I'm Wandering Away.

So, for the three of you that regularly read this, I'm not gonna be posting anymore. 

Well, not here. 

I'm going over to Tumblr, because Ninja's got me hooked. I'll come back from time to time, don't worry, if I need to rant about Boy or Twin or Prancer. 

My Tumblr's gonna be different than this blog. But you might see a post or two that I pulled straight from my blog. 

If you can't get enough of me, I'm right here.

I Think This Is My New Favorite Song (For Now)

As a girl, I am a rather fickle creature. So my favorite song changes every few weeks. But for right now, and I'm thinking for the whole month of December, my favorite song will be "Shake Up Christmas" by Train. 

I freaking love that song. 

Here:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F12rNRdK3XA&feature=fvst

Heart, me

A Gentleman of Many Names.

Remember when I said I was slowly going insane? Yeah. By now I'm pretty much cuckoo. In my cuckoo state of mind, I thought I would contemplate something of great importance:

Where's Waldo?

I mean, this guy has been in hiding for years. Someone's ought to have spotted the bugger by now. Sure, he as a list of aliases, depending on which children are searching for him, including Wally (British tykes), Jura (Croatia), Holger (Denmark), Volli (Estonia), Charlie (France), Hetti (India), Walter (Germany), Vili (Hungary), Valli (Iceland), Efi (Hebrew children call him this), Willy (Norway), and Hugo (Sweden). 

You'd think that with that many names he's make somebody's watch list. 

He never changes his clothes, either. With a consistent outfit, he should have been spotted at least once. 

Or at least smelled.

Silly boy. I wonder what he's hiding from. He's probably part of an international espionage ring. Move over, James Bond, the new kid in town's gonna bust in. This is driving me crazier than I already am. The whole concept makes no sense. I mean, to children it's perfectly plausible, a sort of geeky kid going on world adventures, but to a cynical chick like me, I have to wonder, what's this sucker running from? A psycho ex-girlfriend? Stalkers? Well, yeah, since everyone's freaking looking for him. Is he on some sort of mission to hook up with Carmen SanDiego? 

I give up. brb. Gotta find Waldo. And interrogate him. 

Heart, me.

Sometimes I Feel Like I'm Slowly Going INSANE.

I talked to Prancer today. We were on Skype for a good forty minutes. It was slightly bizarre. He insists he's changed a great deal in the three months since I've seen him, but I don't buy it. That also may be because of the fact that I talk to him the most since I've been out here in the middle of freaking nowhere. He says our friends have changed. I hope it's for the better. Some of them, I'm almost certain it's for the worse. Sometimes I find myself torn between wanting to keep them around forever and ever, or walking away without looking back.

See how crazy I am?

Oh well. I'll be home in 20 days, and I can see for myself if I need to keep my crazies or not. I love those guys man, I really do. They're the reason I'm so crazy.

Another reason I'm freaked about going home is the drama within my family. I haven't really needed to take my meds since I've been here, since I've been away from the craziness at home, and I'm scared I've lost all my tolerance for the drugs, and once I have to go back on them I'll feel all gross and nauseous. 

Sigh.

Heart, me.

I Forgot How Much I Missed You.

Dear Prancer,

Our chat on Skype last night seriously made my day today. I was walking along in front of these two blockheads on my way back from Arabic this morning (btw, according to my Arabic professor, "The British are trying to convince us that wizards are good, like good politicians.", and one was bragging about how he had to have a CT scan done. He was blathering on about being injected with iodine for contrast and whatnot, and it took all of my willpower to stop myself from turning around and slapping him. Not because I have anything against iodine, it makes starch turn a pretty shade of blue, but he was WRONG. You don't use contrast in a CT, unless you're looking for blockages in blood vessels. He was going on about how it was for checking his intestines. Silly boy, you use BARIUM for that. And it's all bubbly and gross and gives you diarrhea. How do I know this? My daddy's been drilling this into my brain since I was in diapers. I also know that contrast is not necessary for a CT. Why? Because I've had and have watched CT scans done without contrast. PS: They're a b***h to read if you don't know how. Mammograms are worse. I promise. It's like a vertical puzzle of squished boobs. (My dad's radiologist and I work for him when I'm home. Don't worry, I'm HIPPA cleared.) 

But this exchange reminded me of the time junior year when I was in the hospital, it turned out for severe dehydration, but I had a bunch of scans done. You know how annoying it is when people are trying to stick IV's in you and they don't actually know how? WHY would they stick a poor defenseless intern wit the cynical doctor's kid who was literally born in med school? That's just mean. ANYWAY, I remembered texting you to get my homework and drive my brother home from school the next day, and you replied "God, you're so demanding. Don't die." (I corrected the spelling, btw.) But that one text made me laugh so hard the darn intern messed up my IV bag. 

Getting to the point, and I swear, if you make this into a big deal I will walk to MSU and beat you up, I think I actually might miss you. I had gotten so used to talking to you almost everyday in high school and the first few weeks of college, and after we went a month without texting or Skyping, I forgot what a great friend you are. 

Heart, me.

All The Things I'm Too Scared To Say To Your Face.

Dear Boy, 

I wish we could be friends. I really do. You're a great guy. But this whole not-telling-me-key-facts-about-yourself won't fly. You make me laugh, and I promise, that's not an easy task. You made me genuinely happy the first few months I knew you. But now, every time I see you, I'm overly stressed, slightly neurotic, and just generally depressed. I'm at a point right now where I'm impatiently waiting for the semester to be over, when we both start our major-specific coursework, and the only time I have to see you is that awkward moment when you're waiting for an elevator and I decided to sprint down the stairs. 

I wish it were different. I wish you had told me this sort of incredibly important detail when I first met you. Now I feel dumb and awkward. We have this tense, pseudo-friendship deal going on, and it doesn't make me happy at all. It's actually pretty depressing. There are times when I just want to march over to your room and demand to know what the deal is. We're in college now. And neither of us needs to take First OR Second Year English Comp, so I think we should have left all the implying and inferring in our equally rigorous high school AP English classes.

I just need to know what your deal is. Why are you a sweet, funny, and generally perfect guy in class, but a tense, judgmental jerk everywhere else? Which of those personalities is just a front?

I feel like I need to apologize for how I've acted, but to be fair, you were encouraging me the majority of the way. So, I'm sorry. 

I know you're not going to read this, but I'm putting it out there on the off chance that your Logic homework is driving you insane to the point of perusing random blogs. 

See you tomorrow. I'm glad we're watching a movie in class. I don't think I can face you at this point. 

Me. 

