Really big shoe, aaaaa-really big.

Hello my human dirt streaks on the TV of life.
It's tough making choices, whether its deciding whether to have a Magnum Almond or White (normal response: Both), whether to talk to the girl next to you at the bar (normal response: Shout 'hey', shake like a fucking leaf, then for some reason comment on how nice that bottle of Red Aftershock looks and run away), or tell someone something that could very easily ruin a very good friendship. I've already done the latter once and it wasn't a nice couple of weeks, filled with awkwardness (a different kind of awkwardness that my normal kind) and avoidance of their Venn diagram section of friends that intersects with yours. I'm sitting at my Nan and Grandads right now on their computer, with the homosexual Labrador of theres (it tries to fuck other male dogs), in my grey shorts with a patch of stitching I've noticed that looks extraordinarily like the Swastika, just thinking whether it's worth another avoidance of 'that Venn diagram' or if I should just leave things be.
I've always wondered what bridges would have been opened or burnt if I'd have posted all the blogs that I've written on this site. I don't think I'd have such a good group of friends that I'm blessed/cursed with. Not that I'm bitchy, but just pure unadulterated honesty can repel people from wanting to connect with you. I've written whole chunky blogs about people I like, people I don't like, decisions I should have took and porn that I've watched, but in my beautiful bearded head have felt that sometimes, that far is sometimes a little too far.
The sudden abundance of girls I've added or have added me on Facebook is making me look dangerously like a filthy, filthy old man, and I do not want this to be what I'm known as at Cumbria University. At least not at the moment, I'll wait till I'm still completing my first year when I'm 34, with a dockoff combover and a permanent erection at the SU bar. There just seems to be little to no guys on the campus in Lancaster who are either doing my course, staying at Sarah Witham Hall or have any interest in my hobbies and pastimes. Which either makes me a extremely lucky, or extremely unlucky for having zero-to-none lads to talk about man stuff like cars and boobs and army and football and SAS.
No more blogs till I'm at University, how unlucky are you lot hey? You lap this shit up like Chilean miner longs for letters from their family.

Love and who-the-fuck-drinks-skimmed-milk

Jc