Imagination Constipation

I can't remember what I was going to title this originally, but I guess the above works.
Chapter 1: Removing snow with a flamethrower.
After a weekend of simultaneous over and under indulgence, the time has come to reflect. Drinking lots of Coors + spending time in the hot tub= waking up grandma Eisenberg.
Note, fellow readers: there are no good bars in Antioch, and NEVER trust Google Earth when it comes to that sneaky little restaurants and bars locator button. This may result in ending up at a biker bar at 1:30 in the morning with a man wearing a ridiculous mustache threatening to kick your ass for wearing a purple shirt. Maybe I should have stayed sober.
Chapter 2: In which very little is said or accomplished.
Furthermore, my creativity has reached a new low. Events from yesterday come to mind. While working my ass off in the post-Thanksgiving retail world, I was dumbstruck by a gorgeous blond carrying a red shopping bag and wearing a long grey coat. First thoughts included, in no particular order: DAMN!, I really should have shaved sometime in the last week, I must say something!, and mind-babble regarding Sean Connery. So, I continue putting product up in a vain attempt to curtail this stampede of holiday grocery shoppers emptying my shelves. I manage to make my way to where said hotness is, and offer a disgustingly uninterested "finding everything alright?" receive a pleasant "Yes." + Smile. Wait, I swear I meant to say something other than that. That was the same thing I'd said to the overweight, sweaty man wearing high heels and the plaid flood pants who was in here ten minutes ago, and the ninety year old woman who always asks me the same questions. I know something leading to further small talk is in order, but despite our three or four more run-ins in the store, all end in very customer-service related exchanges and smiles/eyes meeting.
So, not only have I apparently lost the ability to come up with anything interesting to say, I also have no balls. Clarification is required. I do have balls, they are ineffective or hibernating, and judging from my recent bout with celibacy, the latter seems closer to the truth.
Chapter 3: Excuse and lies.
So, I haven't picked up on girls in years. I had one for the last three, and thus saw no need for it. Things being as they are, newly single and all, I've been giving it a shot. Recent attempts have fallen short and I'm terribly afraid that I'm missing awesome opportunities, see hot girl above. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Enough of this shit.
I totally forgot about Buy Nothing Day this year and went out in a fit of Black Fridayness and bought a Buck 65 CD. I've had "Wicked and Weird" stuck in my head for a week, so I picked up This Right Here Is and am totally diggin it. Canadian cowboy rap. Well not exactly but close.
Only four weeks of class left. Only 19 more 5 AMs. Thank God. By the by, I need 1 or 2 roommates, any takers?