Dear Prancer, 

I miss you. We need to Skype soon. I need your brain again.

Heart, me.

A Formal Declaration of War.

To The Young Lady [read: bitch] Who Jacked My Seat In Sociology:

We are at war. I thought I would warn you. Are you even in that class? Because if you are, this is the first time you've shown up. And guess whose seat you and your spot-faced friend decided to commandeer? That's right. Mine. And guess what else? 

You're toast. 

Crispy, crunchy, over-processed, and acne-ridden toast. As Twin would tell you, "Your ass is grass and I'm a lawnmower." Of course, Twin also has been known to say "Wow, my grandma's really bookin' it on that lawnmower," but the concept  is sound. 

I'm not making any veiled threats, mind you. I'm genuinely annoyed. And if it was some sort of breaching experiment to see if it would annoy me, guess what, it did. And now you're gonna pay. 

I thought I should warn you, that it would be fair and sportsmanlike and other such nonsense. But I promise, take my seat again, and I'll run my own damn breaching experiments. Namely unscrewing every joint that poor chair has. So you might just find your skanky ass on the floor. Oops. 

Sincerely, 

The Grand Council of Wartime Affairs,

Me.

Fashion Advice to Sorority Girls

Wearing Nike running shorts and Uggs at the same time is not logical. Nor is it cute, attractive, or in any way, shape, or form sexy. If you find yourself in that particular ensemble, topped with a pastel-colored tee-shirt that is a size and a half too small, you could be one of two things: severely confused as to the weather, or, a sorority girl on any given college campus across the country. Or both, now that I think of it.

And if you insist on wearing Uggs on a day where the sun is shining and blazing hot in freaking OKLAHOMA, at the very least, pick up your feet when you walk. I'm not demanding a high-step march, but the band geek in me wants to smack you as you shuffle down the Oval, chatting on your pink bedazzled iPhone about that totally cute guy from the party who you can't quite remember because you got a lot drunker than you promised yourself you would get. 

Yes, I can hear your conversations. And they're not very interesting. 

Heart, me.

Apparently, I'm Secretly a Dominatrix.

Today, I was talking to Boy. We were discussing relationships while doing homework, and all of a sudden, he says to me [because I had just smacked him], "You know what? I think one of the reasons guys find you attractive is because you smack them around, and deep down inside, all men have this fantasy of being completely dominated by a woman. Not in the whips-and-chains-and-torture-rooms way, but with enough leather and stilettos to cause a slight amount of pain." 

Okay...

I guess I can see the sexual nature of that sort of thing. But me? Really? I don't hit people too much. Well, maybe Prancer. But that's only because he sometimes deserves a well-placed smack. There's nothing sexual about it. 

According to Boy, all guys have a fantasy, secret or not, of being dominated by a woman. Not a woman who thy would except to be dominating, but someone unexpected. Like the quiet girl who sits across from them in class or something like that. 

Prancer, is this true? Do you have a secret fantasy of being dominated sexually by a quiet girl? 

Also according to Boy, I had the sexy-librarian-schoolgirl thing going on too at the moment. I was wearing my glasses because it was late and my eyes do funny things when I'm tired. And my hair was clipped up, but it had been getting in the way. Whatever. 

I guess if this whole Criminology thing tanks I can always be a dominatrix.

Oh, by the way, I officially declared my majors (Psychology and Criminology) and got sophomore standing last week. In case you were wondering why I was too stressed and busy to post a witty account of my life.

Heart, me

I'm Crazy As A Tater Tot.

I know I haven't posted anything for a few days. Why?

I'm going insane.

I've had so much homework, and projects, and exams, and papers, and [insert excuse here] that I haven't been able to go on FACEBOOK, much less write out a witty post for your perusal. 

And this one ain't gonna be witty either. 

It's actually one of those annoying this-is-why-I'm-not-writing affairs. And you've seen my excuses. 

When I Think of something entertaining, I promise I'll inform you. In the meantime, check out my Flickr, which hasn't been updated in a while, here.

Heart, me.

I Plan to Cuss You Out in Eight Languages. At Least.

There are over six billion people on Earth. How cool would it be to know what each and every one of them is saying? So, these are the languages I want to learn. And darn it, I intend to learn them all.

1: Hindi.

I figure I should probably learn this one. Indian and all. So my parents can't "talk in code." And Bollywood is hilarious. *bursts into song and dance* *rest of the floor joins in, perfectly synchronized*

2. Arabic.

Workin' on it. And it's slowly taking over my life.

3. French.

Seven years of French behind me. Now I'd actually like to learn it. From someone who isn't on maternity leave every year.

4. Chinese.

There's three billion people who speak Chinese. One more wouldn't hurt.

5. Italian.

It's pretty.

6. Russian.

I don't know. Seems like it would come in handy.

7. Spanish.

Eh. Why not?

8. Sign Language

Study Parties Rarely Lead to Actual Studying.

I'm sitting in the girls common room on my floor, and supposedly we're all studying together like good little girls. We've all got out laptops and textbooks, with our cute little notebooks and pens all spread out next to us on the couches, working on history and psychology and sociology and math.

Not really. 

We're all on Facebook. Every single one of us. Ninja had even brought out her record player for a while. It was rockin'. Right now we're discussing pies. Yeah. No homework is getting done at all. 

Now we're talking about sororities. Go team. 

This is the second time this week this has happened. 

We're so weird. 

We have odd discussions on this floor. The girls at least have finally started to bond. The guys still are in the "Ugh. You're so annoying." phase of living together. I think we need floor bonding events. Maybe we should have a Halloween party or something.

Look at me, acting like a little RA. Ugh I'll never be an RA. Our RA is impossibly sunny and bright and bubbly and basically the opposite of me. 

I think I'm gonna stop doing this, stop pretending to study, and go to sleep. 

Heart, me.

Make Up Your Own Darn Title.

Dear Arabic Quiz Tomorrow, 

I don't like you. Actually, I hate you. I despise the very thought of you. The last thing I want to do right now is stress over a quiz I'm going to get an A on. I'm not talking you down. I know I'm good at Arabic. You and your quizzical buddies are a minor inconvenience in my morning. The last thing I want to do the day after the quiz is talk to my friends who tanked it. It's an awkward conversation. 

Them: "So, what did you think of that quiz?"

Me: "Eh. Not Fantastic. Not soul-crushing."

Them: "Same! I think I did better this time. I got a 79%! That brings me up to a B! What did you get?"

Me: "...97%..."

Them: "Oh..."

