to hear the damned movie.

These people know every word to the movie, and they are destined to say every line out loud when the characters on-screen say them.

I fart in your general direction! Your mother is a hamster, and your father smells of elderberries! HAHAHAHA Goddamn, I love that part! Ok, here's where Sir Robin says.....

My man Uncle Bob had the same problem, but I can't seem to find his entry.


Yep yep yep yep....

JP needs a girl. And stat. These Saturday nights are depressing.

But in order to find a girl, one must have money. And guess who doesn't have money?

Me.

If a girl wanted to come over and have me cook rizotto-stuffed breadbowls and go for a walk and ride out to the Big Tree and watch the stars... I could do that.

But that girl doesn't exhist. Not here, at least.

Most girls wanna go out and dance. You do **NOT** want to see me dance.

Now, I do get a little loosened up when I drink some. But then when I finally find a girl that would dance with me, I get all, umm... "excited" (alcohol and close dancing does that to me). And then the girls suddenly get a weird look on their faces and have to go to the bathroom.

Voila. I'm alone again.

6:38 p.m. - Saturday, Oct. 20, 2001

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