Fin.

The end has come for my blog. I’m done. I’m burnt out.

I’ve been writing random things here for over a year now and I think it’s just the end of an era or something. I could just walk away without a word, but that’s kind of messed up, especially since I have so many avid readers.

And by many, I mean two. One being my mom, the other is probably a friend with a 9-5 who gets bored real quick.

Here I stand sucked dry of all my witty humor and social commentary. It’s sad, really, but I just can’t do it anymore.

Anyway, that’s the story.

Thank you and goodnight.

Stop calling me

I've come to the conclusion that I cannot meet a regular guy. They are all either jerks or psychos. And then there's the guy who stalks you.

I met this guy at Pat Mitchell's birthday party a few weeks ago (not the stalker, though I'm sure that's the guy everyone really wants to hear about). He seemed cool. Kind of pulled the "oh you're so beautiful" lines on me, but I was willing to look past the cheesey line usage. Or maybe I just liked the attention. He said that I was a cool girl and gave me his phone number, usually I don't get phone numbers from the guys I meet. I didn't call him, but I thought maybe, for once, I could get to know this guy better and maybe, for once, something good would happen. I told Robin about my interest in him and she says to me, "you know he has a girlfriend, right?"

What? Stop hitting on me if you have a girlfriend!! What the hell??

They've been together off and on since high school, so that's probably like six years or something. I also found out that he's a "sweet talker" and that the whole thing was just an act anyway. He pulled the same thing on Karen!! I mean, I never expect anything from guys, I usually write them off right after I meet them. The one time I let my guard down and actually start having feelings, I'm the one whose been written off.

Jerks man. So, I've given up. That's it.

If your friends can't even set you up with decent guys, what's the point anyway?

They say you were something in those formative years

Robin likes her eighth grade boyfriend. Again.

I’m not really sure what happened, but Robin and her ex-pseudo-boyfriend met again last Thursday while his band was playing at a local coffee house. I say pseudo because they dated for about a week in eighth grade, and we all know that doesn’t really mean anything. They hung out (and made out) together all weekend, including during his birthday celebration.

Funny, because he was also my pseudo boyfriend in ninth grade. Pat Mitchell is his name. Always a super nice guy, but just could never hold on to the chicks long enough. We “went out” for a twenty-four hour period where we did not see or talk to each other until I called him and said “look, this isn’t going to happen…” He had bought me flowers because the next day was Valentine’s Day. He told me this past weekend that he gave the flowers to his mom.

Anyway, so Robin and I always joked about how we both kind of went out with this guy like a million years ago. Well, this weekend was his 21st birthday and he invited Robin to his party type thing at this Irish restaurant near DC. Robin called me and said that she liked Pat Mitchell again, and I invited myself to his birthday party because I wasn’t about to let Robin ditch me on a Friday night. No way.

His birthday thing, which I thought was just going to be a bunch of kids hanging out at a bar, was actually a dinner thing that included like twenty-five people and Pat’s family. I hadn’t seen Pat in six years, so I felt like a complete asshole showing up to his intimate birthday gathering. But, oddly enough, it was a great time. And his dad picked up the entire tab. Classy.

I mean, I cannot tell you how much fun it was to hang out with Pat Mitchell, he’s still as nice as ever and a really cool guy. And he told me he is totally “smitten” with Robin. How cute!

It’s weird how people you’ve brushed off for years can suddenly come back into your life. It’s like it’s fate or destiny and then that “everything happens for a reason” mentality suddenly doesn’t seem that far fetched.

My cousin the prom queen!!!!!! Isn't she hot?? Man that takes me back. Not that I was the prom queen. (We all know that it should have been Karen!!!!!!!) But man, high school. That was a long time ago. It's fun remembering all the stupid things I thought and did. Man, I was DUMB.

Anyway, I'm so proud of my cousin Katie P for being the most popular girl in her high school.

Wisdom teeth are BS

I have to apologize to my loyal readers for not posting anything new on here for a few weeks. I try to post something at least once a week but I've been kind of out of it lately.

