Jennifer

Wow do I have a story for you. This morning I woke up on the bathroom floor feeling horrible (as can be assumed of anyone waking up on a bathroom floor) and naked except for my pearls. Hopefully no one saw me like this, but I'm not making any gaurantees. Anyway, I scavenged the apartment for some advil to alleviate my throbbing head. We have none whatsoever (probably because we go through about two bottles a week) so I embarked on a journey to buy some at the C-mart a few blocks away.

Before I continue, let me give you a mental image of what I looked like-- my flip flops did not match, eyeliner was smeared all over my face, my hair was in an unintentional side ponytail and my oversized Beatles t-shirt covered up most of my itty cotton shorts giving the appearance that I wasn't wearing any pants. It was not a good morning in the life of Jennifer.

So, I was stumbling to the C-Mart, tripping over myself and cursing the world, when suddenly I felt extremely nauseous. I knew I was going to throw up. I tried to dash to the C-Mart restroom, but there was no way I could make it. Luckily I spotted a trash can outside the store by the gas pump. That's when I started vomiting.

As if vomitting in public wasn't bad enough, just as I finished I looked up and spotted none other than my ex boyfriend walking out of the store. (We only live four blocks away from each other, but I'd been successfully avoiding him until today.) He stared at me for a moment then, disgusted and confused, asked, "Jennifer?"

It was utter perfection.

I smiled meekly and shrugged. His new girlfriend was with him too. Of course she looked all perfect in heels and a pant suit (who wears pant suits anyway?). I think they were going to church, which really adds to the perfection of the situation. I'm still cuter than her though, even when vomiting. I heard he thinks that I've really "gone to shit" ever since breaking up with him. At least I'm not dating someone who has BRACES. I bet his foreskin gets caught in all that metal. Ew I can't believe I just wrote that. Maybe I have gone to shit.

Morning hit me like an 18-wheeler plowing into an armadillo: it arrived without warning and just about killed me.

Sunlight blinded my eyes, beaming through the gaps in the curtains of the window of...

my God, where the hell was I?

I turned away from the sunlight and spotted a cup on the floor with a Motel 8 logo. I'm in Motel 8... how trashy, I thought.

I then noticed something tightly wrapped around me, encircling my waist and arms. It was a person. It was some shaggy haired guy-- no-- MAN, snoring loudly with an itsy tattoo of a Celtic cross on his chest. A tattoo?! I hate tattoos.

Suddenly last night came flooding back to me-- the conversation about tattoos (and how I hate them), his warm hand on my neck. I sigh in relief: I only kissed him.

Thank God I only kissed him.

I remember what happened: after the SAE (Sigma Alpha Epsilon) Vegas party I had ended up talking to the band. The reason why I insisted on talking to the scruffy band and not the hundreds of rich, available frat boys still escapes me. But that's what happened, I started flirting with the band. I remembered Lux in her rhinestone bra dancing on the stage with the lead singer. I remembered the guitarist calling me cute and coy and making me blush like the goddamned schoolgirl that I am.

We wound up smoking a bowl in his hotel room. He wanted to cuddle with me. I'm sure by 'cuddle with me' he meant screw my brains out, but I took his meaning quite literally and stayed fully clothed. I wasn't very interested. (It seems I'm not very interested in anyone these days.)

Okay okay, I stayed fully clothed although at some point my sequins dress' straps snapped. This could have happened as a result of completely unrelated events, I really don't know. I know that I just cuddled with Darren, the guitarist. Darren from New York, Queens, specifically. God his accent was horrible.

He quoted me his kitschy song lyrics and made wish I'd stayed in for the night. Seriously, he wouldn't shut up... so I kissed him. If you want to shut a guy up just start kissing him.

He said I'm the best kisser he'd ever had. If true, this would mean a lot since he's a musician a helluva a lot older than me (but anything over 22 seems old to me). I doubted his sincerity, as drunk guys will tell you all kinds of pretty things and none of it holds meaning to me anymore.

He told me he could fall in love with me. I laughed. He said he'd never met a girl as smart as me, as intriguing and adorable. I sighed.

Back to the morning-- the 18-wheeler of a morning and the blinding sunlight. I pried his limbs off of me and stumbled to the bathroom in my dress, leaving a trail of sequins behind.

Just then the bassist burst through the door, Kramer from Seinfeld style, and jumped about two feet upon spotting me. He dashed to the bed I'd just climbed out of, grabbed Darren by the shoulders, and dragged him outside.

Yelling ensued. I couldn't make out there words exactly, but gathered that Darren was engaged to the bassist's sister. He'd never kissed anyone else since meeting her... until me. I heard Darren shouting that he didn't sleep with me, that he only had kissed me.

Darren came back into the hotel room looking broken. I could tell he wanted to cry. I left shortly thereafter, wishing I had a photo to remember the bizarre night. Their forty-something bouncer drove me home in their van.

I didn't feel angry or guilty about Darren. I didn't know what to feel except sad for him. It wasn't me who wanted to marry him. Besides, this was not the first time (nor will it probably be the last time) I've been someone's mistake.

I laughed and shook my head at myself as I climbed the stairs to my apartment barefoot (where were my heels?) and holding up the straps of my dress with my hands. I'm spiralling out of control and loving every second. I passed one of my gel-head neighbors in the hallway. He stared at me and was about to say something, but then decided against it and went on his way.

