A new lack of sentiment

This is a big story. This story is bigger than an "I am just about to go to bed and want to get this idea down that I had a while ago while I'm thinking of it blog post."

I am sentimental as hell. I always have been. When I was about five-years-old I had a pear of Vans slip-on sneakers. They were the ugly kind, all covered with psychedelic colors and what-not. I wore them until my toes poked through and the soles came off. My parents made me get new shoes, but I refused to allow my ugly worn out shoes to be thrown away. They were deposited in a drawer in my father's closet, and I wouldn't be surprised if he still had them. He is a sentimental bastard just like me.

I had a girlfriend when I was going to city college. I had been madly in love with her since I first saw her in my junior year in high school and just my luck she went to city college after high school. She should have gone to a real college. She was the type. Her immigration status was questionable and she wasn't too well off so I think that's why she went to fuck up college with me. She ended up getting a good job though, because she's that type. I was persistent as hell with her, and eventually she let me take her out, and she let me kiss her, and we went out for about eight months before I realized we had nothing in common. All that devotion and heartache. I would feel stupid about it, but I don't. I would tell you about why I don't, but that's a whole other story and I'm about up to my neck in stories as it is.

One of the things that made our relationship weird was that she always wanted to pay, and she would find a way to do it, too. Once when we were in high school we were together for some reason even though we both knew I didn't have the faintest chance of getting with her and I payed for some food of hers. It was some drive-through crap, I think, and it cost about five dollars. A few days later I looked in my ashtray or my glovebox or something, and there was a little folded up five-dollar bill with "Hi Matt" and a little smiley face written on there in the handwriting that little girls get taught at the top-secret girls camps that they all go to but nobody talks about. I saved that five dollar bill all these years, and yesterday I was going through my old stuff, throwing out crappy songs I wrote in ninth grade, and I found that five dollar bill. I spent it on some hash browns, some orange juice, and a slice of pizza.