See why it bothers me? There's nothing wrong with being smart, it's just I hate awkward situations, and telling someone you could've slept through a quiz they tanked is slightly awkward. So Arabic quiz, will you embrace your inner slut and maybe be a bit easier? Just so I can not have to explain to my friends that they are absolute nitwits who know nothing about learning a second language? And for the record, you are not my first. Nor ar you my second, or third. Silly Arabic, you are my fourth language. So there. I've had others. 

Cordially,

me

I Feel Really Stupid.

I like Boy. A lot. Unfortunately, he doesn't like me back. At all. I mean, he's fine with me in class. But that's it. And I need to accept that. But it's really hard to. And I feel all happy and bubbly once I get out of my class with him, but when I see him around, which I do a lot because we live on the same floor, he hardly talks to me. he'll smile, and then go on with his friends. I'm actually pretty sure he likes another girl who lives in my hall. 

I need to get over him. 

This is exactly what happened with Grumpy. I don't need it to happen again.

Sometimes I feel like I should be a nun. Give up on boys altogether. 

Heart, me.

Oops.

I guess I should apologize for that last post. I'm not usually so woe-is-me. After I posted I called Twin. Twelve times. No, she didn't answer. Boo. (wuv yew!) 

I still kinda feel like crap, but I'm not gonna think about it. Instead, I'm gonna introduce a new word. Actually, it's not a new word. I was only just introduced to it. The word?

"Nerdgasm."

Boy used it to describe his reaction to this article, because he's a linguistics major. What's linguistics, you ask? I believe it has something to do with languages. 

But now he's gone and set his Facebook status to a quote from the article. That makes me smile. There are some things that we both think about, but he's the one with the guts to say it. Stuff like "good grammar is sexy." I couldn't actually say that. Especially not on Facebook. Why? Because not only are my parents on Facebook, but also both stepparents, two out of four grandmothers, a few great-aunts, and I believe my great-grandma's got a fan page. I don't think they're quite aware of my...extensive vocabulary. So I'll keep it that way, and censor my witticisms. Until I get here, of course. Here, I'll cuss like a sailor. A pretty sailor. Maybe a pirate. I'd be a good pirate. I don't like rules all too much. Arr.

Heart, me.

Low Tolerance Means A Horrible Crash.

I'm coming down from a drug induced high. No, nothing illegal. I don't do that sort of stuff. I'm on a high dose of a pretty intense anti-depressant, and I was having a horrible morning yesterday so I took my medicine for the first time in about three weeks. My tolerance was almost completely gone. And with my blood issues, it was highly concentrated and fast acting, and it took for ever to leave my system. So I was off my rocker for most of the day. And night. But it started wearing off late last night, so I've been queasy ever since. I still feel like crap. I should go eat but I really don't want to. The thought of food nauseates me right now. Which is a bad thing, because I need to eat to dilute the medicine. And I feel like crap, and am having a horrible day, so it's really tempting to pop another pill to make the anxiety go away for a few hours. 

The worst part of my medicine is that I'm at the point where it just makes me numb and emotionless. It used to make me happy, but I had to move to a higher dose, and now I'm just numbed out all the time. It sucks. That's why I write so much. Talking to people about what bugs me really aggravates me, so if I can write it out in a semi-amusing format, I'm still putting it out there, but no one's psychoanalyzing me. 

Crap. I'm all dizzy and nauseated. 

I'm gonna go remedy this situation. Or at least try.

Heart, me.

Something Is Happening In My Brain.

So. There's this guy. Let's name him...Boy. Because, well, he's a guy. 

So, Boy. He's cute. And by cute, I mean he's freaking hot. In a goofy sort of way. He's the guy I told you about previously, the Orchadork. The one Prancer claimed I had a crush on and I protested on the terms that a girl can be friends with a guy who she thinks is attractive but not have a crush on him but then I admitted that I might have a teensy crush on. Yeah. Him.

I do have a crush on him. 

I realized this as I was sitting in one of the really comfy chairs outside of my Music in Film class, which Boy is also in, and the class was going to start soon, so everyone was starting to file in. I had to pack up my book (I hadn't quite finished my reading for History) and iPod and whatnot, so I was being slow. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Boy coming down the hall, and he was about to walk into the class room, when he stopped. he hung awkwardly off the door for a good minute as I packed up my stuff, and held the door open for me. It made me smile. 

We sit across from each other in the class, so not looking at him is impossible. Every time I look at him, if he happens to be looking at me, he'll do something to make me laugh. He's a goofy sort of guy. It's nice, because every other guy I know tries to put on this tough guy front. Even Prancer. It's nice knowing a guy who's not afraid to act dumb. It's quite endearing. 

We were watching "Casablanca" in Music in Film. It is now my favorite movie. There's so many iconic quotes from that film that have slipped into mainstream culture, and it was great hearing them in their original context. And it doesn't hurt that Boy has been setting some of them as his Facebook statuses for the past few days...

It's weird feeling this way about a guy. I've had crushes on guys, sure, but I always at some point want to smack them. And I never seem to be able to actually talk to them. Yeah, I'll chat, but not seriously talk. 

There was one guy, let's name him....actually, let's not name him. Because the second I name him, I'll describe him. And once I describe him, he'll start reading this, and know exactly what I'm talking about. Actually, he knows I had a crush on him, and we discussed it. So, let's call him...Grumpy. Because he's a grouch. And I've mentioned him in passing before. As part of a musical venture he's part of with his brothers. Yeah. That guy. We had a serious discussion, about what sort of person he was (A very jaded, and somewhat annoying person. That's okay Grumpy, I still like you.), and why I had a crush on him. And while I was feeling happy and bubbly for a while, he went and got a girlfriend. So that's why I'm slightly apprehensive about discussing things other than music and trivialities with guys I have a crush on. But I'm not bashing Grumpy in any way, shape, or form. I still consider him one of my closest friends. Well, not closest. But definitely someone I can easily talk to. I think the only reason he could hurt me was because he knew me well, and knew how I felt. So My fingers and toes are crossed that Boy isn't reading this. Because if he is, it's gonna be a long and awkward semester. 

I have to go now. Ninja forgot her I.D. again and can't swipe past the lock on our hallway, so I have to torment her through the little window and eventually let her in. 'Cause I'm a terrible person like that. And this post is getting way too long. 

Heart, me.

My Suite Mates Are Driving Me Nuts.

I have to pee. Really badly. Why am I writing instead? Because my darling suite mates have been in the bathroom for a good hour. I don't know what they're doing in there. I don't know if it's just one of 'em or both. The shower turns on, a minute later it turns off. A minute later, it's back on. And repeat. For an hour. My bladder is about to declare war on my jeans. 

