I keep having Ex Sex dreams.
What is going on.
I'm the book that beat the speed-reader, and I'm the card the dealers won't touch. And it's just not true I'm a man-eater; all the same, we should probably go dutch.
The things you pick up as you go.
…I can tell you right now that in about 10 days when I have to do the, “So, I get there in a week; what days are your free and where do you want to meet up?” shit, I am going to be beside myself. Not with glee; with things like awkwardness and maturiosity and all the belief in reality of a schizophrenic narcoleptic sleep-walker.
Like, do you want me to just get dropped off in front of your house with my bag and shit because I’ve seen you naked, you’ve seen me naked; I think we’re comfortable enough with each other to do the “straight-up staying with a member of the opposite sex” thing, or are we going to meet at some iconic landmark for a whirlwind tour of the city BEFORE we go back to your place and fuck like rabbits like acceptable adult human beings in some B-budget Hollywood chick-flick-cum-porn?
I feel like I’m living in Europe again. “Hi, you don’t know me but your friend said you’re cool; what’s your address and can I stay with you for a couple days?”
Couch-surfing with benefits???
Am I totally full of shit or is there something up with the way Ellen Page walks? Does she have a weird foot? Is there a limp?
I Googled and it’s difficult to say, because it seems like it may be one of those pop-culture national secrets, where she’s like, one of the media’s alternative darlings, and everyone good is too smart to talk about it except me. Like, “Ellen Page? She’s perfect. There are no imperfections. (We’re too polite to mention it.)”
Like Megan Fox’s freaky finger.
…I’m not trying to be rude, but whatsa goin’ on here?
If I don’t get my MIA period soon, y’all are going to be starting a new religion based around my miraculous womb-spawn that in 2,000 years will be the most popular in the world.
What the hell.