Prince Charming

All of this time not writing about myself and instead writing about dead president's and silly little theories about how silly little brains like yours work has been quite the drain on my ego. What do you mean I can't spend two pages talking about how awesome I am? Or which boy I decided to make out with last night? As a result, I am so overwhelmed about all of these things I feel like they just might explode out of my head and splatter the walls around me with thoughts that would drip down the wall slowly.

I am so tired that it hurts. Pots and pots of coffee haven't made the slightest impact on my deflated energy level. I feel like I am gradually dying, so much so that I am almost afraid of actually sleeping in fear that I might not ever wake up. That shouldn't be a problem, I have a hot date tomorrow at 6:00am with a bottle of champagne and a carton of orange juice. This you see is a college tradition. The Sorority Ho's and Fraternity Boys plan this extravagant homecoming-esque event without the football game each spring and the theme, regardless of what they tell you, is "get ridiculously drunk". I'm not sure if we will take it that far but we shall see. There will be pictures, I promise. Maybe, kind of.

Note to self: do not schedule obnoxious, intrusive eye exams for 8:00am especially if and when you only collect about four hours of sleep prior to the event. I couldn't believe the man actually expected me to relax as this metal stick slowly advanced towards my eye, let alone ask me not to blink. All of that to learn that yes, my vision sucks and no, my eyes are not diseased. Thanks, I could have told you that.

Do you want to know how to make a boy angry? Well mostly you show up to his house, eat his food, yawn an awful lot to non-verbally express that you are tired and don't really want to go out. Do you want to know how to fix it? Wear a short, tight skirt minus undergarments and then drag him into his bedroom around 9:00pm. It seems to be a universally accepted solution to any sort of conflict.

I have a little story to tell you about a blogging friend of yours and mine. We will call him Horatio only because that is the name of the man of my dreams. Many weeks ago the mysterious and elusive Horatio sent me his phone number, which by the way, I will sell to you for the bargain price of $500, and when I didn't call him he told me that the offer had an expiration date. So I put aside my hatred for telephone communications and dialed the number because I am never one to miss an opportunity of any kind. He didn't answer but don't fret, he called right back. He said many wise words and I said a bunch of silly ones and that's the beauty of it all.

Then, I told all of my fine friends that I had at my disposal the elements of a free vacation, namely airfare and hotel accommodations but was in need of a destination. Toronto had two votes and that was enough for me. But then, I received an e-mail simply stating "if you go to Toronto, you are missing out". And I thought to myself, "shit shit shit, what if Horatio is right? I mean, he always seems to be right". So by the conclusion of last Friday I had laid a claim on Horatio's couch, invited myself to his friend's wedding, and promised to bring a plaid skirt even though it is the wrong season to wear one.

So Tony, I mean Horatio, thank you thank you thank you. I promise I will be entertaining and nice the entire time, otherwise you can leave me on the side of the road in the desert.

As for Toronto, I will there the last week of July and the first week of August for a big old family reunion from which I will definitley need rescuing. You can be my knight in shining armor on a white stallion or something like that.