i called in sick today

i told a lie

i'm just hung over on tuesday morning

and i blame you

i couldn't face another day

full of questions about the black eye

and the break up

and the waitress at the diner who gives me eyes

and seems so nice

and who, by the way, is 22 and single

and whose name is maryanne

and isn't it time that i moved on?

this one's just to let you know

that i was right

i told you so

i knew that it would hurt the most

when i was ready to be done with you

for good

as if you care

in the dog days of summer

the sweat flows like water

and the fan blows hot air around the room

on the tv they're all smiling

and who can blame them

what with all their soft drinks

and their mid-sized sedans?

so i got her number on a napkin now

i've got a glimmer of hope at happiness

above and beyond you

and your bullshit

and your tattoos

and your secret recipe for pasta sauce

where do you get off?

all lyrics © m. mcclenathan

this song was written during a fucking hot summer in providence. it started as a pretty wimpy acoustic song and stayed that way for a very long time, until i got bored one day and borrowed my friend chris's pod and plugged a radioshack keyboard into it. this is also the equivalent of the island of misfit toys for failed drum machine loops. i have never dated a waitress at a diner, nor have i had the opportunity to. there was this one waitress from olive's in providence who made me fall all over myself for about a week, but this song isn't about her (neither are any others).