Embarrassing Admissions: The Inagural Post

Since the thing I wrote yesterday was still posted as a Monday entry, I now know I cannot cheat this impeccable Blogger system. Curses. Looks like I can't stockpile blogs on more productive days.

As such, I guess I need to fulfill my requirement today. I know I alluded to talking about Rex Ryan, but you know what, I wanna prepare a bit more for that, as recent developments of who is and who is not taking the Colts-Jets match-up personally (hint: Ryan takes it personally, because he has verbal diarrhea on a daily basis and Peyton Manning knows how to handle the press less stupid-like).

I could post an update about my life, such as "Hey, harkening back to that post I tried to post today but got screwed on with time stamps, I did start watching 'Parks and Recreation,' and it's definitely better than I thought it would be."

But that wouldn't be fun at all for anyone to read. As such, I'll do start my file of Embarrassing Admissions much, much sooner than expected. Hooray.

Here's numero uno: Freshman year of college, I spent a week watching the music video for the Paramore song "That's What You Get." I'd embed the video so as to thoroughly make fun of myself, but embedding said video has been disabled by request. Thank God for that. Someone must be looking after me.

That still doesn't mean I can't just post a link to it though; but let's face it, that's one more link you'll have to click, and do you really want to do that? It'd throw off the flow of this post.

To be fair, it wasn't so much the song that I enjoyed, but rather their attractive singer, Hayley Williams. At that point, the seventh grade pop-punk fan version of me inside my subconscious was substantially in love with the plucky-and-wholly-unthreatening redhead. On a campus full of ridiculously beautiful Southern Californian blondes that I was 99% sure I was never going to get with (in hindsight, my margin of error of plus/minus 01% on that statistic proved to be incredibly accurate; I've always prided myself on having a knack for statistics), I guess seventh grade me and was bound to manifest itself and with it, an appreciation for mopey upbeat music.

To put an overly sentimental button on this post: I guess growing up means realizing you'll always be a little bit of an emo middle schooler deep down inside.

I guess that explains why people still like listening to "San Dimas High School Football Rules" by the Ataris every once in a while, or why I'm still a rather big Alkaline Trio fan.