Firstly, I'd like to thank Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Without him, the hill between my dorm and my sister's house would not be able to smell so strongly of marijuana on this fine holiday from classes.
Today, Roomie and I celebrated civil rights by rearranging our furniture. This adventure required the strength of our friends Johnny and James, as well as the lazy commentary of Heather, Erin and Katie. We had to shove the majority of our school friends into our tissue box-sized dorm to do it, but now Roomie's bed is lofted, my bookshelf is next to my bed, and we've accomplished a hell of a lot more than we did on Stay in Bed All Day Sunday.
In other news, as I was hiking up the hill whose aroma suggests it was the site of some kind of weed bonfire last night, I decided what to call the person I blogged about yesterday. He's not a boy, and he's not a man, and we're not together, but we're definitely not not together. So, just like my first love received the laughably unfitting pseudonym of Justin Timberlake for the purposes of this blog, my new notable interest will hereby be referred to as The Situation.
If you live outside America, under a rock, or were born before 1983, allow me to explain why this is funny. There's a positively vile television show on MTV (remember when MTV played music? Neither do I. It hasn't, within my lifetime) called Jersey Shore, in which a group of repugnant spray-tanned twenty-somethings fight and cry and sex and talk about insipid things with Staten Island accents. And, perhaps the douchebaggiest of them all, who is described on the show's website as having "a sensitive side, but plenty of game to go with it," calls himself The Situation. The thought of my own, um, "Situation" as a fist-pumping guido is about as realistic as my Justin Timberlake frontmanning choreographed dance moves. So. The Situation it is.
In response to yesterday's comments, no, he is not the Breadstick Guy. I only ever spoke about three words to him, haven't seen him since, and, frankly, don't even remember what he looked like. Contrary to popular belief and hope, the Situation is ALSO NOT Charlie McDonnell. Sorry, guys. Never gonna happen. I'll tell you his name sometime soon-- he gave me permission before I ever asked. "I understand that, with your lifestyle, my ass is getting blogged about, and I don't want you to hold back for my sake," he said. Haha. Soonish, guys. I promise.
Anyway, four-day weekends have this ability to fan my already deadly procrastination habit, so I ought to go start all the homework I chose to neglect until tonight. Before I go, though, I want to give a huge congratulatory hug to commeter Annie, who reached an incredibly exciting milestone yesterday. I'm so excited for you; thanks for telling me!
Sexy: The fact that my friend Leah, an aspiring screenwriter and all-around awesome person, is now keeping a daily blog, which you can read here.
Unsexy: "Your face!" says my sister. There you have it.
Chipotle burritos this year: 1
Nail color: "Mango Mango," L'Oreal
P.S. I love PJ and his BlogTV shows and am sorry I didn't mention him in this post before, despite the fact that he's an attention whore.