Love is in the Air...

Dear Blog,

Yesterday night my most bestest bosom buddy had his first make-out experience. At first I didn't believe him. I mean, we're supposed to do everything together, right? Not that I'm saying I should have been his first make-out experience, heavens no, but he's not supposed to have firsts without me. We're supposed to have our firsts together, synchronized, at the same time, that way we can call and tell each other about it. And the other person will go "no way, ohmigahd" and "it was kind of like struggling for air while drowning" and "yeah, I completely agree, it was awkward". This just isn't cool, Blog.

I mean, I'm proud of him. I'm honestly proud of him that he made it with a (senior, holla) girl. But, hell. He was supposed to wait for me.

I'm being completely selfish, and I know it. Moreover, I don't care. I was loafing in The City again today, and Brian (high as a kite, mind you) wanted to write a poem about "ego". That was just it, "ego". I'm being egotistical, I know, and I don't care.

We lost the Big Game again today. By 8 points. Or 7. Something high like that, so now I'm stuck listening to the dull hum of the techno version of "Sweet Caroline", which actually could be really good if the frats didn't insist on ruining it. That and Journey, and all rap. I'm hating the frats more and more each day. I probably wouldn't be so antagonistic if they would just mind their own business and stick to themselves. Instead, we hear the thump and hump of the frats all the way at my dorm room. That, and the girls in my hall just eat and drink up techno-Neil-Diamond rip-offs like pretzels and cheap gas station wine.

I think I'll go find a park. The sun's setting and I'll go find a park. Until then, "Sweet Caroline....badababaa...Good times never seem so good (so good, so good, so good), I've been inclined, to believe they never would...."

Sincerely,

P. I. Staker