The good seems fuckin' cheap

Late night chats with an old, unavailable friend always seem like a good idea. They range from deep, to funny, to enlightening, to pointless all in one chat session. However (and there's always a "however"), there comes a time - around 7:30 a.m. in this case - where the good does an unwanted 180 and turns quite sour. What I'm speaking of is surprise snug attacks on the unwilling and unprepared. While I thoroughly enjoy your conversations and general presence, I do not much like your grizzly bear hugs on my pretend sleeping body. This is why girlfriends - especially yours - hate me. Gawd. I was forced into submission to sleep in a freezing attic with a holey blanket only to wake up two hours later, call me mama, snag Jenny away from her four blankets and space heater, and go home to have a cucky day. Womp, womp, boo-hoo, whatever, whatever.

On the bright side, this fall seems to be my semester of many A's. I received all A's in my classes (2x A+, 1x A, and 2x A-) and then received an A+ on my dentist report card (no cavities, woot!).