totally crushed out

i don't like writing about crushing. (although you wouldn't be able to tell it by the content. and really, i've been writing about hot gig since august? at least i'll remember what day he started. oy. i'm terribly lame.)

this morning i had several hypothetical conversations (HCs) with hot gig in my kitchen. all these HCs were the same: i was asking him out (because i have hypothetical balls) and he kept accepting my date invitations.

now, i know what you're telling yourselves, dear readers, that it's all my fantasy fulfillment and what not. but these are my fantasies! and my fantasies never involve me getting what i want. they usually revolve around me doing something i don't normally have the guts to do in real life and getting what i still get in real life. so why is my brain trying to convince me with a "yes, i'd love to go to dinner with you. trudy's sounds great."

it's not that i haven't actually thought about asking hot gig out in real life; i just never would. one, i hate rejection. two, he = adonis and, i = hephaestus (you know, the lame god, not that i'm saying i'm godly, because i'm not). in other words: he's way and completely out of my league. three, it could be termed as sexual harassment since he wouldn't be returning what i put out there, and it would make work a little weird. (i have other excuses, but blah blah blah, right?)

and i keep turning back to that dog and their wonderful second album and how i totally and completely relate to "silently" and "back of my mind" and how things would be different if i saw him "kissing christian" and how i need to listen to and follow the advice of "anymore" and how i wish everything were just like "one summer night". (it's really the perfect album to have around when crushing.)

bah. time for food. stupid crush.