i am bad boy. i loves it.

wattup playa playaz

I am still on my endorphin high from spin class, so bear with me. I am in no mood to focus on one thing at a time. GET ON MY LEVEL.

On Wednesday I attended the Look At This Fucking Hipster convention under the pretense of attending the Blink 182 concert. I made Brandes come play chaperone with me, so the littlest Jennings could rage without mother dearest in tow. It just so happened that my love Dill was also in attendance. So there I stood with the only boys for miles rocking polos and jeans that weren't quite tight enough to put their junk on display for all to see, and for this I am grateful. Things were looking down as valencia took the stage, and just when we thought things couldn't get much worse, asher roth came on stage with two gay male strippers. I had no idea what the fuck was going on, but asher roth was just loving life. In lieu of dancing, asher wowed us with his ability to swing his arm back and forth in time with a beat. Oh and his overly zealous stomping/ fist pumping combo. Awe-inspiring, truly. Actually I def see myself busting out the stomp/ fist pump in the future...followed shortly by a swift knee to the head in the process.. ANYWAYS needless to say asher roth was a bust in concert. BOO. I still love college. Mark tom and travis finally made their way to the stage, and led me on a trip down memory lane. We had so much fun, fist pumping and head nodding and all things hipster. We discovered that Blink still has an insanely hardcore underground following who raged to every song, whether that be with tribal dancing or with emo tears; they knew every word to every song without fail and screamed them like their lives depended on it. We just couldn't get on their level. I'm okay with that. Oh and also travis barker is king.

My job is doing tremendous things in my life. Both my Thursday and Sunday shifts gifted me with cute boys, and while the profit margin may be dismal, I gladly accept eye candy as collateral. Thursday provided me with instant gratification, whilst the benefits of Sunday's prospects have yet to be reaped. All you need to know is that a fine ass peruvian man-boy wants to salir conmigo and said so en espanol. Oh and he calls me Saraita. You know I love that. But then he said, "those toes...I want to kiss those toes." ...que? He kissed my cheek and left before I could process that line. I'm still not quite sure what to make of it.

The boss man treated me to lunch this afternoon. I left my phone behind the bar at work last night, rendering me completely debilitated for the following 15 hours. So I went to retrieve my precious after classes today, and the boss man was just loving life. He had been flying solo all morning, and was quite pleased with the 60 dollars in tips he'd received from playing the roles of waiter/cook/bus boy, not to mention manager/owner, all by his lonesome. He asked if I was hungry, which of course I was, and so he fixed me his fish tacos that I love so much. We ate and he enlightened me on his value system as it pertains to gay marriage, abortion, and the death penalty (I was still mulling over our debates in francais this morning on said topics, but in my french class we are a bunch of flaming liberals and so I enjoyed boss man's ultra conservative take on things). And just like that a fish taco made my life infinitely more enjoyable.

This morning the sky opened up and yacked, worsening an already miserable monday morning. Smel dropped me off at class, but because I was phone-less, I was left to make the trek back to 1979 without even an umbrella to my name. I approached the bus stop just in time to see a Mill bus departing, so I settled in for the wait ahead. A second Mill bus FINALLY came, and as was to be expected, the sorostitutes were out to play. I found myself fending Lilly Pulitzer umbrellas off, in fear of losing an eyeball in the good fight against paisley. I was caught in a sea of North Face rain jackets and stupid rubber rain boots, and I got lost in the sorostitute storm. Before I knew it, the Mill bus was just about packed, and I wasn't quite on. I was determined, though, and just as I made it to the bus doors, a frat-fucking-tastic cretin ran up and jumped into the last iota of space available. My arch nemesis.

TO MY FRAT-TASTIC ARCH NEMESIS: I HATE YOU WITH THE FIRE OF A THOUSAND SUNS.

On a final note, I have a new jam. Replay by Iyaz. I listen to it on replay (obvi), interrupted only by 3 by Britney and Kid Cudi's Pursuit of Happiness.

peace love and arch nemeses