B3: I got my hairs cut

I don't see summer fading anytime soon, so I opted for an off-the-neck coif. I also opted to wear a summer dress today. The fact is that my beautiful hooters stay cooped up all week. Libraries don't deal in nipples, they deal in books. We are there to inform, not arouse. So, when I am not in the library sometimes I choose to practice my right as an American to wear anything I damn well please. On occasion, that means I choose a low-cut dress. Today was one of those occasions. Unfortunately, I had an encounter with another free American that did not agree with my clothing choice. There I was, standing in line waiting to pay for my new red skinny jeans (so awesome) and black t-shirt, my new hair cut shining and my breasts sitting calmly on my chest and minding their own business. I was noticing the detail stitching on the pocket of the soon-to-be-mine jeans when I felt someone looking at me. I looked up and there she was staring at my tatas. Her eyes then traveled from my funbags to my face, making it possible for me to now see the full extent of her frown. Then, in the most blatant display of disapproval by a stranger I have ever experienced, she SIIIIIIIIGGGGGGHHHHED, tsk tsk'd, and turned around while shaking her head. At first, I was a little confused. I glanced down to make sure I hadn't inadvertently stuck a dead baby between them but saw that they were just as I had left them, unadorned but sitting pretty. I don't know what that woman's problem was, except that perhaps she was bothered that I expressed my freedoms in a beautiful summery dress and shiny hair while she expressed hers in flannel clogs and disapproving sighs.

B3: I wish it were going to be cold by October

Three weeks into the 2-year program and I am already thinking about my graduation party. I have a theme in mind: Fried Chicken and High Life. This is such a good idea that I might not be able to wait until graduation to use it.
Raise your hand if you like big butts.

B1: Isn't it funny how nude-colored bras work better under white shirts than white-colored bras?

When I am president, after I outlaw video games and legalize prostitution, I am going to instill a law that requires individuals to take a merging-intensive driving course every time they renew their drivers licenses. Because, frankly, people can't merge to save their fucking lives and this inability causes much unnecessary traffic which in turn causes me to be late to work. I have a library to open, people.
All it takes is turn signals and common courtesy, then we could all arrive at our destinations in a timely manner.

Hello Uni-Boob

Can you blame the Old Guy with Sweaty Nuts? I guess I can't.

Sweaty Sports Bra

What's that, Old Guy in Sweaty Gray T-shirt? You like to watch my boobs bounce on the elliptical? Awesome. Because I like the way your old sweaty nuts leave a greasy streak on the ass crack of your shorts. Those must be some long ass nuts because I am pretty sure that the last time you bent over to pick up the row bar one of them popped out the back and made a sexy little lump on your butt. Your lovely manly lumps. Let's go on a date.

NEW BLACK BRA! Who knew the GAP would make such good bras?

Driving in this morning, there was a point at which the West bound lane of the freeway was suffering a deluge and the East bound lane was bone dry. Scattered showers are one of life's little tricks that can make Mondays funny. If you are East bound, anyways.
I have officially suffered some seriously nasty hangovers close enough in succession that I am avoiding the sauce for at least a week. Next weekend, these sweet tits will be sitting at the Singer mastering the art of sewing. You just wait. It is only a matter of time until I kick Kate Moss's boney ass out of the Top Shop window (because Londoners will understand my fashion better than my American peers, I am just too fashion-forward for the American palate) while sporting one of my hottest designs created with the breastly-equipped woman in mind.

P1: Emulating

My friend GEORGE writes about his relationshits all the time, so I thought I would do my version. Plus, I wrote this in an email to a friend this morning and realized it was kind of funny and a very accurate example of how I deal with boys. It isn't the right way, it is just my way.
Ok, so now for my Pad Thai date with a virgin.

Mistake 1: His name was Kip. Seriously.
Mistake 2: My nerdiest friend told me this guy was a nerd, and not in a good way.
Mistake 3: He wanted to cook dinner together for our first date (the pad thai, which he had never made before.)
Mistake 4: I drank too much beer while cooking.
Mistake 5: I ended up making out with him.
Mistake 6: I continued making out with him even after he told me that he was a virgin and had broken up with his last girlfriend (a month previously) because she wouldn't sleep with him. (Hi, my name is Ryan and I have a tattoo on my forehead that says "feed me beer, I'll bang you)
Mistake 7: I went on a second date with him.
Back pedaling 101: At the end of our second date he said that he felt like the first date hadn't even happened (read: the making out part) because I hadn't been as warm (read: given him a hand job) on the second date. I pulled the "I am not looking for a boyfriend" card (read: I get drunk and screw a lot of people, don't want a relationship cloud hanging over my head showering me with guilt) and drove off as quickly as possible.

Someone should give me a good Samaritan award.
He really was a nice guy, loves Jesus, and going to serve the public in the future. Too bad my sex appeal wrangled his better intentions to the ground. Damn these fun bags and their magical charms.