The bathroom is our war zone. Every morning, one of my suite mates, let's call her Thing 1, like Dr. Seuss, gets in the shower just as I get out of bed. She has her first class the same time I do, so that makes sense. So she goes into the bathroom at 8:15am. She doesn't come out until 8:40. And then, she darts in and out, drying her hair, brushing her teeth, whatever. If I'm lucky, I get into the bathroom by 8:50, just in time to splash water on my face, brush my teeth, and sprint across campus for my 9:30am class. I was sneaky and conniving this morning, however. I snuck into the bathroom right when she left after her shower. So I was able to take a decnt shower this morning. I was nice though. I was out in ten minutes. Fifteen, tops. So she could pick up her daily torture-the-suite-mate routine. 

My other suite mate, let's name her Thing 2, going along with the Dr. Seuss theme, leaves her hair EVERYWHERE. I think I've whined about her before. I have. She's the one who never cleans and washes her clothes in the bathtub every midnight.

So anyway- YES! SHE'S OUT OF THE BATHROOM!!

Sorry. I got excited. I was able to go potty. I'm in a better mood now, I promise. 

Next semester I'm so getting an apartment.

Heart, me.

I Should Be Doing My Homework.

I love to procrastinate. So here's a list of things I do to avoid doing my homework:

1. Post on this blog.

2. Facebook.

3. Text Prancer.

4. Call Twin.

5. Hang out with Ninja.

6. Facebook.

7. Watch "The Vampire Diaries" on Hulu.

8. Watch "NCIS" on Hulu.

9. Watch "Lie to Me" on Hulu.

10. Watch "White Collar" on Hulu.

11: Watch "House" on Hulu.

12. Facebook.

13. Make irrelevant and pointless blog posts.

14. Put on make up.

15. Clean my room.

16. Brush my hair.

17. Take pictures.

18. Facebook.

19. Write songs.

20. Update my Flickr.

21. Make lists.

22. Walk aimlessly down the hall and back.

23. Explore campus.

24. Facebook.

25. Dance.

26. Twitter.  

27. Go on adventures with Ninja.

28. Go to Target and Hastings with Ninja.

29. Pretend to do my homework.

30. Facebook.

I promise, this list could go on forever. 

Heart, me.

I Should Really Change My Guitar Strings.

Have you ever had something you know you needed to do urgently, but really don't want to? Yeah. I know how that goes. I have two packs of guitar strings now, sitting on my desk staring at me. I haven't changed my guitar strings in a while, and as a result, they sound terrible. But I'm not entirely confident in my string-changing abilities, and therefore have been putting off changing my strings. But I miss playing guitar. I haven't done it in a while, because I've been busy with school. I think I'm gonna sequester myself in my room all of this weekend and play guitar. Maybe I'll change my strings tonight. I really don't want to. I'm scared I'll screw up my guitar. 

I'll leave you with my insecurities now, and go to class. Sociology. I get to learn how weird people act in groups.

Heart, me.

This Is Why I Hate Fire Drills.

I should be grateful, I guess, that we don't have a fire drill in the middle of the night. But once we got back inside from this lovely little exercise, the alarms in my hallway would not stop. Not the building fire alarm, that ended a while ago. The annoying high pitched ringing that tells us when someone opened the emergency door at the end of the hallway. It's still ringing. So me and my whole hallway are lurking in the common room with our laptops. So that's where I'm writing from. I actually don't have anything to write/gripe about. I'm just really bored. We're all waiting for the maintenance folk to come and turn off the damn alarms. 

Oh, hey, here they are now. I think I'm gonna go regain my hearing now. I came up with a really good idea to write about the other night, right after I posted a letter to Prancer, but I was already snuggled into bed and didn't feel like writing. So now I've gone and forgotten my brilliant idea. 

I'm hungry.

Heart, me.

A Note To The Gentlemen In My Life.

Hello, Dearlings. 

A few of you, I genuinely like. Most of you, I tolerate. Some of you, I despise. And some, I keep you around just 'cause you're fun to look at. So, If your attention span is shorter than that of an ADD goldfish, feel free to sort yourself into one of the below categories and simply read that. 

To The Guys I'm Strictly Platonic Friends With:

While I'm glad you confide in me as you would another guy, please don't fill me in on all your sexual conquests. I especially don't want to hear about your drunken exploits. I really don't care that you didn't wake up in your own bed this morning, or you had a drunken emotional breakdown last night. Some stories are best left in the figurative locker room. 

I'm glad I have you guys around though, because I can talk to you without worrying what you think of me. You've been around through all my awkwardness, and I've been there for yours. Trust me, I still remember that time I jumped out at you and you screamed for your mommy. And yes, I will mention it the firt few times you bring a girl home from college. 

To The Guys Who I've... Been More Than Just Friends With:

Yes, you've almost been in my pants. And Yes, you're a bit older than me. But I promise, you act younger. But I still care about you. You're a part of my life that I can't get rid of. Even though sometimes you make me want to bash you in the head with my guitar, I don;t want to lose you.

To The Guys Who Fancy Themselves A Romantic Prospect:

Seriously, man. Smack yourself real quick. Not too hard. Randomly asking me out will not elicit the response you're hoping for. I might be a little creeped out. Get to know me first, please. That's all I ask. And making jokes about how little I am will not get you anywhere, much less within a foot of my pants. 

To Prancer: 

Yes, you get your own category. Why? Because you're weird. And sometimes I'm not entirely sure I can classify you as a boy. Kidding! 

Seriously, bud, you've been around for way too long. I like how I can call your mom "Momma" and she answers. I don;t remember not calling her Momma. 

It's kinda weird being a thousand miles away. I realized that as I was texting you a few minutes ago. My phone is strangely silent, so I think you're currently preoccupied with....stuff. ;)

And since you helped me with my boy drama, I guess I'll help you with your girl issues, should they ever manifest (Big word. Look it up). 

But do note, however, that once you bring a girl home over break, the stories of your awkwardness will come out. As will pictures. And yes, I've still got those. 

To The Guys Who Don't Know Me:

I'm not weird, I promise. Just a little out there. But it's all good. I'm cute. 

Well, that's all my Y-Chromosome'd friends. I hope you paid attention and took notes. 

Heart, me.

There Are Ninjas In Our Midst.

