About my Blog son

Okay, so I'm no professional blogger but, i think I'm pretty freaking interesting, sike. But for real I find cool shit on the interweb everyday now i can have it all in one place, right alongside the randomness that is my life... Be forewarned there will be an excessive amount of profanity at times, that's just how I feel



Written before during and after my CPR class... About me from the perspective certain of a guy at a party,
this is like the first thing I've written about myself in years so be easy
Socially Awkward
About the girl, arms folded, back arched uncomfortably
up against the wall at the party… I know her. Using observation
of young adults in a party environment as an excuse for coming.
It would have been a valid reason, had she come with a pen or
even a shred of paper and no, she is not taking notes on her phone.
I know this because during a six minute reggae block I saw her,
feet rooted to the hardwood as hips swayed with the fervor of a
hummingbirds wings. If not for that firm stance she would have
surely begun to spin into beautiful, euphoric oblivion.
That guy
With his hips and hands pressed into her like memory foam may
have helped too but who cares about him
For six minutes I saw passion and joy in the face of a woman
that seconds earlier seemed frozen in an uninterested glare at all the
forms moving like a swarm of bees in a field of sunflowers
Her eyes glowing like embers the moment before they consume everything
Tendrils, curled like the limbs of an obsidian cephalopod
around the features of this jaded angel.
She reclaimed her post in the shadows, I approached saying a
silent prayer for my face, in case she decided to deck me
With a voice like a siren, she bid me hello and we chatted for a moment,
All bullshit as I gathered up the gumption to ask her to dance and
stepped back to avoid an angry fist, surprisingly she smiled sweetly
and suddenly I relaxed “I only dance to reggae” she said devilishly
I held up a finger, sprinted over to the DJ and as soon as the
House call beat dropped her fire returned, my digits
fumbled nervously on her curves and she reached back, not missing a beat
as she slid them into place. What seemed like hours was, really only three songs
My head swam as she led me to the outskirts of the crowd,
stared me down as she wrote her number on a slip of handmade paper,
in blue pen that appeared out of thin air
The last things I remember seeing were her shoes
Of course I called her.