What would my blog be if I didn't say anything about the weekends?

This past weekend... we went to a Good Charlotte concert on Friday night, and it felt really, really good to let the inner little girl out. Jumping up and down, head-bobbing, pushing, screaming. It was easy to let her out, spontaneous, and didn't feel silly at all. We shopped on Saturday. It was, like it always is, a disappointment. We went to an auto show on Sunday, where I probably picked up the germs that are now wreaking havoc on my system.

The weekend before, we played football on Saturday, and I scored a TD... which, if you've ever seen me try to catch anything then you'd know, was an amazing accomplishment. We went to my roommate's bday dinner at Celia's, where some humongous Asian dude whose arms are bigger than my thighs told us that true love is a guy taking it up the ass by his dildo-wearing girlfriend. Dumbass. (Or rather, Fuckass.) In that scenario, I can only imagine one and only one person experiencing true love. I can't remember what we did that Sunday. Probably shopped. And it was probably a disappointment.

Is all of this good enough? No, it's not, and I'm not sure why it's not. It used to be. But I don't feel the same now. I didn't want to change. It's as if there was a sudden blackout. A sudden ceasing of the flow of electricity. I'm just not feeling it anymore. I am sad about that.