I thought I would take some time and introduce you to one of my friends. You've already met Twin, and Prancer, and I'm pretty sure I mentioned Ginny and Elf. Those are all my friends from home. So, for the very first time, I'm going to present to you one of my friends from college. Let's call her...Ninja. Because she's stealthy, Asian (Filipino. Close enough.), and a black belt. She lives down the hall from me. She seems like she's a mix of Twin and Elf. we plan to explore campus this weekend. Specifically, we plan to look for playgrounds on campus. We found one, right outside the dorms. Yes, that's how cool my school is. We have a swing set by the dorms. And a sand volleyball court. 

I'm sitting here with my door open (No, I'm not one of those folk who set traps to make friends, Ninja just left my room and I'm too lazy to go shut my door.), and the girl who lives right across the hall just got back from her morning classes. She's such a drama queen. It's pretty annoying. She has loud arguments with her various boyfriends over the phone all the time, and has loud and aggravating friends who don't live here always hanging out outside her door.

Speaking of annoying people who we live with, my suitemates are nuts. I told you this, right? Well, the one who washed her clothes every midnight also leaves her hair everywhere. I cleaned my shower yesterday morning, and when I went to take a shower before bed, the tub looked like a yeti drowned in it while fighting a yak. It was gross. I mean, I get that she's from China, and her family could afford to pay people to clean their house everyday. Labor's cheap in China. Unfortunately, we're not in China, and therefore have to clean our own bathrooms. And finding hair that's not yours sucks. And I know it's not mine. Not only do I not molt, but my hair is a good two feet long. And my other suitemate's hair is two inches long, and not to mention, bright blond. So there's only one possible culprit. 

People annoy  me sometimes.

I'm hungry. I'm gonna go eat lunch before I have to go to Sociology lecture, so you can think of a clever nickname for my crazy suitemates. 

Heart, me.

Dear Prancer, I Need Your Brain.

While being a girl is fun and all, sometimes I need a boy brain. No, not boy parts. Then skinny jeans wouldn't be as comfy. But just a guy's perspective. And that's where Prancer comes in. He's the sort of guy who I'll randomly text (and I did this today), "Hey. You're a boy, right? Can I borrow your brain?" And instead of getting all snippy, he'll say "What now??!?!?!?!?!?!" With a million exclamation points and question marks. Because he's used to me.

I was having boy drama today, so I was bouncing ideas off of him. And by bouncing, I mean I was slinging issues at him with a catapult. Metaphorically speaking. I seem to be big on the metaphors all of a sudden. Weird.

Lucky for me, he was chucking back suggestions. And providing insight into the male brain. (Gentlemen, there is a traitor in your midst. Hurt him and I'll neuter you with bobby pins and salt water.) 

But seriously, guys, why on earth are you so annoying? You can be happy and friendly one day, and three days later you're tense and quiet. 

And this guy in particular, the source of the drama, not Prancer, is the ONLY person I've ever met who I haven't been able to read. Yeah, I read people. Like books. Some are very graphic, and some are boring. But books. All of them. 

Have I told you? I met a guy at my school EXACTLY like Prancer. It's kinda bizarre. Ridiculously bizarre, actually. 

So, Prancer, you were of some use to me. Thanks, bud. Now go shower. 

Heart, me.

*Cough* *Cough* I'm Homesick.

Does anyone ever have those days where anything ridiculous that could possibly happen does? Yeah. It's been one of those days. Hell, it's been one of those weeks. College is just panning out to be one big drama. I should have cameras following me around. I could make millions.

But seriously.

All this drama is gonna drive me off the deep end someday. And I'm already near the diving board. 

Why did I just use a swimming metaphor? I don't swim. I am not a swimmer. I float. I paddle. But I don't swim. My shoulders are too femininely delicate to classify me as a swimmer. 

I'm exhausted. That's right, I'll blame it on exhaustion. College. I haven't gone to bed before one in the morning for a very long time. I miss my bed at home. I went from sleeping on a double pillow-top with two extra comforters under a mattress pad for extra floofiness to a four inch nylon-covered slab with a lame excuse for a mattress pad. I miss my bed, dammit. I wish I was close enough to home that I could go home for a weekend. Blargh. I'm gonna go take my frustrations out on the poor souls in the common room. 

Heart, me.

Family Blogs Make Me Laugh.

I love looking at those blogs people put up, you know what I'm talking about, the ones with the awkward picture of a family posed under a tree or in front of a cute little house. They all have some clever title, that indicates the the writer, usually the mother, is overworked and under appreciated, but she still loves her family so much that she puts them on the internet. I don't like them because I enjoy creeping on the children on random strangers. I like them because they make me laugh. Why would someone blog about something so inane as a toddler's breakfast? I don't need to see twenty pictures of a smiling baby covered in tomato sauce. It just bugs me. I feel like it should be more important to spend time with your kids as they're growing up rather than documenting every stupid thing they do and posting it online for total strangers to read about. But I'm weird like that. 

Heart, me.

I Think You Should Check These Guys Out.

Alright, so some of my friends have a band. And they're good. Like, REALLY good. They make me smile every time I listen to them. The band, Sole Prerogative, is comprised of a set of triplets, and their friend. Not only are they a great band, but they're great guys too. Really friendly and entertaining. And sometimes grumpy. (Yes, you. You know who you are. Smile, dammit.) 

They made it to the Final Round of the 2010 Tri-C High School Rock Off, and in my enlightened opinion, they should have won. But, I'm not gonna gripe. *mumblegrumble*

Here's the link to their very first album:

http://www.purevolume.com/SolePrerogative/albums/Still+Waiting

Get it. Seriously, like, now. Is it downloading yet? DO IT. 

Enjoy!

Heart, me.

I Hope You'll Be Okay Without Me.

Well hello. For all three of you that read my blog regularly, and Prancer who just likes stalking me, I'm not posting this weekend. Why? Because I'm gonna be busy. And laptop-less. So there. So unfortunately, you'll have to go two days without your fix of my wit and wisdom, and occasional griping. I hope you don't die of boredom. But if you do, make sure you note in your wills that people should read this, because I'm quite entertaining. Have a reasonably okay weekend!

Heart, me.

Well, Hello Hermine. Nice of You to Visit. Now Leave.

I woke up this morning, and it was so incredibly tempting to go right back to sleep. It was drippy and dreary out, and I knew my little red umbrella would not go the whole day without flipping inside out at least once. 

I was right. On the way back to my room after my last class, Sociology, in case anyone cares, my umbrella, in the ten minute walk, flipped out no less than eight times. It was unpleasant, to say the least. And i was in flip flops and leggings, because I don't have rainboots, and am waiting for someone to take me to Target so i can buy a pair. 

