Today I went jogging/walking with my sorority sisters Kirsty and Bianca around this super polluted ugly lake. I wish we had a tape recorder, because when three college girls get together the conversation can get hilarious. For example, we walked past some fragrant flowers, and I said, "Ohmahgah, what is that smell? It's great!"
Then Bianca replied, "That would so make such a good laundry detergent fragrance."
Kirsty frowned and said, "No, it's more like an air-freshener scent, you know?"
Then we all nodded in agreement. Girls are so dumb sometimes. I love them.
Kirsty (that's pronounced keer-stee) told me about how she randomly boned this guy I went to high school with. Well, actually she might not have technically boned him. She doesn't remember. The condom wrappers on the floor pointed to yes. She scored the sweetest shack gear* ever though.
*Shack gear= the clothes that the guy you sexed gives you the next morning so you don't have to walk home in your party dress. All fratty gentlemen supply them. The better the clothes, the more he likes you. If he asks for the shirt back, you have to return it within one week.
He gave Kirsty a navy SigEp frat pocket-tee and Ralph Lauren polo boxers. It almost makes me miss the frat scene. Almost.
Bianca and I are hanging around Austin this spring break to go to this stellar music fest we have called South By South West. A few bands I'm sorta friends are playing-- The Glass Family and The Heights. Then my mom tells me that she used to babysit the lead singer/pianist from this pretty cool band called Sound Team. Our moms are friends and chat in the grocery store line. Naturally, they're trying to set us up. Fine by me-- musicians are great lays and always full of entertaining emoitional baggage. And when they fuck you they play you... they slide their hands down your back, then across your neck like to another fret or something. Whenever one kisses me I lose my ability to think. By the morning after I'm practically half in love.