I put on some Zeppelin and started to undress. A guitar pick fell out of my bra. I tucked it away in a plastic sleeve of a photo album, scribbling "Darren" underneath it.

Everyone is sleeping with their ex boyfriends What the hell. They're called ex boyfriends for a reason... 'ex' as in the Latin root for "out" or "out of", 'ex' as in x'ed off, crossed off, deleted!

JESUS CHRIST! STOP SLEEPING WITH YOUR EXES!

Marie's ex is over now actually. It's always awkward when you can hear people having sex. I used to be really loud on purpose just to make my boyfriend's apartment-mates uncomfortable when they were studying and stuff. God, I love being me.

I am so bored. Cowboys (a traditional UT guys spirit group) are throwing some country music concert called Harvest Moon tonight, so consequently no frats are doing anything until at least after midnight. Let's bet I'm plastered and belligerent by then.

God, Cowboys go harvest your own fucking moon and stop stealing my Fridays. I HATE country music. I hate lots of Texas things. I have a lot of hate right now. (Apparently I am belligerent already. Oh well.)
Here are more Texas things I hate:
-"Texas-sized" foods because they are fucking huge and you end up eating all of it and getting fat.
-Lonestar beer (this is the worst beer EVER)
-George W. Bush (and basically all Texas politicians, especially the Republican ones)
-Cows, farms, mud, etc.

I still love you, though Texas. I'll never leave you. Actually let's be serious-- yes I will leave you Texas. I'll still stop buy occasionally though for one night stands, you know, for old time's sake. How fitting that in the middle of the word Texas is 'ex'...

Let me tell you about the worst hook up ever.

I suppose I should preface the story with the fact that I busted the back of my head open about a week ago after KA's "Golf Pros an Tennis Hos" party and had to have some staples put in.

I bled a lot, yadda yadda, and now I have a huge scab on the back of my head. No big deal, as you can't see it under my mane of blonde hair.

Back to the story of the worst hook up ever-- I'm making out with this ATO last night when he runs his fingers through my hair...

and over the scab...

which like, partially falls off in his hand or something.

Oh my God. Oh my fucking God. Is this actually happening?

I try to explain that I hit my head a while ago, that I have staples.

I cringe.

He stares.

I sigh.

He leaves.

...so is the story of my life.

I can't believing I fucking scabbed on someone. (Note to self: stop getting drunk and falling and getting scabs.) To make it worse, I think everyone knows about it (including my ex boyfriend's neighbor whom I am somewhat in love with).

Ah, the classic "ex boyfriend's neighbor" dilemna. Wait, that's not classic at all. Actually, it's really fucking weird. Why am I in love with my ex boyfriend's neighbor?

I wish I'd get the hell over him, especially considering the fact that he wouldn't look at me tonight. Then again, he was too stoned to even know where he was. KappaSigs are like that.

The whole thing upset me terribly. I actually started crying, which is a big deal as I hadn't cried in what... months? A year? I haven't really been keeping track of this. I told the girls that my contacts were bothering me and left soon after. Everything just hurts right now.

Do you ever feel that way? That everything inside you just aches and aches? Sometimes life hurts so much.

It's not about sleeping with people... not to be a snob, but I can (and most girls can) sleep with almost any guy I want. The hard part is making them fall in love with you.

Okay, I admit this is gross, but I just have to tell someone: Lux has a yeast infection and apparenlty has passed it on to her boyfriend Dirk!

I can't stop laughing. I am a terrible person.

I still have my doubts regarding it really being a yeast infection. I don't know how seriously anyone takes STDs to begin with though. I recently asked Lux if she'd rather be 50 lbs overweight or have genital herpes. She answered, "Herpes, hands down." She's not kidding.

Lux really hates fat people though. Like, a lot. A whole lot. She's 5'10 and weighs 125. Oh Lux...

Speaking of weight, I seem to be losing a lot of it. I haven't been eating much (read: anything) recently. Honestly I'm too depressed.

This guy I used to shack up with has a new girlfriend. When I say "used to shack up with" I mean I kindof lived at his apartment for five months. Long story short I toyed with him, crushed his soul, and eventually slept with his neighbor whom I was always mildly in love with. I don't think he knows about the neighbor though. I should tell him just to make him cry. (See? I am a terrible person.)

Anyway, I'm still fucking pissed he has a girlfriend. I tell myself that she is really ugly. Even if she weren't ugly (which she is) she just sucks as a person. For example, in this college directory called Facebook she lists "Brittany Spears" as her favorite music. First of all, she didn't even spell it right for Christsake. And then who actually LIKES the horrid abomination that is corporate music?! She's clearly an idiot. And she has braces. What-- is she twelve or something? And she's a conservative.

I'm just better. My rack is way nicer, my hair is blonder, and I'm sure now after not eating for a month I'm skinnier than her too.

God, I'm so depressed. It could be worse: I could have a yeast infection.

Last night we got ridiculously high and watched The Nightmare Before Christmas. It scared the shit out of me. That movie is so fucking creepy. God, watching that claymation horror was the worst idea ever.

Whose idea was that anyway?

Oh, it was mine.

Sometimes I hate myself.