I talked to Pauly Shore, can I please pop your zit?

Being friendless and alone after my dear boosom buddy Gena moved to Utah is getting quite dull. I've decided to move on and make some new friends. Last night kicked off this new-and-improved social life of mine with an evening of music and theater. My friend Megan invited me to see a local production of Guys and Dolls. I, having resorted to striking up long and scintillating conversations with the grocery store cashier and the scary Mexican man who always smiles at me when I pass him on my way to work, accepted Megan's offer gratefully. We were joined on our musical evening by 3 other girls. They were great. You know the ultra-bland LDS girls with greasy pony tails and dry remarks, personalities bordering on extreme sarcasm? Yep, these were my companions for the night. I thouroughly enjoyed myself, though I was preoccupied the majority of the evening by Aaron's oh-so-ripe, white and ready to harvest pimple glistening on her cheek. Oh, to push my fingers on her supple, oily skin and watch the eruption that would follow!! This led me to question my sanity. Why would someone such as myself entertain such vulgar fantasies? Why, I am young, reasonably attractive work a pretty decent jeoorb. Earlier that day I had the privelage of speaking with Pauly Shore on the phone. Pretty sweet eh? That 90s icon and I chatted on the phone for a good 3 minutes or so. I wonder what he would say about my zit popping fetish? He'd probably grimace and just say "Weeeeasilllllll" like he always did in the past. Which brings me to another subject-why is it I got a little star struck over talking to Pauly Shore yesterday? Star struck over someone who I didn't even think was cool in the 90s let alone today...what is up with that? Feedback please. Needless to say, yesterday was a good day. Except for the part when I got in a fight with one of the room service women. But that is a story for another day.