http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PlVoFytdG-w
Enjoy. You're welcome world.
Monday, April 23, 2012
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
Once Upon A Time...
...I went to college. There, I met a group of girls. Fairly normal, from good families with generic parent names like Mark, Lisa, and Jerry, located in nicely wholesome Americana cities. Now, dear reader, how would you react if you realized they all played softball? Or how about if they started calling themselves the Phresh Krew? No, no. I didn't turn on bitch mode, nor did I do my best to stay away from this specific breed of collegiate female. No. I nodded feverishly when they sank into softball jargon and sat quietly as they discussed everything from sliding shorts to batting. Yes, batting. Before I knew any better, I was the groupie. Which is awkward, because in the right context, the groupie is responsible for fucking every member of the band. Not my cup 'o tea, but I did get to know them pretty well. In other ways? Uh?
Speaking of bands, let's talk about country music:
Apparently it's a real genre. If you know your shit, you'll sing along with everyone at the baseball house when the right songs come on. If you're drunk off your ass, lost, and from Portland, Oregon where everything is doused in patchouli, not BBQ sauce, you sit in awe as the entire house erupts into a raucous, twangy, chorus.
Until next time, y'all.
xx PKG
Speaking of bands, let's talk about country music:
Apparently it's a real genre. If you know your shit, you'll sing along with everyone at the baseball house when the right songs come on. If you're drunk off your ass, lost, and from Portland, Oregon where everything is doused in patchouli, not BBQ sauce, you sit in awe as the entire house erupts into a raucous, twangy, chorus.
Until next time, y'all.
xx PKG
Monday, April 2, 2012
The Life of a Hopeless Romantic
It's true. I am on the search for love. I go through these phases every so often, but when they hit, they hit baaaad. They say love/life never works like it does in the movies, but I disagree. I WILL have my perfect rom com ending, where a boy I never expect will suddenly sweep me off my feet.
I told my mom before I left for school that I would find my hubby in college. And although I have been nothing but disappointed by the quality of boys this year, my dream is still alive.
Don't be fooled friends. Yes, everyone at Emory is smart. Which should cut half of my problems finding a boy in half because smarts are a necessity. But, I have found, boys at Emory are chronically SHORT. SO SHORT. I've tried to look past it but I just can't.
So, if you are out there dream boy: tall, good looking but doesn't know it, confident, funny, muscular but not huge, able to have an intellectual conversation, not just concerned with getting some, athletic, knowledgable about sports, great smile, will bring me ice cream/cookies on the reg, buys me fruity drinks (aka pina coladas.. virgin style), likes to play Mario Kart (but never lets me win on purpose), doesn't judge me for wearing norts and t shirts every single day of my life, supports the pony tail with the headband, only uses "dude" and "bro" sparingly, has a great sense of style, looks good in a hat forwards and backwards (but only wears it backwards on the right occasion), isn't afraid of dressing up, knows how to dance.. and I mean really dance, like salsa, swing dance, tango (or is willing to take lessons with me), doesn't judge me for not going out just because I don't feel like it, will sit and eat chocolate with me for hours just because, doesn't make lesbian jokes about me playing softball, likes to ride around in the car with the windows down and jam out to music, enjoys stargazing, supports daily nap time, knows how to make me smile on my saddest of days, has a twang of sarcasm, enjoys country music, and acts like a southern gentleman even if he's not from the south.... Give me a call.
With Love,
DG
P.S. This blog post was inspired by the IDIOTIC frat boys sitting at the table next to me. Have some class.
I told my mom before I left for school that I would find my hubby in college. And although I have been nothing but disappointed by the quality of boys this year, my dream is still alive.
Don't be fooled friends. Yes, everyone at Emory is smart. Which should cut half of my problems finding a boy in half because smarts are a necessity. But, I have found, boys at Emory are chronically SHORT. SO SHORT. I've tried to look past it but I just can't.
So, if you are out there dream boy: tall, good looking but doesn't know it, confident, funny, muscular but not huge, able to have an intellectual conversation, not just concerned with getting some, athletic, knowledgable about sports, great smile, will bring me ice cream/cookies on the reg, buys me fruity drinks (aka pina coladas.. virgin style), likes to play Mario Kart (but never lets me win on purpose), doesn't judge me for wearing norts and t shirts every single day of my life, supports the pony tail with the headband, only uses "dude" and "bro" sparingly, has a great sense of style, looks good in a hat forwards and backwards (but only wears it backwards on the right occasion), isn't afraid of dressing up, knows how to dance.. and I mean really dance, like salsa, swing dance, tango (or is willing to take lessons with me), doesn't judge me for not going out just because I don't feel like it, will sit and eat chocolate with me for hours just because, doesn't make lesbian jokes about me playing softball, likes to ride around in the car with the windows down and jam out to music, enjoys stargazing, supports daily nap time, knows how to make me smile on my saddest of days, has a twang of sarcasm, enjoys country music, and acts like a southern gentleman even if he's not from the south.... Give me a call.
With Love,
DG
P.S. This blog post was inspired by the IDIOTIC frat boys sitting at the table next to me. Have some class.
I have broken the seal. The seal Katy Perry frequently talks about in one of her oh so clever songs. I tasted the cherry chapstick guys. And it tasted oh so good.
Lesbihonest, on a scale from 1 to Penny, I would rate myself a 3. Gimme a few shots though (6 or 7), and I'm more like a 7. Ask around, and they'll say I have never seen a pee pee.. Well, THEY'RE LYING. I have recently been pea-cocked. I know what you're thinking, but I spent multiple hours of my time volunteering at the zoo Friday and worked in the bird arena. Yes, I know, I'm basically the Mother fucking Theresa, but those peacocks needed a good cleaning..
Until next time y'all.
-HB
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