It's supposed to rain all week. I might cry. I like rain, I really do. What i don't like is puddles that could span my bedroom, deep enough to swallow my foot. And the obnoxious prats on bikes who zip around splashing me. You know who you are. -.- 

I'm gonna go dry off now. Maybe go to sleep and not wake up until it's sunshiney again. 

Heart, me.

I Listen to Eclectic Music.

I've been sitting in my room a good portion of my three weeks so far in college, not because I'm antisocial but because where else is a little girl supposed to do homework at 3am? Anyway, I've been sitting in my room, and I've realized as I'm sitting in my room that I listen to some weird music. Not weird like screaming death metal. But music that conflicts with itself. Like, I listen to Muse and Red Hot Chili Peppers as well as Boys Like Girls, Fall Out Boy, and the score from Titanic. And I can do it all in one sitting. If anyone particularly cares, I'm currently listening to "Ruled by Secrecy" by Muse. It's amazing. I think my favorite song by Muse right now is "Map of the Problematique." It's got a killin' guitar part, as my guitar teacher would say. He's the one who got me into Muse. I sort of like pop, but not overly sugary pop. Like, I'll listen to Christina Aguilera, Kelly Clarkson, Katy Perry, stuff like that, but I REFUSE to listen to Justin Bieber or Miley Cyrus. I'm sure their music appeals to their target audience, or at the very least, pre-teen girls, but I just don't like it. And their voices kind of really annoy me too. I really like Boys Like Girls right now. Just putting it out there. They're not too pop-y, but they're not "Oh My Gosh we're so jaded and tough." I mean, they're a boy band. You can only act so tough when your fan base is screaming girls. I like Fall Out Boy too. But they "went on hiatus." Which makes me sad. I get it, they've been together for a long time and want to pursue other ventures, but they were my favorite band ever. I like all of their lyrics. And the rest of the song too.

I feel like an ADD goldfish right now. I hope you've enjoyed this commentary on my music collection, because I've just seen something shiny.

Heart, me.

Your Door Being Open Doesn't Mean I Care.

To the Nuts Living in My Hall:

Forgive me if I sound at all cynical or antisocial. Hell, I sound like the freaking Grinch right now. But if I'm walking down the hallway with an overloaded backpack, juggling my laptop and keys, I probably don't want to stop and say hi to you. Sure, you may be all happy and bubbly, leaving your door wide open so the whole world can watch you get your Facebook or update your Twitter. But I don't care. I don't care how many classes you've had today. Chances are, I've had just as many, if not more. I don't care if you have an English paper due in two weeks. And no, I won't help you. Just because I took -and got fantastic scores on, might I add- AP English for two years and therefore not have to take a First Year Introduction to Composition course, that does not mean I am some writing genius. Even if I am. Guess what. I have four other courses that require my writing genius. I don't have time to explain passive voice versus active voice to you. Google it, love. 

I'm glad that you're a happy person. And I'm glad you want to make new friends in college. But spring your "Hi! Let's be best friends!" trap on someone else. 

Thank you!

Me.

I hope you enjoyed that. I'm not usually so mean, but some types of people seriously get to me. I like friendly people, I really do. But when their friendliness rivals that family from "RV," I just start throwing things.

heart, me.

Dear Prancer, You Might have Been Right.

For all intents and purposes, this is purely hypothetical, Or else dear Prancer's head might explode. 

So there's this guy. No, not Prancer. I don't like him like that. Me and Prancer have more of a "I'll smack you from time to time but that's 'cause you're one of my best friends" sort of relationship. So this other guy, who doesn't have a nickname yet because I haven't thought of one, is in one of my classes. He also lives on my floor. He's really cute, in an attractively scruffy sort of way.He's really nice too. And really into music, like me. So we have a fair amount to talk about. But he's in orchestra, and I'm a band geek, so that could be an issue. (For you non-musical fiends, Orchestra and Band kids like to rip on each other. It's a dork thing.) So I was discussing him with Prancer, because Prancer just moved into his own dorm across the country and is lonely and friendless, therefore he runs crying to me. And Prancer had a theory. Prancer's theory was that  I have a crush on this nameless guy. And I'm denying it. A girl can be friends with a guy she believes is attractive and not have a crush on him, right?

But. I've been hanging out with this guy, and talking to him, and.....

I think I might have a teensy crush on him.

I don't know. It's weird. He's a really sweet guy, and easy to talk to, but I feel like I don't really know him. I don't know. We'll see how it works out. 

Heart, me.

P.S. Prancer, you bring any of this up, and not only will I deny everything, but I will show up outside your dorm and destroy you. And by destroy you, I mean destroy your shoes.

Why I Refuse to Be Your Facebook Friend.

Dear Random Person Adding Me On Facebook,

I don't know you. 

Sure, you may go to the same high school I just graduated from. Sure, you might even know who I am. Not hard, because I graduated with only 167 other people. You might know what classes I took, when I ate lunch, and even who I sat with. I may even know who you are. 

But that doesn't mean you can "friend" me. 

You might be friends with my brother. You could be friends with my cousins. Hell, you might even be friends ith that random guy I went to theater camp with the summer before freshman year. 

But that doesn't mean you can "friend" me.

If you have never spoken to me, and more likely than not never will, do not click that button that says "Add to Friends." 

Sometimes I feel like that button should say "Add to Collection." I hate people who add lots and lots of people who they have no intention of actually meeting just so they have a multi-digit friends list. 

To wrap up this little note, I must inform you that I am trigger happy. And that "Ignore Friend Request" button is my trigger. So, don't get all depressed. The only reason I ignored your request was because I have no clue who the hell you are. And I think it's slightly very creepy that you add people just for the sake of having more "friends" with whom you will never actually interact. 

So, I suggest you log out, shut down your computer, and go play outside. Make some real friends. The end. 

Cordially, Me.

I Think I'm Slowly Going Mad.

So you know I moved into my dorm last week, right? And that I share my bathroom with to other girls? yeah? Good. Well, in a week of college, here's what I've learned:

1. One of my suitemates will, every night, without fail, wash her clothes in the shower, AT MIDNIGHT. 

2. The other will watch anime shows. All the time. even at three in the morning. 

3.Sociologists are a cynical bunch.

4. People are weird.

5. If you are an eighteen year old girl who is about to become a college sophomore by the semester change, everyone will look at you in amazement. 

6. The main exports of Oklahoma are lunkhead football guys and tornadoes. 

7. If you are religious, you will accept an edict from a "higher power" and go about your merry way. If you are a Sociology major, you will stand there, shaking your fist at the heavens going "Yeah? Where's your proof, bub?"

