I am fully aware, as I’m sure you also are, that when I say this, I’m lying, but I’m never drinking again.
Especially not vodka and red bull. Thank sweet baby Jesus that I was dancing around, harassing the DJ to play songs that he conveniently never got around to playing after promising me that he’d ‘make me happy’. The excuse for this abhorrent deceitfulness was that he had to play music that would ‘make white girls dance.’ I was like, ‘Yo man, I’m a white girl, and I’ve been dancing all night. Now play my motherfucking song!’ to which he responded, ‘Well, you’re different.’ And all I could say was ‘true’ since I’m a bad bitch.
But all joking aside folks, I can’t imagine why a DJ would ever want to be responsible (he’ll burn in hell) for the dancing of the majority of white girls. I’m sure that if you’ve ever been out to a club where dancing occurs, you have bore witness to the debacle that is the inebriated Caucasian female.
It’s like, suddenly they all think they’re Beyonce and start, very uncoordinatedly, gyrating around, thrusting their hips forward (ladies, we are the catchers, not the pitchers. This movement should only be done in jest) leaning back with their eyes closed in some sort of self satisfied seizure, until they nearly fall, while all the men in the club look on thinking a) why didn’t we go to a strip club? b) oh yeah, because we’re broke and wouldn’t be able to pull anyhow and c) which of these wasted rhythmless idiots am I going to help stumble to my bed, for some good, condomless fucking?
Yeah so. I’m one of the 50 white girls in the universe who is awesome at dancing.
And the moral of the story is…DJ’s everywhere should always play whatever song I request, because you don’t want white girls to dance, you want THIS white girl to dance, especially to her motherfucking song.
Okay, enough ego trip for one morning.
Wednesday, May 23
Thursday, May 17
Have you ever awoken from a second hangover of the day sleeping binge, and realized that, more than anything, you need Fruit Loops?
What I’d do in this situation is drink 3 massive glasses of milk (it’s 1% and organic give me a break) and go back to sleep.
I’ve been severely under the alcoholic lake rat influence of the Tiffers lately. We recently discovered Red Bud Island, and have been taking the dog. It’s beautiful there, but somehow booze manages to sneak itself into our back pack, and forces us to smuggle its contraband ass in. If that’s not bad enough, in a ballsy yet successful move, far too much of it somehow slips unnoticed past our mouths, into our stomachs, inebriating us severely. I can assure you that, had we the resources or the wiles to catch this wicked perpetrator, we would. We’re doing our best.
Really quickly, let me demonstrate to you how drunk I was yesterday…
I did 2 back flips off the dock. Need I say more?
Yeah, so I hate vodka, have an unsatisfied Fruit Loop craving, and as I’m sure has been extremely noticed, I’ve been a super slacker about my blog. I’ll blame the last part on Drew. You mudda fucka.
Here is my confession.
I haven’t read a book since I’ve been back from my trip, which was February 3rd. I’ve begun to notice my faltering vocabulary. I am so ashamed.
On a happy note, I almost have enough money to go to England and visit Joey da Briz, first and foremost, and Martynez and B if she’ll have me since I suck at keeping up with correspondence, and maybe James and Rachel if I can make it up north to wherever they live. It’s funny, because when I’m thinking that it’ll be such a long journey to get up north, and oh geez will I be able to afford it, I always forget that England is roughly the size of Houston. That’s Filarious.
I’ll probably be going mid June. Holla! I’m not sure how long I’ll be staying. Maybe 3 weeks. Longer if I’m able to work there.
Also, on another happy note, I’ve recently come back into contact with a couple of good friends with whom I had, in one case, had a falling out with, and in the other case, just kind of let the relationship atrophy. So, amends have been, or are in the process of being made, and I think that’s just swell.
I think I have pink eye.
Here are the signs:
My eye is pink.
So don’t fuck with me or I’ll look at you. Seriously.
OMG I so totally don’t even care about writing at the moment.
What I’d do in this situation is drink 3 massive glasses of milk (it’s 1% and organic give me a break) and go back to sleep.
I’ve been severely under the alcoholic lake rat influence of the Tiffers lately. We recently discovered Red Bud Island, and have been taking the dog. It’s beautiful there, but somehow booze manages to sneak itself into our back pack, and forces us to smuggle its contraband ass in. If that’s not bad enough, in a ballsy yet successful move, far too much of it somehow slips unnoticed past our mouths, into our stomachs, inebriating us severely. I can assure you that, had we the resources or the wiles to catch this wicked perpetrator, we would. We’re doing our best.
Really quickly, let me demonstrate to you how drunk I was yesterday…
I did 2 back flips off the dock. Need I say more?
Yeah, so I hate vodka, have an unsatisfied Fruit Loop craving, and as I’m sure has been extremely noticed, I’ve been a super slacker about my blog. I’ll blame the last part on Drew. You mudda fucka.
Here is my confession.
I haven’t read a book since I’ve been back from my trip, which was February 3rd. I’ve begun to notice my faltering vocabulary. I am so ashamed.
On a happy note, I almost have enough money to go to England and visit Joey da Briz, first and foremost, and Martynez and B if she’ll have me since I suck at keeping up with correspondence, and maybe James and Rachel if I can make it up north to wherever they live. It’s funny, because when I’m thinking that it’ll be such a long journey to get up north, and oh geez will I be able to afford it, I always forget that England is roughly the size of Houston. That’s Filarious.
I’ll probably be going mid June. Holla! I’m not sure how long I’ll be staying. Maybe 3 weeks. Longer if I’m able to work there.
Also, on another happy note, I’ve recently come back into contact with a couple of good friends with whom I had, in one case, had a falling out with, and in the other case, just kind of let the relationship atrophy. So, amends have been, or are in the process of being made, and I think that’s just swell.
I think I have pink eye.
Here are the signs:
My eye is pink.
So don’t fuck with me or I’ll look at you. Seriously.
OMG I so totally don’t even care about writing at the moment.
p.s. Incomplete photo data. Sorry. Internet sucks.
Monday, May 7
The Oddest Thing
When I was driving the very long and contrastingly both harrowing and monotonous drive home from my Aunt’s house in Leander, I realized I was having some car problems. Each time I’d shift, the engine would sputter, and the car would lurch back and forth, and for some reason, my top speed was 50 mph, despite how heavily I thought I was stepping on the gas.
Now this predicament was quite grave, especially given the state I was in. I couldn’t help but to be, not necessarily unreasonably paranoid.
As I chugged along, my mind racing at the catastrophic possibilities of what could be in store for me and my defective vehicle, of what would happen to The Tiffers and me, were we to actually be stranded in BFE, with only pick up driving good ol’ boys to come to our aid, it struck me…
Every time I’m driving high, my car fucks up, starts acting all funny.
Fuck me!
Now this predicament was quite grave, especially given the state I was in. I couldn’t help but to be, not necessarily unreasonably paranoid.
As I chugged along, my mind racing at the catastrophic possibilities of what could be in store for me and my defective vehicle, of what would happen to The Tiffers and me, were we to actually be stranded in BFE, with only pick up driving good ol’ boys to come to our aid, it struck me…
Every time I’m driving high, my car fucks up, starts acting all funny.
Fuck me!
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