Another party I’ve missed. Another dance club I’ve walked past. Another foamy wet-tee shirt experience that I’ve chosen to ignore.
Who gives a flying fuck? At this point, I could care less about getting grinded on by loose girls or kissing random strangers or getting drunk out of my mind.
That life isn’t for me anymore.
I’m a better man – at least that’s what everyone from my past keeps telling me that I should be. Better than I was before… better than I am now. Better than they ever were or will be.
It seems a far cry from what I was being told five years ago – before any of the trivial bullshit of my recent past ever happened. Back then, it was my sole mission in life to marry a supermodel and live in a penthouse in New York City.
I sure have had an epic character development. Keep reading my blog, I might tell you more about it.