I just ate yogurt with a knife and almost started brushing my teeth with my razor today.

I really don't want to kill myself, really.

The knife was because I am fresh out of all other forms of plastic cutlery, and the razor was just being sneaky and taking advantage of my poor sense of awareness in the morning.

Eating yogurt with a knife is a pretty weak way of killing yourself, anyway.

People are starting to talk about housing for next year and I am still not sure where I'll be. I have basically come to the conclusion that I would be happy here, and also happy in Maryland. I just have a different kind of happiness in both places.

...Blahblahblah who cares about this stuff anyway.

Has anyone else noticed that other people's problems can be really boring, but you could probably listen to yourself talk about the turmoil of your own life for hours?

This is why I would be a bad therapist.

I keep hearing about Wicker Park and how it is supposedly where "the scene" started, and now it's just a community of aging hipsters. My figurative boner is getting increasingly harder the more I hear about this place, but things keep getting in the way of me going there. I think by holding off the pleasure the payoff will be all the more great.

Anyway.

Because I feel like it and I also do what I want, here is a peek into the drunk mind of me Saturday night:

"Why does nobody want to be my fucking boyfriend. I eat snow. I eat pizza. I make tasty, delicious homebaked goods in my Easy Bake oven. I keep hydrated.

I think two things are in my way.

One. I don't give good back massages.

Two. I have disgusting feet.

But what I lack in nice feet and back massage skills I make up for in blowjob skills! Boys only want girls with good skills like taming the peen and obsessively quoting Napoleon Dynamite.

But I can give a mean beej now that I use my retainers as teeth guards.

And so there is a really cute boy who lives downstairs but I think he is too short for me, even though we can have sex standing up (cue bummed out nineties guitar riff)."

Drunk me is becoming more and more like sober me. Except I have never used the phrase "taming the peen" in realtime.

This weekend was basically amazing. A bunch of kids from my hall and I all went sledding in Oz Park, and then waited an hour for Giordano's delivery. But it was worth it. By god, it was worth it.

I also bought these insanely comfortable red pants from American Eagle, and though I cringe at the thought of wearing pajamas as regular clothes, I fear that their soft fleecey lining will take me all through the week.

Especially because I also now own a pegasus hoodie.

Zoiks.

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