If you haven't noticed by now, my Sociology professor is slightly insane. I like him.

My Arabic teacher adores me, because I can somewhat understand him. Go team.

My Music in Film professor is my academic adviser. So he got me out of Calculus for the semester, and therefore I like him too. 

I'm the youngest in my classes, again. I feel like I'm in high school all over again. But the people are taller. Except me. I'm still short. (Prancer, don't start. I will show up outside your dorm and beat you.)

I think I'm gonna get homesick soon. I'm not going home for Thanksgiving because it's too far of a drive (20 hours) and too expensive to justify flying out for only three days. It makes me a little sad. 

By the way, in case anyone cares, I'm a Psychology and Criminology double major. 'Cause I'm a dork.

Heart, me.

I'm a Dork.

So when I was in high school, up until senior year, I was the youngest in all of my classes, because I have a tendency to burn through credits like wildfire. I feel like in I'm in high school all over again. I'm the youngest in most of my classes. It's really awkward. I don't know anyone. Boo.

I have to go now. Music in Film awaits.

Heart, me.

Shameless Self Promotion

So, if you don't know, which you probably don't, unless you're Prancer and stalking me (jk lol I don't mind the attention, dear), I'm into photography. Not like the point-and-shoot garden variety. I mean, sure, there's bound to be a plain snap somewhere in there. But it's a damn neat botanical-garden-tended-to-by-an-army-of-gardeners garden variety. So, check me out. I'm cool.

Here's the website, yes, it's Flickr. Run by our good friend Yahoo. Which is in turn run by our good friend Google. But anyway, enjoy.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/vrishalikanvinde/

I have a pretty intense camera. It's cute. A Nikon D3000 I believe.

Heart, me.

Unloaded? Yep. Unpacked? Sorta. Organized? Not Really.

So I finally moved into my dorm room today. I don't have a roommate, so I have some extra space, although I still feel like a cat in a hamster cage. I'm actually really exhausted. It took a good six trips to the car and back to unload all my stuff, and I still have to put stuff away before I can even think about bed. So I'm gonna stop writing for tonight. I'll tell you all about my adventures later, when I'm actually functioning.

Heart, me.

Tomorrow Morning Will Start to Suck...Now.

I'm leaving for college tomorrow morning. I haven't been away from home [by myself] for more than a few days before. The only thing close to sleep-away camp I've ever done was band camp.

I'm scared.

More importantly, my grandmother has started crying. Two weeks ago. I can't stand it when she cries. She's this itty bitty little Indian woman, with a death grip when  it comes to hugs. And I'm the youngest of all my cousins, except my brother but he doesn't count, and I'm the only one going away to college.

I'm getting so overwhelmed with all this.

I think I'll be fine once I get to school and have time to chill. It's just all this anticipation of leaving, and these emotions running rampant that's getting to me. I cried all the way from my dad's house to my mom's house ten minutes ago.

I have to go think for a while. I'll try finishing this post before I leave tomorrow, but if not, I'll see you from Norman!

Heart, me.

Flying By the Seat of Our Pants: The Class of 2010.

So my graduating class, the class of 2010, had a tendency to do things last minute. We tend to fly by the seats of our very expensive pants. Yes, that's the sort of school I go to. Apparently, we're a bunch of high maintenance rich kids. 

Okay. Whatever.

But we had fun with it. Our band director, one the strictest, meanest, sweetest, most amazing teachers I ever had, once told us, as were were arriving at the football state qualifying game (told you I was a band geek), "Get off these buses and walk like the snot-nosed rich kids everyone thinks you are!" So it works to our advantage. 

As I was saying, we fly by the seat of our pants. For the band camp (again, I'm a band geek) senior prank, we came up with it as we went along. We brought along a thousand or so phone books, shredded them, and piled them in the underclassmen boys' dorm. We then woke them up at 3 am with percussion equipment. The next night, we found saran wrap. And saran wrapped the non-senior girls' doors. The last morning, after our camp out (we remembered our tents), we found a tiny kid's play tent. We shoved seventeen senior guys into it, and put it on the middle of the field. The rest of us hid in the woods and ambushed the band when they marched down for one last rehearsal. Just to get out of marching down to the field with the rest of the band.

We had a goodbye bonfire a few nights ago. We also flew by the seat of our pants then. One guy sent out a message on Facebook, followed it with a few texts, and we all gathered in the Metroparks a few hours later. And then realized there was nowhere to build a bonfire. So we found the grills, chunked in the firewood, and the boys grilled up some marshmallows. Go team.

I'm honestly going to miss the class. There are some schools where you can't wait to leave for college, and only see your friends on breaks. For us, we all can't wait to get back, so we can hang out again. We're all so incredibly close. Sure, there's cliques. What sort of high school has no cliques? But we intermingle. The jocks are the nerds who are the theater kids who are the band geeks, and so on and so forth. We're such a small school that if everyone didn't do everything, there would only be three people per activity. And the thing we're the saddest about is that we know that we'll never find a group of people as close as this class. 

Dear Class of 2010: I miss you already.

Heart, me.

This Is Gonna Bug Me

You know what's really annoying? When you have a song stuck in your head. Wait, no...Sometimes when you get a song stuck in your head it's a good thing, 'cause you can sit back and listen to the music. But when it's one line, over and over and over, even if it's a really good song, it just gets frustrating. I have a line stuck in my head right now. Could you guess? It's by Boys Like Girls, which is my current favorite band (sorry, Fall Out Boy), and it's from a song called "Hero/Heroine." It's Martin Johnson *drool* singing "I feel like a hero/and you are my heroine," over and over and over. Granted, he's hot and had a great voice, but dammit man, get out of my head! It's a good song too. Really cute. I like "Thunder" too. My favorite line from "Hero/Heroine" is "I keep a sinister smile and a hold of my heart/ you wanna get inside/you better get in line." I think it's because it kind of applies to me. My favorite song lyric by Boys Like Girls right now is from "Contagious," and it goes "You think all my friends are crazy and I know you hate my car." Because the guy I've liked (yes, THAT sort of "liked") since I was maybe twelve is like that. I feel like I could tell him that and he's crinkle up half his face in a goofy grin, shrug, and go "Yeah...."

I don't have a crappy car. It's cute. Sure, it used to not start, and I (my dad) had to buy it a new battery, and lately it was spitting up its coolant, but it's fine now.

I think.

"I feel like a heeerrrroooooooo, and you are my herrrrrrroooooine."

Damn. Still in my head. I think I'm gonna sit under my desk (where the air vent is) and listen to Muse.

Heart, me.

