POR QUE?!?
NO MAGUSTA!
Is that spelled right? Anyway, I went to this party last night that was...well, interesting and fun...on the way up to the house that is. Going by the directions my sexy-as-all-hell-breaking-loose friend enthralled323 gave me "Go to Central and Tramway, and make a right", we decided to take the highway instead, there by taking a good hour out of the trip to the heights. I live in the student ghetto. My guess is that it would have taken $60 to fill the car up with gas just to make it to Tramway AND to make it back to the familiar part of the country-I mean city-in one night. Though I am going out on a limb here.
Fun in going up to the house on Spain, we decided we were really-no, really-going to Spain, as I had no clue where we were, missing the turn onto Spain, flipping a bitch, turning onto Spain, and then driving around like a maniac in semi-circles for ten minutes, while almost faking our deaths by going off a cliff...in that order and simultaniously. Although with me declaring to be Captain Bad-Ass that morning, I'm sure my powers of flight would have saved us. After all: being gay so hard you can fly you could...nevermind.
So while reminesing-and currently pondering why I can't spell anything this week-our "por que"s and "no magusta"s in the car while careening over a cliff, we reach the house of normality. Long story short: we had to be the most colorful, independent personality wise, and non-comformist minded people there. In case you are wondering, it was enthralled323, intravenousants, Gabby, and myself included. There was not enough alcohol to make these people remotly interesting; which I'm sure that is what they thought of us as well as they conversed inside their tightly woven clique of "chaw bro'" and "oh my gawd becky". "Like, we won't talk to you, cause *scoff* you 'people' are weird, and like, goth and all suicidal and junk" No, no one actually said that, but we could tell that was the vibe. 21 years of non-conformism (no such word exists, but learning, studying, and adapting to the societal ebonics of specific areas of the country which eventually correlates into mainstream media terms and slang [i.e. Paris Hilton's 'That's Hot' phrase became the new slang to replace coherent conversation between teenagers who, in personal opinion expressed, are too lazy to think for themselves.] and using said terms and slang to my advantage to confuse and execute profitable situations upon anaware conformist, that word does exist, making complete sense of its use, and is therefore deemed "bad ass") is enough to know what other vapid and altogether stupid people are thinking.
Sarcastic bitterness aside, these people we would not definately hang out with. And as I am quite sure, they would not with us as well. One night in the student ghetto that doesn't require drinking and/or all night...drinking and not having the mammery suckling pleasure and protection of mommy and daddy's money, they'd run screaming back under their mothers' skirt.
I'm done now. Continue having a good day.
Is that spelled right? Anyway, I went to this party last night that was...well, interesting and fun...on the way up to the house that is. Going by the directions my sexy-as-all-hell-breaking-loose friend enthralled323 gave me "Go to Central and Tramway, and make a right", we decided to take the highway instead, there by taking a good hour out of the trip to the heights. I live in the student ghetto. My guess is that it would have taken $60 to fill the car up with gas just to make it to Tramway AND to make it back to the familiar part of the country-I mean city-in one night. Though I am going out on a limb here.
Fun in going up to the house on Spain, we decided we were really-no, really-going to Spain, as I had no clue where we were, missing the turn onto Spain, flipping a bitch, turning onto Spain, and then driving around like a maniac in semi-circles for ten minutes, while almost faking our deaths by going off a cliff...in that order and simultaniously. Although with me declaring to be Captain Bad-Ass that morning, I'm sure my powers of flight would have saved us. After all: being gay so hard you can fly you could...nevermind.
So while reminesing-and currently pondering why I can't spell anything this week-our "por que"s and "no magusta"s in the car while careening over a cliff, we reach the house of normality. Long story short: we had to be the most colorful, independent personality wise, and non-comformist minded people there. In case you are wondering, it was enthralled323, intravenousants, Gabby, and myself included. There was not enough alcohol to make these people remotly interesting; which I'm sure that is what they thought of us as well as they conversed inside their tightly woven clique of "chaw bro'" and "oh my gawd becky". "Like, we won't talk to you, cause *scoff* you 'people' are weird, and like, goth and all suicidal and junk" No, no one actually said that, but we could tell that was the vibe. 21 years of non-conformism (no such word exists, but learning, studying, and adapting to the societal ebonics of specific areas of the country which eventually correlates into mainstream media terms and slang [i.e. Paris Hilton's 'That's Hot' phrase became the new slang to replace coherent conversation between teenagers who, in personal opinion expressed, are too lazy to think for themselves.] and using said terms and slang to my advantage to confuse and execute profitable situations upon anaware conformist, that word does exist, making complete sense of its use, and is therefore deemed "bad ass") is enough to know what other vapid and altogether stupid people are thinking.
Sarcastic bitterness aside, these people we would not definately hang out with. And as I am quite sure, they would not with us as well. One night in the student ghetto that doesn't require drinking and/or all night...drinking and not having the mammery suckling pleasure and protection of mommy and daddy's money, they'd run screaming back under their mothers' skirt.
I'm done now. Continue having a good day.