See what I mean?

So tonight I sang "Photograph" at karaoke. I can't get enough of it. I'm listening to it as we speak. It is arguably the catchiest song ever recorded. I am a sucker for songs with a) claps, b) "oooh-oooh-ooohs" and c) the phrase "shooting from the stars above."

I had roughly a million drinks tonight but barely got tipsy. What the hell? Clearly I've become some sort of alcoholic ubermensch. I possibly didn't spell that right.

What does it say about my life that I find myself in a bar surrounded by beautiful women who for one reason or another I am not allowed to touch? Answer me that.

That's not fair. I had ample opportunity to touch at least one of them, and voluntarily chose not to. Thus negating any bitching and moaning I shall ever do on the subject of lonliness.

Another one broke up with me, for the record. That was my fault, too. But we've been over that. (Not here on this blog. I mean the girl and me, over and over, for a long period of time, whenver we got drunk. We'd just gab and gab about our long-finished relationship. I have no idea what that says about either of us.)

Clearly I am at least a little drunk, since I'm going on and on about this "dear diary" crap I usually despise. We shall blame any spelling errors on my six Jack and Cokes, I think.

This girl (who was having a birthday) and a friend of hers wanted to sing along with me on "Dancing with Myself" tonight, which filled me with unheralded seething resentment. They kind of dropped out after a little while, though, so it was clearly no big deal. Plus the birthday girl was easy on the eyes. Her and all her hipster gal pals.

And on that note, I bid you all adieu. (That I spelled right.)

"'Cause everbody wants some love..." ... DAMMIT!