Last Thursday I had my wisdom teeth removed. Sure, it was fun for awhile. Doped up on vicodin, not really caring that you look like a chipmunk or that you can't eat anything but milkshakes and soup. Your brother laughs at you but still brings you your ice cream while your mom's at work. But then, the vicodin loses it's appeal. Mainly because you stop taking it because you don't want to get addicted or anything, so you move to Motrin, which doesn't make you as happy. It's still 800 milligrams, but it's just not doing the trick. And then your mouth still hurts. It's not even like a sharp stabbing pain, but a dull annoying pain that doesn't ever go away. You realize that it's not cool not brushing your back teeth and the holes from the surgery continue to ooze leaving your mouth with this awful bitter taste and you wake up to find brown drool on your clean, white, 400 thread count pillow. And you still can't eat anything.

I mean, yeah I can eat. But only in tiny bites. I like to shove food in my mouth and be done with it, taking regular sized bites. And you know what, I love ice cream, I feaking love it to death, but I can't handle just eating ice cream. I need variety. I've chewed on some rice, some really soggy cereal because I let it soak up all the milk so it's easier to chew, a few pieces of chocolate, and some mushy strawberries. This is total crap.

Yeah, no one wants to hear about my battle with open mouth wounds, there are more important things in the world. Sorry, but this not really eating too much thing is making me crazy. The good news: I think I lost five pounds.

Better luck next time.

Are you pro-titty?

That question basically sums up my weekend. Only Robin will truly understand the significance.

Last week I was at home in boring old Northern Virginia with nothing to do but sleep all day. Robin was my salvation. She took me out most nights even though she worked like a dog all day long cleaning swimming pools. I caught up with a few other friends and went to an oral surgeon for my wisdom teeth consult, but that’s about it.

On Friday night Robin and I, along with Matty G and some other kids from high school, went to T.T. Reynolds in Fairfax, a bar that we’ve been frequenting since Christmas break. Fun times, but there is always a lack of cute guys there. Maybe we’re going to the wrong bar. I still got ridiculously drunk and ended up falling flat on my ass while walking to the bathroom. Right on the sticky, dirty floor in front of a bar packed with people. That was probably the least of the embarrassing things that I did on Friday night, but my mom reads this so I can’t go into anymore detail.

Saturday night Robin and I hung out with Erin and Scott and then went to a toga party at our old friend Dan’s apartment in Arlington. Robin and I had very scandalous togas, if you can call them that. We basically wrapped this transparent netting stuff around ourselves and called it a toga. But hey, let me tell you, we didn’t get any complaints regarding our noncompliance. One girl thought I was just wearing a shirt…I was like.. no... I don’t wear clothes like this, it’s a toga. Anyway, Robin and I kicked Dan’s ass in beer pong, did some catching up and met some cool people. Dan’s girlfriend is very nice. His roommate is super fun, too.

Dan, you should have more parties. I would go to them. And I forgot to tell you that De Soto sent his “regards”. Whatever that means.

Anyway, I wish I had not been a slacker and that I didn’t have to take this summer class… but I do. I forgot how depressing summer on this campus can be. I should be home in Centreville most weekends only because there is really nothing to do here and at least at home I can see my girls and eat my parents’ food.

Almost out.

Barf.

Today my mom and I went to get some coffee at our local Starbucks and then went to the grocery store. We do this a lot whenever I'm home. Get coffee, sit, chat, eat a cookie, then go to the grocery store to figure out what to have for dinner. It's very nice.

But today, we came out of Starbucks and saw a young lady holding what looked like a baby duck. So, we went over to her and said "oh that's so cute!!" and all that. Because, well, baby ducks are cute. Turns out it's not a baby duck, it's a baby goose. It's fluff was kind of a lime green color with black speckles. A little weird looking but still cute. The girl said it had just hatched that day. Apparently this little goose's mother died and this girl saved the egg and hatched it or whatever.

Now, that's all fine and good. Then someone asked how she'd been feeding it. She said that she chews up crackers and spits the remnants into the little goose's mouth. Okay.. does she think she's a bird? And then she proceeded to give us a demonstration and stuck the bird's beak in her mouth. "Like this, then he will open his mouth and take the food." Basically it looked like she was french kissing a goose.

That's love and dedication for you.