Aztec Night

I'm pretty sure I would have gotten my ass kicked by some coked out sorority girl if I didn't look like such a dyke that night. 

My usual attire of skinny jeans, tee, cardigan, and tennies was butchly amplified with a SD bro hat I commandeered from one of the boys I was roaming around this that evening. He felt it was killing his game so I told him I'd wear it. Keystone helped me make the decision. I looked like I searched out the vag for fun and it was a nice way to be able to lead my night without having to deal with the unsuccessful pick up lines of SDSU's finest assholes. 

I am at my happiest when surrounded by boys that aren't trying to get into my ill-fitting jeans. I like to wrestle (fully clothed), drink forties, and dance to fat boy slim in a way that beckons to my aunt in her jazzercise class. And you know what folks, thats exactly what I did Friday night. 

I've come back from the dark abyss covered in bruises, bloated, and unable to hold the same thought for any considerable amount of time. You could say "fried"...sure. 

I hate the games that hover around casual dating. What's casual dating anyways? Is it what I'm doing? Because I don't like it. Its full of false pretenses and my over analytical mind is just going to fucking explode if I get fed one more line. Homeboy, I already slept with you, would you stop fucking saying shit if you aren't going to call me in the next week? 

When I say things like this it leads me to wonder who reads this. My girlfriends hear it from me all the time regardless, so I'm not worried about them. But what if the mentioned casual dater sees me talking shit on his sluggish game? What if some heartbreaker who feels like he has the authority to judge me at this juncture in my life decides to label me something that starts with S and rhymes with "rut"? 

Well, I'm trusting that neither of those characters are letting their eyes pour over my over-caffeinated and under-slept rambling, and even if they were...

HI ANGELA.