I'm Actually Kinda Sad.....

Me and my friends had a picnic today. One of those "OMG This is the last time we see each other before we go to college" type of affairs. At the end we were all giving each other hugs. It was actually kinda sad. And I don't really cry too often. At least not in public. I mean, I'm not a "tough chick," but I don't like being all emotional when there's people around. I don't think it'll hit me until I get on that damn plane. Hopefully Twin will be able to bring my grandparents to the airport. 

Shit. I think I'm gonna cry.

I'll finish this later, okay? I just wanna go sulk under my desk for a while. I'm not weird, that's just where the air vent is.

Heart, me.

I Can't Sleep.

I think I have insomnia. Do you remember the episode of "House" where they're treating the blogger, and there's a scene where she's updating her blog from the hospital bed, and her friend, who had come to visit, was reading the blog. From the same room. I just thought of that.

But I seriously can't sleep. And I should. I hate taking my sleeping pills though. they make me loopy, and then I end up groggy in the morning. You know what really messes me up? NyQuil. Dude, I get crazy with that. I left Twin seven voicemails talking about crayons and zombies once...

Okay. I give up.

I'll take the damn sleeping pills. Let's see what happens.

Heart, me.

"The Picnic: Adventures with Drugs, Sex, Food, and Facebook."

No, it's not what you think. Get your mind out of the gutter. Yes, even you. Keep it in your pants, love. I'm planning a picnic with my friends before we all head of to college *sobs* and we're planning it mainly on a Facebook thread. The thread has gone in many directions. I've reread it to make a final list of what we'll have and what we'll still need, and burst out laughing for many minutes on end. 

But can you imagine a Broadway musical with a title like "The Picnic: Adventures with Drugs, Sex, Food, and Facebook."? It would be great. It would basically be random imaginings of me and my friend...let's use Ginny as her code name. Because she's a redhead and used to be obsessed with Harry Potter. But Ginny and I would be sitting there, narrating this whole thing. It would be like multiple flashbacks, but not really because it would be hypothetical scenarios. Like sneaking out on a ninja mission to kidnap a friend of ours (let's call her Elf. Because  she's obsessed with World of Warcraft and things like that.) with a large pillowcase and laughing gas. 

We're not on drugs, I promise. 

There would be many musical numbers, of course, because we're all band geeks and theater freaks. The lone male (we think) would have a series of dance solos. Because he's a dancer. Let's call him......Prancer. Like the reindeer. 'Cause he spikes his hair so it sticks up. Like antlers. Don't make me explain myself, we'll all get confused. He's actually a fantastic dancer. And not gay. I know, he's almost a mythical creature. A theater guy who's a great dancer who isn't gay. But he would deal with all of the choreography. 

Oh, it's raining. 

I guess the picnic will be inside. I guess I have to haul my butt to Ginny's house early to move furniture. That should be interesting. We'll have to distract her grandmother with a daytime soap or something so she doesn't get squished. 

Well, I have to go hide from a thunderstorm now. I really don't like those. So I'm gonna wrap myself in the quilt my grandma made me and peer worryingly out the window. 

Heart, me.

I'm Just In A Writing Sort Of Mood.

So I just feel like writing right now. I don't know what I'm gonna write. I'll figure that out another time. I refuse to use this as a public diary. I'm not the diary sort. I'll tell you about the more interesting bits of my life, though. Shall I introduce my friends? I'll give them sneaky code names, so they flip out trying to figure out who's who. 'Cause I'm twisted like that.

First, there's my best friend. Let's call her.....Twin. Because even though she's taller and blonde, and I'm short and dark haired, we often get confused. Don't ask how. But yeah, we really are twins. In the whole we-can-finish-each-others'-sentences-and-communicate-with-looks sorta way. I went and saw "Despicable Me" with her today. It was great. We've decided that she's Edith, and I'm Agnes. I guess the only thing I can say about Twin is that she is my twin. And I don't know what I'd do without her. Sure, she gets on my nerves sometimes. Everyone does, as one point or another. She will never answer a text within five hours or her phone unless I call her twelve times, but I love her.

I'm bored now. I'll introduce the rest of my crazies another time.

Heart, me.

Proof That the GPS is Trying to Kill Me.

So last night, well, yesterday afternoon, I went to visit my cousin and his wife. So I start out okay, with my cute little GPS taking me along the highway to his place. And I go to shift lanes, to get from one highway to another.

There's my first problem. It seems that every time a guy driving a minivan encounters a girl driving a red sports car, he finds that he has something to prove. And this guy was no different. He was next to me, in the lane I needed to get in. Every time I sped up to pass him, he sped up too. Every time I slowed down to get behind him, he slowed down too. After doing this for a minute or two, I got bored. So I decided "Hey. I'm an annoying teenage girl in an annoying red car." And hit the gas. And left Mr. Minivan behind. So I got to my cousin's just fine.

On the way home, the darling GPS decided it didn't want to go on the highway. Instead, it took me deep into downtown Cleveland. At night. And then, into the most sketchtasticly shady neighborhood as I tried finding my way back to Suburbia. It flat out refused to take me to the freeway. So I puttered along in my twelve year old sports car, in a very frightening place, alone, at night. Shrinking into my very little self. I sing when I'm nervous, and I was pretty much belting out Boys Like Girls' entire "Love Drunk" album.

At one point, this guy was crossing the street, jaywalking, duh, 'cause he's that gangsta, and he waves to his buddy on the other side of the street. What happens next? Oh, his pants met the ground. Got very personal with the ground, if you ask me. He was wearing orange and red plaid boxers, if you're interested.

But I made it home okay. It took me a while, and I'm slightly scarred from the experience, but I made it. And then I went to a bonfire. Which was made in a grill. It was fun though.

Heart, me.

Well Hello!

Oh, hi!

So, how are you? I hope you're okay. Because if you're not, why are you reading a blog instead of making yourself better? But if the blog makes you feel better, by all means, keep reading. 

I'm a little bit "out there," in the best sense of the phrase. I like writing, but not your basic English class "This is the book I read and this is what happened" sort of nonsense. I mean, I did that. I just came out of two years of AP English, and might I gloat for a moment, but I got two fives on those suckers. So I'm good at writing. I hate math though. Math is my mortal enemy. 

Wait, what was I saying? Oh, right. I'm weird. But I'm fun. Sort of. Until I get crabby. Which is what happens when the meds wear off. I have a brother. He drives me mad. And a couple of friends. They drive me mad too. There's boys in my life, all annoying, frustrating, overbearing, or taken. So this should be interesting. Welcome. 

Heart, me.