Tom and Jerry: Dominos Edition.

This morning I woke to ask myself several questions: where am I, where are my pants, and why does my hair smell of pizza?

These questions were quickly answered. I was at my friend Samantha’s house in her spare bedroom. I had stayed there after hours. My pants were on the floor. I took them off to sleep comfortably. My hair smelled like pizza because I ate an ENTIRE cheese pizza from Dominos. Dreams really do come true.

The most interesting tidbit from my night was how I acquired that juicy, saucy, cheesy morsel of deliciousness. I was hungry after I went to the bar- why wouldn’t I be? I called Papa John’s and they answered, “Papa Johns, we’re closed.” That really rubs me the wrong way. Don’t answer to a starving partially drunk girl and then taunt and tease her with what she cannot have. I even tried to get a pizza by telling her I was pregnant (which I am not) but she hung up on me. How RUDE. On I went to Dominos. After picking up my pizza I opened the door to walk out. In strolled a tiny little friend, one that was not welcome in those parts. A mouse. He walked in, sniffed the air, and then swiftly exited. A fine performance if I may. I watched these moments transpire before my eyes and after about 5 seconds screamed bloody murder. What’s a girl to do?

In other news, I got a twitter. I’m not entirely sure how to work it properly but I’m getting there. Possibly the most exciting moment of my day has been that Sara Shepard, author of Pretty Little Liars now follows me on twitter. What a life I’m living. When I received the notification for this splendid news I was nothing short of jubilant. Perhaps she will dance her way across the highways of the World Wide Web and stumble upon my little ole blog (said in a Scarlett O’Hara type voice, obviously).

When I woke up this morning I was instantly worried about the kittens; Emily Dickinson and Jane Austen AKA Emmie and Jane. I came home and called my parents. When I later spoke to my mom she said she had been worried I had been slipped a “Mickey” since I was up so early.

A Mickey? What is a Mickey? Mickey mouse? Donald Duck?

Apparently this strange vocabulary means what we call a roofie. The cultural differences between our generations are astounding.

I felt so gross after sweating my balls off in a bar last night for three hours that I bathed myself thrice today. A bath this morning to wash off the stale sweat, gross I know, but I don’t sugarcoat. A shower this afternoon to reinvigorate my hair that looked like, as my mother would say, “a cat sucked it.” This is actually a viable possibility now that I have two kittens. However, this was not the case today. I believe the copious amount of sweat my body released super soaked my hair and, in turn, my hair retaliated, as it often does. My third bathing experience was an hour ago, to try out my new bubble bath. It was lovely.

I have had a hankering, if you will, to bake a cake. It was at first a small bubble that entered my brain and now has consumed my thoughts. Maybe Bree van de Camp got inside my head while Desperate Housewives was on during my nap today. Or perhaps it is because my boyfriend, Jake, is living far off in a distant land… two and a half hours away. Maybe my brain is playing tricks on me (as it often does, especially during tests) and wants me to take this as an opportunity to brush up on my domestic skills. I’m fairly domestic in the cooking side of things- I have several specialties- but I do need to brush up on my baking. It’s much too mathy and scientific for my brain to understand it. Any suggestions for recipes I should try? I want to blow his socks off next time I cook for him. Who knows when that will be…

I couldn’t go out tonight. My liver needed a break. I will be going home next weekend, which will provide plenty of stories, I am sure.

Keep it Real.