how much of a grand dancer i am.
how fucking sweet 90s jams are, consequently making a 90s themed party the greatest idea ever.
dinner and conversation with self analytical friends rule.
boys. boy are fun to be girls in front of.
boys. boy only think with their dick, especially when they're drunk, and thus grind up all in this business. saw current crush blatantly ignore me spend a solid hour pressed up against this random girl. after which he copped a sruti feel and bounced. gross. there was the gross lagging crotch that would not go away of the first hour of the evening, and then the "omg i accidentally just made eye contact with bro he must have thought that was sex eyes" second hour, and finally the third, "this guy thinks i can dance, and maybe i'll let him grab at my waist, oh wait, no, he sucks and is gross too."
how fucking sweet 90s jams are, consequently making a 90s themed party the greatest idea ever.
dinner and conversation with self analytical friends rule.
boys. boy are fun to be girls in front of.
boys. boy only think with their dick, especially when they're drunk, and thus grind up all in this business. saw current crush blatantly ignore me spend a solid hour pressed up against this random girl. after which he copped a sruti feel and bounced. gross. there was the gross lagging crotch that would not go away of the first hour of the evening, and then the "omg i accidentally just made eye contact with bro he must have thought that was sex eyes" second hour, and finally the third, "this guy thinks i can dance, and maybe i'll let him grab at my waist, oh wait, no, he sucks and is gross too."
to be honest, the most thought-provoking part is having mr. brilliant peer over there pull me aside to point out how much he admired my apparent "intelligence." thoughts on how i present myself in class, or others, or whether or not intelligence can be generally calculated are stirring in my brain. and my ears are ringing, and my voice is sore, and my feet are tired. youth, out.
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