One girl. One college. Three thousand guys. This blog is a blow-by-blow [yes, that was a dirty pun] account of the social (and usually sexual) misadventures of a commitment-phobic and ironically promiscuous virgin.

Tuesday, November 28, 2006

Truamatic Tuesday.

It's 9:56 ante meridiem and I am sitting in the cafe debating whether or not I want to start working on the paper due at 10:00pm tonight. Twelve hours and four minutes. Scratch that, three minutes. Kanye West is playing on the stereo and my motivation to do anything but sit and sip my double-shot-non-fat-two-splenda-packet mocha is absolutely minimal.

I haven't seen Nik yet, but maybe today he'll stop in and say hi, like he did last week when I apparently missed him. I don't know what happened to Gato Guy, but I kind of miss him. I never even got to make out with him.


Last night I went on a texting rampage. It was probably a horrible idea, but I couldn't help myself. I sent a text to Chuck, because I'm actually worried about Courtney. I'm worried


Elaboration to come.

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