indigo girls.

i was having this conversation with a friend of mine about how guys are all dogs. that wasn't my opinion, that was hers. she said all guys are dogs. i said not all guys. she said all guys cheat. i said not all guys. she asked what percent of guys don't cheat? i said maybe 10 percent. she said, "yeah right, how come i've never met any?" i said, "because of that 10 percent, 8 percent of them are ugly nerds."

Post-Partum.

so, i guess it'll make me feel better to talk about it. or write about it. it's hard because we could've had the first and third game and be up two games to one. but whatever the reason, we couldn't do it. rumors about trouble in the locker room, players not being committed to their sport, distracted by hollywood, etc., etc., etc.,. whatever the reason we couldn't do it. and the pain of watching today occur. it's like, you would think at some point a player would miss a fucking three-pointer, right? that motherfucker did not miss. every fucking three he took sank like a fat man in a tub. and his team-mate's. it's like they knew our hearts were torn out and thrown on the ground and yet all they wanted to do was take a hammer to it. i must admit, it felt a little good when the big man forearmed that sucker to the deck. i knew it was wrong, i knew it wasn't called for, and i knew it had no place in the game but i must admit-- it felt a bit good to see. i was like, shit, if this is what they're going to do to us, let's tear the whole fucking arena to shreds! everyone must die! kill! kill! kill! anarchy! chaos! rape! maim! down with the nba! let basketball forevermore cease to exist! i don't know. i guess there's always next year. or the next. or however long it takes to rebuild. it's just very fucking strange that it ended like this. it just doesn't make a whole lot of sense.