v-neck, no pants, fall 2009
the night i officially started to hangout with no shirt on
was the same night the waitress asked if i wanted soup or salad
and i replyed, ‘whats super salad’
without pants, i noticed myself.
how in the world did i get all this weed in my pubic hair?
TGIF is just less romantic when you realize you’ll have to smoke at least some pubic hair.
i decided to put a shirt back on
because my landlord was in the apartment.
and even though i was hungover, i still felt like trying to have a meaningful conversation.
i started explaining how my friends had found out that i was
still in love with my ex-girlfriend, and that segued
into my pun about college ruling and college ruled paper.
my cheeks were covered in barbeque sauce.
the landlord noticed stains all over my collar and suggested i take a look at
her urban outfitters catalog, to choose a better suited wardrobe.
there i was, alone on a friday night, acting like i was anne fucking frank or something.
i wanted jagerbombs, night clubs, slim-fit tee shirts, pinot noir, minimal techno,
and enough snacks to feed a football team.