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Wednesday, July 27, 2005 

Staring

Is staring at a beautiful woman rude? Not the stare-at-her-boobs, drool-hanging-out-of-the-corner-of-my-mouth stare. Just a normal, whoa-she's-hot kind of stare. I don't think I even stared at her breasts once. Whoa, that is so not normal.

Which reminds me of a funny story that involved me in no way whatsoever:
"I was reading her shirt."
"She's wearing a plain white tee."
"And it was very eloquent and wordy."

Back from the tangent. Yeah, she was very attractive. So am I. (This is where the sarcasm font really comes in handy.)

Why the hell am I staring? I ask myself.
'Cause she's damn attractive, I answer.

There are lots of pretty girls in the world. There's Harmony.
Oh, she's gonna love that when she reads this.
She better. I don't give out compliments everyday.
You're still staring.
I can't help myself. I'm drawn to her.
So say something.
Like what? 'I like your iPod. Will you please marry me'?
It would be better than staring.
She's like a car crash: I can't not look.
You never look at car crashes. You hate them.
I know. Bad example.
So she's better than a car crash. You like her.
That she is. And no. I like how she looks. There's a difference.
You're still staring.
I know.

Then I got off the bus.