Chapter 9: In Which I Forget All Cool Blog Titles Possible

There are some beautiful flowers on my here table. Why? Because some marvelous romantic young man swept me off my feet, bringing me roses and showering me with sweet nothings. Oh wait, no. That's not how it went at all. They're not even roses, and my roommate bought them, cuz she felt like it and they were 99 cents and oh yeah, she's compensating for her completely unromantic thirty year old boyfriend. Which is close enough. Flowers are nice to have. And I love Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons. And sometimes I come home, thinking that I'll make myself oats. But no! Because forsooth, there are barbecue chicken taco thingamahoodahs waiting on the stove. Because my roommate is beautiful. And it was marvelous. And sometimes I go to BYU concert choir concerts when I could be a) at a Synthesis concert or b) studying with the dang cute guy in my American Heritage class. And secretly I'm kind of whiny about it. But then it is a thing of glory and beauty and my soul is enlivened and enriched. And life is beautiful. And then you get home after a long day, and less clothes. And then your roommate comes home and says, "I'm going to less clothes." And so you say, "No, that's not allowed." Then she goes, "Says Miss Knee-High-Socks-And-Man-Shirt-With-No-Bra." Then she goes and takes off her clothes, and wanders around in short shorts and a bra. And you're glad for once that it's her who needs to make sure that the blinds are closed. Sometimes you need to do lots of homework, and your roommate quasi swears and makes fun of you. Frequently. Oh yeah, and she dated your brother. Twice. Wait, no, not twice. And then she's like, "Do I ever happen in your blog?" And I'm like, "Yeah, briefly." So now she's starring. And she's naked. So now she's a porn star.... Well that escalated quickly. But it's okay because she's a babe. Like, the men want her, the women want her, the young men want her, the old man has her.... The usual. In fact, even guys who have their own quasi-non-girlfriends spend hours making fun of her, just like grade school. But with less tag... And decidedly more sexual tension. Well, this is a really weird blog post... I hope that no one is traumatized. And kids, don't eat too many marshmallows in a sitting, or your stomach blows up and you die an unpleasant death.