When in Rome…


I told British boy about boy. Then I guess they hung out last night. British boy did not know boy’s real name. I only know this because British boy saw my friend today and told her about how he met the boy who I had a “thing” with (OH MY GOD “THING” NO GOD PLEASE, OKAY PLEASE NO.) How did he connect my name to boy? Why did I come up in conversation? They probably were talking about how my hair is a frizzy puff sometimes. Or maybe how I have blackheads on my nose. OR HOW MY NOSE IS BIG. Probably about how my hands are biggie smalls. Maybe they know about the bug bite on my leg that is bruised now that may or may not be serious (need tips, help, pls).

This is me when I am not on my bike and I see someone I do not want to see.

In other news, this is pretty much the vibe I put out when meeting new people. I should learn from my mistakes (Ms. Steaks, amirite) but I never do. I’m thinking “This time, this will be the time someone thinks I’m not weird.”

But at least I’m not rude in class. There’s a girl in my art history lecture who will be on her phone for the entire class. That shit is bright and the room is dark so that we can look at the screen and learn. Girl, vibrate is not putting your phone on silent. Today she brought her laptop so I was excited. There wouldn’t be a buzzing noise on loop. I was also excited for her to learn about some dank Roman shit. Nope. She was typing her short paper assignment that was due that day. Also, she shaved a section of her head. Yo, talk to Alice Dellal and me in 2009. I did the entire half of my head. Rookie move on her part. Am I being too harsh? Nope.


What a terrible, terrible, terrible, awful, unbelievable, hurtful, crazy thing to do.

Also, thank you Bravo.