*blue balls not included.
Mystery of partying life: mysterious bruises and broken bones. Last night in a drunken adventure, I pounded on a bathroom door so hard (unapparent to me at the time) that it feels as though I have some bone chips in my left hand. Damn, I wish girls didn’t take so long in the John. I backed up that smooth move with a crash-and-burn wipe-out right under an SUV (parked, thankfully). My friends only heard a laugh and then a couple thuds — one of which was right into the side of his truck. Ouch.
Can you do the Hustle? I had my infectious Disco moment last night.
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This blog is about pursuit: a transplanted Clevelander (me) in a new city (that's you, Pittsburgh!), pursuing the role of a self-employed copywriter, becoming a roller derby badass and somehow merging all my to-do items into one ever-growing Bucket List.
And of MY boyfriend. His blue balls started this mess.
