Just kidding. I'm not talking about the kind of self-service that tools can provide (pureromance.com). Oh no, this is the kind of self-service where I provide myself with some sort of ridiculous life story, without any real direction. I seem to float along with my eyes closed and my heart open, flitting from situation to situation with the energy and frivolity of a hummingbird. Life experiences are my sugar-water, and I crave so much. This insatiable need to know gets me in a minor amount of trouble at times. Don't believe me? Here are a few examples of my favorite mishap memories.
Coronado Beach, California, Halloween 2009. Need I say more? Oh but of course I do.
In this lovely environment, it seems I had found myself in a dizzying plethora of corsets
and pant-less belligerence. While attempting to reach the destination of a Halloween bash,
my friends and I quickly found ourselves in dire need of a restroom... and map. With
an invite from some anonymous Marines, a bathroom, social circle, and drinks
were quickly attained. Post roofie-scare (silly, in fact), one particular friend commenced
a stripping of pants to "be one with the ocean". Needless to say, the security guard
was not amused. The end of the night came, minus one *ahem* preoccupied friend
and one wallet and one bottle of Malibu Rum, and we proceeded to continue on with
our seemingly mundane lives.
Oregon, Fall 2010, "Pimps and Hos". Yet again, it seems to be self-explanatory. Allow me
to continue. Classing it up in order to present a decent impression at the first party
of my new school, I sauntered into the party full of José Cuervo and confidence
that my white tiger print tunic would not reveal any breasteses or va-jay-jay. However,
I was sauntering around in my self-labeled "hooker heels". Dangerous, yet damn sexy.
It was "pimps and hos" after all. What I didn't take into account was the rickety steps
of the college student's house, or the salience of alcohol in my blood. Eventually,
these three forces (shoes, stairs, smirnoff) took hold of my universe, and sent
it tumbling down– or me, rather. A lovely swollen ankle/foot resulted, allowing me to
sustain my very first alcohol-related injury. Lovely, of course.
San Diego, California, Fall 2009. I won't disclose the location for fear of open
accessibility to everything on the internet, but may I first put a disclaimer
for any/all my readers out there. SECRET SHOTS ARE BAD NEWS BEARS. You
think I'm joking, but I am absolutely serious. If you're going to take shots,
don't do it in private. It's not about luck, it's about not going home as the complete
exactly what they talk about in those commercials, except I'm not telling you alcohol is bad,
just an excess could be... negative. Long story short, me+secret shots+decisions made
while blacked out= a very late night and a hospital visit. No, there was no stomach
pumping or alcohol poisoning. Just a little too much for my frail little figure to handle.
Regardless, this is still one of my favorite stories to tell. I love making mistakes sometimes.
Well now that you all are thoroughly disappointed in me, I would love to discuss how my life is a movie at times. Recently, I encountered a person who happened to have not one, not two, but three or more ties to people who are or have been very dear to me. This random new acquaintance was not only tied to an undesirable by way of previous residence, but also through a friendship was tied to one of my dearest friends from California, and therefore secondarily linked with practically the past five to six years of my life. It baffles me how small the world really is. And even after the millionth time I use that phrase, that damned Disney song pops in my head immediately after. Stupid corporation.
I didn't mean it! I love you Disney! You're my lobster!
With all this talk of partying and drinking and living, I do believe I have tired myself out. Back in May, I had explored the world of facebook statuses for a purpose. It just so happened I was with a group of 6 people trying to unravel my night. Going through my gray zone, remembering a policewoman, falling down at the scene of the last falling down accident. The only thing we were missing was a baby and a tiger and then my life would essentially be The Hangover. And then, in all my morning-after glory, I realized the night before was a widespread party. Proof? These facebook statuses;
"My walk of shame was so long that it could have been a parade...at one point I actually considered doing the 'elbow-elbow-wrist-wrist" to passing cars and people." -BV
Apologies to the bathroom.
broken camera.. my life is over.
lost my phone. pretty wack.
What a night
Vodka...... You bitch.
had one helluva night.
I am OK. i got elbowed in the face. but i am fine. no bruises.
DISLIKES being the DD. But Someone HAS to do it. EFFFF.
if you find a set of keys with a seahorse key chain please tell me!!!
shitshow=my life
And to complete this segment, I bring you Kellan Lutz, because I am TEAM EMMET
..... Whoa.
~Forever Yours
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