|Saw this in my dorm's hall. Wtf, UNM?|
Stop trying to get me to join your weird
I realize I haven't blogged in awhile, and I am here to genuinely apologize. I now realize the few but very much appreciated followers and readers of mine miss my wit dearly. To defend myself, I have come prepared with a couple of valid and well thought out excuses. Excuse number one: I always feel weird blogging while Chode is around. I feel like she could easily glance at my laptop screen and read all of the shit I talk. Although I know I could totally beat the four foot nine inch Chodester in not just a battle of wits, but a battle of fists, I still feel like she'd fight dirty and deck me square in the face while I'm sleeping. Excuse number two: I wasn't even here in Albuquerque these past five or so days; I was in my hometown, Artesia, catching up with old friends, lounging around with my (non) boyfriend and taking plenty of much-needed naps. While walking to class today, I decided I would catch you all up on my life and what has happened since last week sometime. Warning: not much has happened.
Three out of my four classes were cancelled, and the one that wasn't cancelled was my earliest and most favorite class, English. I woke up, got dressed, changed 197,000 times, curled my hair, put on these awesome new boots I bought not too long ago, and went to class. I could hardly pay attention at all despite my love of the class, because I was daydreaming about how some friends and I were going home for five days a few hours afterwards. (A lot less Chode and a lot more Tyler!) After class, I packed a plethora of my belongings in a bag and went to Torey's room to help him pack. We packed everything in his truck, picked up another friend and headed to the nearest Wendy's for some road-trip grubbage. I ordered a baked potato and a frosty to go. When we were back on the road again, I realized the bastards didn't give me a damn spork for my potato, so I proceeded to eat the delicious spud with a straw.
I arrived home and noticed this nasty patch of nasty skin on my face I had noticed a week prior was progressively getting worse. I thought nothing of it, and hung out with my Tybot.
|While Tyler was taking pictures of the sky, I was taking|
pictures of the bug on his windshield.
I awoke, got dressed, only changed a few times and visited the high school I attended just a short five months ago. I saw many, many old (and by old, I mean young) friends. Half of the people I saw greeted me with, "oh, I love your blog!" The other half greeted me with, "how long have you and that newspaper guy/your boyfriend/Tyler been together?" Oh, yeah, college is going fine, guys.
When I woke up from my divine, exquisite, extensive slumber, I looked in my mirror, and noticed my hideous face. I went to my mother's place of work and she made me go see my doctor. I did so, and I discovered I had contracted this hideous disease that we will not discuss from here on out. I slept almost the whole day. Just know I'm still hideous, I hate going out in public and I'm afraid my (non) boyfriend will fall out of like with me. Oh, I am the queen of assumptions.
This day was supposed to be the day Tyler and I were to head up north to Albuquerque to watch some rock climbing enthusiasts contend in a competition. This was not in our fortune. Well, at least it wasn't in my fortune; I told Tyler he could go if he was up to it. I felt and looked horrible, and I was not about to go trekking on a four and a half hour trip for a lot of awesome people to witness my illness. Tyler and I ended up staying in Artesia and we watched movies until I went home at two or so in the morning. (Sorry if I woke you up, mom.)
|Tyler's awesome valuable-like art skills.|
AKA the day I had to say bye to Tyler. We said our goodbyes at 2 a.m., I lugubriously opened my door, stepped over the threshold, packed all of my clothes and fell asleep to some dismal classical music. My mother was kind enough to bring me back up to Albucrazy. When I arrived back at my dormitory, Chode had laid some macaroni and cheese on my bed and said, "Hey, I need to buy you some more chips." No crap you do, Chode. Get on that. Right now. I do, however, appreciate your attempt to gain my friendship once again with the apology macaroni.
Monday 10/17/11: (Today!)
I still felt a little crappy when I woke up, but my English class was cancelled, so I slept in and experienced some more much-needed sleep. I could definitely get used to this. I bought some coffee and a bagel from the Satellite coffee place after my second class and after I finished, I threw the bag my bagel came in into mine and Chode's trash can. Chode then asked me, "can you please throw your gross fast food bags in some other trash can? It seriously stinks up the whole room." I seriously wanted to bash her face in with my fist. 1. There was no food in that bag. 2. That's the only "fast food bag" I've ever even brought to our room. 3. Chode can suck it because I throw my trash where I want. 4. I'm pretty sure that unpleasant odor she's smelling is her upper lip. She then proceeded to ask me, "would you mind throwing the trash out sometimes? I feel like I'm always doing it." I responded with a "yes" to her "would you mind" question (which she didn't catch because she's stupid) even though I wouldn't mind, because I already take out our trash frequently. I hate her.
|A.D.D. Guitarist's program.|
I have two classes in the afternoon. Nothing was out of the ordinary there, except I got my Philosophy test I took last week back. I got an 84. Meh(scaline). I hope Tyler isn't reading this right now, because I totally wrote him a letter. You see, he wrote me one not too long ago, and I felt the need to compete with his sappiness. (Not that you're a sap, Tyler. You're totally a manly man. Right.) It was tough, but I'm pretty sure I'm going to beat him at this whole sap competition thing.
A friend and I were supposed to go to this guitar recital together for my Music Appreciation class. He bailed, so I was forced to go on the adventure Han style -- Solo. (Hope you're reading this Torey; I'll be sure to send you a link.) The performer was this crazy classical guitarist. He composed his own music, which consisted of 197,000 measures of alternating slow and fast tempos. Basically, it was music for those with a short attention span. I definitely could not fall asleep in there. After it was over, I left, went to Starbucks and came back to my room. Now I'm here, sipping on the remnants of this salted caramel mocha frapp after a long shower, explaining my not-so-exciting week to all of you whilst listening to some Ratatat on the musical love of my life, Pandora.
I hope all of your lives are more interesting than mine.
Thanks for reading.