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Blue October may always be able to pick me up (oh, the irony!) with that song Jump Rope. Screw those guys. They put a “life’s gonna suck sometimes” song immediately following an “omg will it ever stop hurting?” one. So for all the emo I manage to eke out of track 8, track 9 always goes, “but you’ll be all right.” Fucking optimism. 😉

Yeah, so, the cryptic stuff subsided (slowly) last night. I spent like 627,244,071 hours on the phone, which was…weird, but welcome. I forgot I could talk that long in one sitting. I really haven’t spent that much time on one phone call since…I guess since I used to gab Chris’s ear off. I mean, Joana and I have some long talks, as have Mike and I, and Juliette and I definitely spend entirely too long on the phone, but I thought I had managed to vow never to bore someone to sleep again. Ah, well, I won’t. As much as I love the chatty chat (with people I actually want to talk to), that was a little much, even for me. I imagine it’s mostly me, ’cause you know what they say (or, at least, the Punch an’ Pie people say it), “two situations, same deal…only one thing in common…you.” I can be perfectly happy with random half-hour conversations; the kind with back-and-forth but a know-when-to-call-it-quits air to it. S’funny, so long as I shrug everything off, it’s all still grand. More irony.

Anyways, I’m pretty sure Situation A didn’t actually fuck up B. My brain is kind of responsible for that. Considering how open-minded I’ve been about things I never was before, I have more hope than I like to let on. And again, C isn’t actually a problem.

In other news, I got a Coach bag today. I feel Long Island is trying to assimilate me. First, Mike points out last weekend at the Beer Garden that a Victoria’s Secret has clearly attacked my feet. Unfortunately, I had no idea my bright pink toes were some kind of fashion faux pas. For Long Island, they’re certainly not. Then today, Janine buys me a Coach bag because I’d commented that everyone seems to have one, and I never have. Granted, she got it for me because she appreciates how fucking awesome I am (have I mentioned that lately?), but I think I’m being taken alive. I won’t have it. Long Island, you get away from me! I took a history class on you to see if you were cool, but you’re really not. You’re glacial runoff that wants credit for freeing slaves seventy years before everyone else. You’re like that creepy guy in the corner of the bar. (James, I think his name is.) Somehow that stupid bag, immediately full of my belongings, still gets top bag priority. ::shakes fist::

So I should probably be writing my history project, which is a song on Long Island. (GO AWAY!) I’ll post lyrics if and when I finally write it. Of course, if I don’t, I basically fail that class. It would get me back that way, wouldn’t it? Long Island, you fickle bitch, you.

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