Matt I…

Matt may have been my first friend. Unfortunately he was also my first enemy. For some strange reason we bounced back and forth all throughout day care. Playground tussles one day, sleepovers at his farm the next. The pendulum settled eventually when I got my first official job at Sonic. This was after I had completely altered my personality from my freshman year. No one knew the new me, and Sonic was the high school job to have. All the cool kids worked there, including Matt.
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I went to college with Jon. He hated me during Full Sail. No surprise. I never question why someone hates me. I can be that kind of guy a lot. However, when I returned to Florida after my NYC failure, he decided to give me a second chance, and apparently shaking Misty’s dead weight off my shoulders made me a more likeable dude. I could still be an asshole, but the good kind, if there was such a thing. Jon and myself engaged in several drinking escapades in Downtown Orlando. Every other weekend I was there, and we had some fun, and we had some disasters. Fun times included getting attractive fruit loop liquor girls to donate their rainbow tall hat to me, others ended in Chinese food at the same place when all the bars shut down, and lest we forget the morning trips to Starbucks where Jon and I had a coffee and reran the night’s adventures. The disasters…well, the disasters were indeed disastrous: One of which being among the first few nights of my return to Florida.
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They Shall Remain Nameless…

Tom Waits once wrote a song entitled “I Hope that I Don’t Fall in Love with You”. I didn’t really get it until I went out a significant amount. Now I understand. I’ve fallen in love with girls I’ve met for five seconds, and I’ve fallen in love with girls I’ve known for five hours, but I have yet to fall in love with a girl I’ve talked to for more than a day. This entry is about several women of varying degrees of intimacy, and I know not the names of any of them.
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Matt S…

Matt was a friend of Kelsey’s from Full Sail. He came to NYC on the first night I decided to start drinking. He was gay. By the end of the night six Jack and Coke’s compelled me to say, “You’re the coolest gay guy—“ “I’m the coolest faggot?!” He interrupted. I corrected myself, “You’re the coolest faggot I’ve ever met!” It was the start of a beautiful friendship. I was jealous of his gayness. If only I could be so blessed. Gay guys could get sex so easily. All it cost was a look through the phone app Grinder and away you went! Damn that orientation.
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I’ve known Rob for longer than I can remember. Literally. He’s told me before how he made fun of me in 8th grade and felt terrible about it ever since. You’d think he was in the middle of a 12-step program, because I had no recollection of such an event, which made it easy to shrug it off and claim that I probably deserved it.

Rob and I didn’t talk much in High School. He was just some guy who was around. It wasn’t until I hung out with him and Nick on one of my last nights in Kansas that we cosmically locked ourselves together. I told him to let me know if he ever visited Florida and needed a place to crash. I didn’t mean it, not in the sense that I wouldn’t have let him, but more in the sense that I didn’t think he would ever take me up on the offer. Low and behold, sitting in class one way too warm November morning I received a text from the aforementioned acquaintance who was a soon-to-be friend.
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