*blue balls not included.
By ways-and-means of text messaging and drunk dialing and pompousness, I had my entire inner circle convinced that next weekend was Memorial Day. Good thing I didn’t buy that ticket to Mexico.
My dear, dear child… please put down the phone. First response: i asked around, guys thought I was new or something Another text response: uh, memorial day is the last weekend in may… you crack me up and another: ur the expert
Can we just skip right to pool season already?
Gave me a nice chuckle over sugary coffee and burnt pancakes.
Now, stop listening to the drunk.
*update* Back to the whole Memorial Day story, one of my guy friends asked me to be his “date” to a wedding this Saturday. In my drunken state last Saturday night, I told him I couldn’t because I was leaving for vacation for the long weekend. Funny, he didn’t realize that I truly believed it WAS the holiday and thought I was giving him a lame-ass excuse for not wanting to go out with him. Truly messed up. He called me out on it 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.
