dear computer,
i hate you,
fuck you, morgan.
the memories of last night slowly unfurl ... i'm not hungover, just fuzzy. marshall tried to break my arm and many horrid pictures were taken and we went to murphy's (a fine establishment) and the hurricane (meh as always), the lava lounge (meh) and cha cha's (annoying).
at murphy's, we made googly eyes over the best fries ever and gin and tonics that knocked my socks off, quite literally. yay sex. we went home and got ready for a night out on the town, which, of course, means i dressed up all cyndi-lauper like and aaron hooked up the muscle tees and a white trash motif. we rock. we picked matt and his friend jamie from peoria and headed to the diner.
at the hurricane, i drunkenly asked aaron why i'm fabulous (i don't fish for compliments, i blatantly demand them) and he said because i'm beautiful and generous and shit like that. la la la.
we walked to the bar i can't remember ...well, maybe that was in lava lounge. in any event, nothing happened, except for we were sitting at one of the old-school ms. pac-man tables. i love those things like you wouldn't believe. my brother and i were pong addicts when my dad used to take us to the bar when we were 5 and 7. fun times.
we walked to cha-cha's after that, and i guess that's where we got long islands. i have no clue, actually. long islands were drank and we were drunk and i suppose that's all that matters.
we headed home after that. it took aaron and i a half hour to walk what was apparently only a few blocks. oh well. we stopped in a stoop to make out for a few minutes and this guy walks by and yells, "HEY NOW! LOVIN IN THA STOOP! THAT'S NICE." then he tried to sell us a cassette player. it was rawther amusing.
after we finally found the car, aaron and i got in a huge tiff about self-consciousnes and self-esteem and our lack thereof. i parked and he jumped out and stormed across the driveway and then walked back to me crying because all that should matter is that he loves me so much, dammit.
normally, i crings when boys cry, but with him, i melt.
customers lining up. am tired. want burrito. or hamburger. or chocolate chip pancakes. mmmmmmmmm. foooooooooooood.
30 days to my birthday. shoot me.