Last night was so wonderful and such a nice way to relax before finals. We drank, we laughed, we had a ball. I do not yet have the chutzpah to post a picture of myself in my dress to my sex blog so I can possibly be identified, but I was told I looked lovely.

Especially by this friend of mine. The one who wants to paint me. In an encounter that could’ve turned into something naughty had her date not walked in. (Pshhh boys stink).

There’s another event tonight. That guy from my frat will probably be going and despite the fact that a friend said the real reason he dipped out was finances, I loudly and drunkenly announced at the table that I wouldn’t touch him unless he promised me three hours of cunnilingus. So I guess I have to make good on that now…whoops.

She has a set of rules to follow regarding how to sit in chairs. Perhaps they’re a little particular, but most are in the interest of posture, others aesthetic.

When she’s caught, she’ll insist that she’s sitting up straight. She will tell you how this shows her off better, how it makes prominent the lacing of her corset or the thin fabric over her rear.

And it will all make perfect sense, but so will the added punishment of the top of the back of the chair digging into her stomach as she’s pulled up, bent over it and dealt with properly.

Sometimes, he sends her to the corner to think about what she’s done.

But, she isn’t the sharpest little girl.

So sometimes that takes a while.

Clearly, senior year is going to be fabulous.

My future roommate and I cemented where we’re living next year today. It’s really lovely, in a great location and the common space is wonderful. While we were walking around and roughly planning what we’d do with the place, the heels on my shoes kept clacking on the wood floor.
.
My Roommate: How do you just walk around in those?
Me: I’m so short I’ve gotten used to it out of necessity. And I used to dance, so I’m sort of accustomed to being on my toes.
My Roommate: Oh, it’s like me on my knees…

I’m not big on dirty pictures with too much drooling or too much smeared makeup or too much raw violence or too much leather.

I’ve got a thing for clean lines. I’ve got a thing for light colors. I’m big on the idea of just looking pretty. I’m girly. I’m particular.

There’s a time and a place for the roughness. It’s fun and it’s cathartic. But, if you can make me feel as degraded as I would covered in my own drool – through something a little less obvious, a little less primal, a little more refined – that’s talent.

Things I am stressed about today:

Last night, I accompanied my best friend out and may have allowed her to get a little wasted at a party. At one point in the evening, she pounced on me and tried to make out with me. I managed to wrestle her off, knowing she was totally not in the right state of mind, and she almost started crying because of some trouble with a guy she had been hooking up with. Awesome.
During the evening, I completely said the wrong thing to that guy from my frat and I am fairly sure I may have completely screwed things on even a friendship level there.
The evening ended in me, her, and her ex-boyfriend in a shouting match in the student center at three in the morning when she wanted to go home with him. He was absolutely awful to her and he got ultra-defensive when I asked her if she was going to be okay with this decision.
Today, I finally heard from her. She doesn’t remember last night, partially from being blackout drunk and partially because they had such violent sex her head knocked the headboard and she got a concussion.
When I told her what she did last night, not realizing she was just getting out of a hospital, she broke down crying and called herself the worst person on Earth.
I am now headed over to her room with cookies so we can sit around and bitch about men.

Seriously, tumblr, can I ever just catch a break?

I am so into this, but I would be super concerned about having my shoulder pulled out or something from some faulty rope-placement. I’d like to fancy myself the (very) amateur engineering type, so I’d probably micro-manage the shit out of anyone attempting to do this to me.

The Holiday Party, Part 4

Noodlegirl and I settle in on the couch and get to talking. Somehow, I tell her I may be into girls. She’s intrigued. Seriously. Like I told her I was a world explorer or something. We keep moving closer and closer until suddenly this guy plops down next to her on the couch and I assume he’s creeping. Ugh.

He kind of curtly acknowledges my existence, but Noodlegirl goes out of her way to introduce me like I’m the President. It was undeniably sweet, but this guy wasn’t feeling it. She turns back to me and asks, out of nowhere, “so, what are you into more, guys or girls?”

I shrug, “I mean, I typically just kind of go for the personality.”

Noodlegirl’s couch companion is suddenly threatened and kind of awkwardly starts making out with her. He then gets up to get her a drink.

I don’t want to cross boundaries or make trouble, so I decide to ask some questions. “Is he your boyfriend?”

She shakes her head, “no, of course not. He just drove me here and we hook up sometimes.”

Whew. “Well, he’s cute.” It’s really a common courtesy that I’m saying that. I’m not terribly attracted to him and any vague attraction I may have had was totally killed by how he had to get really defensive once he found out I was into girls. Really? Did I threaten his masculinity that much?

“Nah,” she chuckled, “he’s okay. We should go dance.”

Part of me may have recognized the dilemma of the fact that I was kind of swooping in. But, hell, the guy’s a jerk and, while I wasn’t expecting a threesome (nor do I want one), he didn’t have to overreact and be such a prick about “marking his territory”. So, yeah, we danced. And the look on his face when he came back and saw us was priceless.

I’m in the home stretch. I just can’t get myself to sit still and finish.

These next few days are going to require discipline. Unfortunately, not the sort I’m inclined to enjoy.

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heels

Clearly, senior year is going to be fabulous.