tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15534183.post112468188280286767..comments2023-08-04T06:39:07.439-05:00Comments on PB & Razz: they keep coming backerinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12727301257229287136noreply@blogger.comBlogger1125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15534183.post-1125588893691132202005-09-01T10:34:00.000-05:002005-09-01T10:34:00.000-05:00I have some free time at work today, so I'm going ...I have some free time at work today, so I'm going to write you. <BR/><BR/>I think the biggest mistake we make as people is letting that which isn't said get in the way. <BR/><BR/>I have no idea why, but for some reason, we're built to resist saying what we really think. Subtitle scenes in a classic Woody Allen film aside, generally speaking, we spend so much time speaking and so little time saying anything. And it isn't usually healthy. <BR/><BR/>It's starting to piss me off.<BR/><BR/>TANGENT: I really like the flip-flop guy. That's the way it should be. <BR/><BR/>But back to the whole thing. I had a conversation with a girl yesterday about peanut butter and jelly. We discussed everything from viscosity of peanut butter to seed content of jelly. It was clear to me from the initiation that she wanted me. Rare though that is, here's the rarest: I didn't want her. I know. I know. Inconceivable. That being said, the entire conversation was about what wasn't being said. Knowing winks from her when referring to liking it "smooth," were met with awkward, choppy retorts like, "No! No, no, no, no, no. Crunchy. I meant to say crunchy is my favorite." A blatant lie, I'll admit it, but under my duress, what could I do but lie. <BR/><BR/>Apart from the obvious nonverbal analyzation, I could not bring myself to turn this poor woman down. I'm not the most tactful person, this I know, and I thought the tractor beam sized signals I was sending in her direction were spelling it out, "NO," but I guess, I was wrong, because she wants to go out next week. Why is it always a week? Like we need a week to pine away - hers towards, mine away - thinking about what's worth wearing, how much to spend, to buy flowers or not, etc. <BR/><BR/>But it's this pb and j convo we had where nothing we were saying mattered that lead me to really just hate myself for not blurting. Blurt. Bangs is right, Let It Blurt!<BR/><BR/>So, who wants to know? I'm blurting. For now anyway. My Catholic, white collar Midwestern soul won't let me for long, so come one, come all. It's the True Man Show, and I ain't no Jim Carrey... I have no idea what that meant. <BR/><BR/>I love your blog, Erin. Don't stray like I do.Max Wastlerhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/02854165416210751131noreply@blogger.com