This blogging thing is kind of difficult. It's a lot like when you get a diary/journal/whatever you call it so you don't sound like Harriet the Spy and you say (usually as a part of the first entry) that you're going to write in it constantly and blah blah. That lasts for about 3 days and then the next entry happens about four months down the line and starts with "Sorry I haven't written in a while..." To prevent this, Jess and I talked about what shows we could talk about seeing as our conversations are mostly serious discussions (ha) about things we're watching/reading/listening to...however I do not have cable at school. So in the meantime I will just continue to write down things about my life and cringe as I read them back. I'm learning I do not fair so well on a computer screen. I embarrass myself. Speaking of that...
I love to come home and, once again, end up the butt of the gay joke. You know what Jess? You say plenty of creepy things and no one RECORDS you just to make you feel exposed and vulnerable at any opportune moment. This is like the time you wouldn't believe me that I was gay. And just because it turns out I'm not doesn't mean you can't let me dream. It's called tact my friend. I'll send you a coupon and you can buy it with your next bottle of tequila you Cuban. Gosh, I love you. But I really mean I less than three you because I have affection issues and I hate typing those words. Ha. Hm.
So this weekend I went to my roommates house to celebrate her little brothers 6th birthday. And, yeah, we got his ass drunk. And by that I mean I'm lying. But anyway there's a little ish with going to her house -- her mom looks like fucking Jennifer Nettles. If you don't know who this woman is, please look her up. It might do you good. So we exchange pleasantries (and no Jess I did not cop a feel) and I sat on the couch to take the leap into self loathing for a little while. And I would have wallowed in it way longer only there was this awkward little other issue I was having...
Ok, so, you know when you get the feeling that your friend's dad is hitting on you? My roommate actually lives with her mom and step dad who's only about 10 years older than us. I think he's still in the "young" bracket which is why he was being a little flirty with me. And I mean --knee grabbing, staring at you till you look back, get you in an empty room-- kinda flirting. Ok maybe that's not flirting, maybe that actually is him being two seconds away from slipping a rufie (roofie? roofy?) in my koolaid? Whatevs man, I ran like the wind when he came around. Also, when you get the feeling this is going on...trampolines aren't the best idea. Trampolines by windows where said stepdad can stand behind curtain -- you're just asking for it. Clearly I asked for it, vomited, and then asked for some more with a smile. Totally giving those Lifetime girls a run for their money.
Also speaking of conversations that make us laugh/vomit I'd like to share the conversation my roommate and I were having about our bitchy weight lifting teacher:
JC: ...yeah you could show her the strongest muscle in your body!
Roommate: NO! I don't want to show her my vagina!!
JC: ...
And also, Jess (yes, I have to write you on the blog because we haven't spoken in like a fortnight -triple word score- ) have you forgotten that you lose the computer after 9? You're being warned that payback is a bitch. Mortified doesn't begin to describe my feelings. And you bet I tried to go in and edit but it won't let me. Bitch.
Peace, Love & Bianca Ryan (may she thank me in her Grammy speech) - JC
I love to come home and, once again, end up the butt of the gay joke. You know what Jess? You say plenty of creepy things and no one RECORDS you just to make you feel exposed and vulnerable at any opportune moment. This is like the time you wouldn't believe me that I was gay. And just because it turns out I'm not doesn't mean you can't let me dream. It's called tact my friend. I'll send you a coupon and you can buy it with your next bottle of tequila you Cuban. Gosh, I love you. But I really mean I less than three you because I have affection issues and I hate typing those words. Ha. Hm.
So this weekend I went to my roommates house to celebrate her little brothers 6th birthday. And, yeah, we got his ass drunk. And by that I mean I'm lying. But anyway there's a little ish with going to her house -- her mom looks like fucking Jennifer Nettles. If you don't know who this woman is, please look her up. It might do you good. So we exchange pleasantries (and no Jess I did not cop a feel) and I sat on the couch to take the leap into self loathing for a little while. And I would have wallowed in it way longer only there was this awkward little other issue I was having...
Ok, so, you know when you get the feeling that your friend's dad is hitting on you? My roommate actually lives with her mom and step dad who's only about 10 years older than us. I think he's still in the "young" bracket which is why he was being a little flirty with me. And I mean --knee grabbing, staring at you till you look back, get you in an empty room-- kinda flirting. Ok maybe that's not flirting, maybe that actually is him being two seconds away from slipping a rufie (roofie? roofy?) in my koolaid? Whatevs man, I ran like the wind when he came around. Also, when you get the feeling this is going on...trampolines aren't the best idea. Trampolines by windows where said stepdad can stand behind curtain -- you're just asking for it. Clearly I asked for it, vomited, and then asked for some more with a smile. Totally giving those Lifetime girls a run for their money.
Also speaking of conversations that make us laugh/vomit I'd like to share the conversation my roommate and I were having about our bitchy weight lifting teacher:
JC: ...yeah you could show her the strongest muscle in your body!
Roommate: NO! I don't want to show her my vagina!!
JC: ...
And also, Jess (yes, I have to write you on the blog because we haven't spoken in like a fortnight -triple word score- ) have you forgotten that you lose the computer after 9? You're being warned that payback is a bitch. Mortified doesn't begin to describe my feelings. And you bet I tried to go in and edit but it won't let me. Bitch.
Peace, Love & Bianca Ryan (may she thank me in her Grammy speech) - JC
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