Two words: hardcore procrastination. This has been mixed with bouts of sutdiousness, and sewing.
Am leaving the sotry of Friday's debacle up; mostly to remind myself to not get walked over, and also because not much else is new.
So Ava (my roommate last year and one of my dearest friends) visited this weekend. Despite her loveliness and the debauchery ball on Friday, it was a shitty-ass weekend. The best part was lazing about the house last night, clutching my Jack Skellington doll to my bosom and watching my new Ed Wood dvd.
The worst part? Oh, kids, you're in for a tale.
After the debauchery ball, three gals (including myself) and my friend Dallas cuddled into my bed. Cozy, non? We made Dallas wear another of my nighties, too. Last time he and Ava slept over, we cuddled and slept like babies. This time? Oh, he absent-mindedly groped us whilst making out with the third gal in the group. I had a class at 10 am the next morning, and these assholes were noisily slurping on eachother's faces while I was trying to sleep.
Ava was drunk, and feeling uncomfortable (I was mostly upset at the gall of these kids; I have no problem if the group is involved - but almost pushing the two of us out of my bed was unacceptable).
The worst bit is that both Ava and myself have a history with this bloody boy - and he has a history of doing this.
Finally, I grabbed my pillow and the big blanket and made my way (Ava in tow) to the futon in the living room. That's right, I gave up my room so that those assholes could steal several of my condoms (which I've found the wrappers to) and ask me if "I hated them". Hate is such a strong word, I replied.
Woke them up at 8.30 am the next morning (this all happened around 3am), kicking underwear out of my way and banging the door open. Oops. They vacated the premises with heads hung down. No apologizes or anything. Those are two fuckers that aren't invited over again.
What bothers me is that I didn't kick them out on their sorry asses. Or scream. I so rarely get the chance to scream.
Not to mention me feeding, driving and being the hostess with the mostess earilier in the night. I felt like I had been shit on.
A word to the wise? Hell hath no fury like this gal, even if I keep it inside to vent online.
A word to the wiser - be honest. If those guys had said they wanted to play, I would have told them to use the other futon. Or go to Dallas'. It shows a lack of respect for me, my apartment and posessions.
Needless to say, I'm finding a new photographer for any future photosets.
I have a presentation in a drama class coming up... I've made Phantom of the Opera pasties to *ahem* make it more interesting. They're now covered in irridescent glitter, and are soon to be attached to a pale camisole.
Am leaving the sotry of Friday's debacle up; mostly to remind myself to not get walked over, and also because not much else is new.
So Ava (my roommate last year and one of my dearest friends) visited this weekend. Despite her loveliness and the debauchery ball on Friday, it was a shitty-ass weekend. The best part was lazing about the house last night, clutching my Jack Skellington doll to my bosom and watching my new Ed Wood dvd.
The worst part? Oh, kids, you're in for a tale.
After the debauchery ball, three gals (including myself) and my friend Dallas cuddled into my bed. Cozy, non? We made Dallas wear another of my nighties, too. Last time he and Ava slept over, we cuddled and slept like babies. This time? Oh, he absent-mindedly groped us whilst making out with the third gal in the group. I had a class at 10 am the next morning, and these assholes were noisily slurping on eachother's faces while I was trying to sleep.
Ava was drunk, and feeling uncomfortable (I was mostly upset at the gall of these kids; I have no problem if the group is involved - but almost pushing the two of us out of my bed was unacceptable).
The worst bit is that both Ava and myself have a history with this bloody boy - and he has a history of doing this.
Finally, I grabbed my pillow and the big blanket and made my way (Ava in tow) to the futon in the living room. That's right, I gave up my room so that those assholes could steal several of my condoms (which I've found the wrappers to) and ask me if "I hated them". Hate is such a strong word, I replied.
Woke them up at 8.30 am the next morning (this all happened around 3am), kicking underwear out of my way and banging the door open. Oops. They vacated the premises with heads hung down. No apologizes or anything. Those are two fuckers that aren't invited over again.
What bothers me is that I didn't kick them out on their sorry asses. Or scream. I so rarely get the chance to scream.
Not to mention me feeding, driving and being the hostess with the mostess earilier in the night. I felt like I had been shit on.
A word to the wise? Hell hath no fury like this gal, even if I keep it inside to vent online.
A word to the wiser - be honest. If those guys had said they wanted to play, I would have told them to use the other futon. Or go to Dallas'. It shows a lack of respect for me, my apartment and posessions.
Needless to say, I'm finding a new photographer for any future photosets.
I have a presentation in a drama class coming up... I've made Phantom of the Opera pasties to *ahem* make it more interesting. They're now covered in irridescent glitter, and are soon to be attached to a pale camisole.
VIEW 23 of 23 COMMENTS
flailing in cornfields is the outrageous fun!