Wait, You Mean I Never Told You That Story?


It’s been an inappropriately long time since I’ve written an inappropriately long post, and you know, I feel badly about that.  I really do. Problem is, I’m getting lazy, and feeling less inclined to write epic re-caps of fleetingly random moments.  I really do feel badly about this. I do.  I’m sure you do as well (you do?). So, to kick off the weekend, I bring you an old inappropriately long story, that will seem new to you, because you’ve never heard it before — unless you’re the person(s) who received this email way back when, and in that case: isn’t it fun to reflect on my our lives?

Subject: So, I went to the office on a Saturday…

Because I’m at work on a Saturday, I decided to write people emails, instead of working on these stupid sponsorship contracts I’ve been writing up.  Take THAT Showtime network!!

Sooo last night I went out with my roomate for the first time since I’ve been here. We went to a random friend of a friend’s house party, where she became obsessed with this hipster Indian dude with shaggy/whispy emo hair and a scull cap that he almost lost his shit over when someone tried to take it off him. I even played the best Wingwoman ever, and started talking to his friend, who is apparently some African prince from The Congo (no, really)  but he currently lives in LA, but also, he’s boring. and I gave him my number, then pretended to take down his, because this was good for his self-esteem. Sooo anyway, my roomate makes her move on Trendy McHipster, and she spend the rest of the party chatting him up. Then, it’s time to go home, we can’t find them which sucks because I have like $8 dollars – in 1’s (laundry or strip club money?) and we live across the city from Hipsterville. I return druuuunjlk to an empty apartment (Bernie Madoff, my other roomate, is in Tahoe for the weekend, skiing on slopes of my money…) and I’m feeling dramatic, so I start writing sad-sack emails on my phone about how I got Ponzi schemed by my roomate. Which is funny because today, I don’t even care that much…

Annnywayyyy I’m dramatically flopped across my bed, writing a drunk, dramatic email on my phone, doing my best Nicole Richie pre-baby/Joel Madden/cleaned-up-act-impression — when my roomate drunkenly returns, doing her best drunk roomate impression.
“It’s okay, my roomate’s probably asleep.” I hear her drunk whisper (i.e. normal person bellow) as she walks down the hallway. “Ohhhh…heyyy!” She feigns enthusiasm when she walks past my room trailed by hipsterman/boy.

Lonnggg story short, today, I fiiinally made myself leave my apartment at noon, and he was still there! Our walls are thin, and I could hear him laughing and talking up a storm, making no effort to leave. Ever. Like, longest one night hook up ever. He’s bold, this one. Also, I’m pretty sure he peed on the floor by the toilet….

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One Response to “Wait, You Mean I Never Told You That Story?”

  1. melsanie Says:

    facebook thumbs up like this because i heard this a long time ago and i didn’t read the first part so i was all “this happened to her AGAIN?!” then i learned how to read from the beginning and it all made sense. tadaa

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