Slip Sliding Away

See?  I told you that I wouldn't be consistent with blog entries (I was about to say "journal", because that's basically what it is).  Granted, I had "better things to do" (like spend hours on the internet doing nothing) or was "too tired" (set aside some time, for heaven's sake), or whatever, but there you go.  I beat myself up over these things, maybe to beat others to the punch.  I should take some time to think about why I'm so hard on myself - I don't know and, right now, I just want to fill some space, so I don't want to pontificate too much.
I "missed" an opportunity to try speed dating last night.  I'd done it once before and, while nothing came of it, it was pretty interesting.  It was also pretty interesting when I read the blog of a woman who did go (and probably didn't think anyone who went would read it) where she pretty much went through all of the reasons why she didn't like any of the men she talked to (one of them could easily have been me).  The kicker?  She was fat.  And I don't mean "curvy" (which I find quite attractive, to be honest).  This was fat, bordering on obese.  She wasn't slovenly, granted, but she was enormous.  Now, there's nothing wrong with that, but what I think she was doing was rejecting people for the stupidest reasons, because she didn't want to be rejected first.  Now that I've written that, I think that has a lot to do with my first paragraph on being hard on myself.  Maybe people tend to sabotage themselves at the risk of people hurting their feelings.
Getting your feelings hurt.  Sounds stupid, and the common response is that you're supposed to brush it off and just soldier on.  Well, it doesn't work that way.  It hurts you, and it haunts you, and you replay those things in your mind ad infinitum.  It affects how you see the world, how you act at work, and how you act with people.  I'm afraid to make eye contact a lot of the time because of the anxiety it produces.  And I'm afraid I'll be that way for the rest of my life.  Ah well, I'm not the only person that has ever suffered this affliction, whatever it is.  And, yes, I've tried talk therapy, and I get annoyed because it doesn't seem to go anywhere, and I get sick of hearing myself talk.  I need answers, or at least a pill of some sort.
But enough of that.  I'm trying to think of ways to change the lyrics of Taylor Swift's "I Knew You Were Trouble" so that it can be a jingle for Mister Bubble.  Here's what I have so far:

Once upon a time
Not so long ago
I hated taking baths
They weren't any fun...

I'll have to work on the subsequent lyrics.  Nearing the chorus, though, you have:

I use Mister Bubble when I take baths
Good for me and
I use Mister Bubble when I take baths
now I'm soaking in the warm, warm tub
MIS.  TER.  Bubble Bubble Bubble
MIS.  TER.  Bubble Bubble Bubble

How much cash do you think I could get for something like that?  That is, if I can get my act together, which I won't.  So, you're welcome for the idea.