In the spirit of spring cleaning, I've decided to start a new blog with more of an agenda--hopefully this will alleviate some of organization issues I've had recently. So if you'd like to indulge me, visit Tabloid Mags.

Just for clio, because this is so random and I'm kind of ashamed--and somewhat drunk at 12:51 AM on a Sunday morning. Yes, Sunday morning, you heard that right. I should be out at a club by now, but no--I'm back at my dorm because my brother had to get sick drinking shitty beer. I told him to take it easy, but no. And he made fun of me because I pace myself--at least I'm not throwing up on the mean streets!

Anyway, Thursday night I went out with one of my favorite gal-pals to a local bar that isn't strict about carding--as everyone knows, I'm underage by a few months, but I don't really care. So we go to this bar and I'm not planning on anything and what do you know, but this kid from my class is there. We had spoken earlier in Starbucks that day but other than that we were relatively not social. So he hugs me when I walk in--which I didn't really think much of--and then I have a drink with my friends. Well, we had gotten to the bar around 11 and by 11:30 he came up and started dancing with me. By midnight we were talking and he mentioned that his roommate said that he'd have to find another place to crash for the night, as Waits (as I'm calling him because I can't use his real name out of secret shame) and I were having quite the time dancing in the bar. I quickly clarified that I wasn't that easy and we kept on dancing and chatting.

So we danced and talked and we were laughing and he was giving me "the look" and things were going really well. Then he went out for a smoke and I sat with my friend Toni, who I love dearly and was giving me the eye while I was dancing with Waits. So then he came back and what does he do but pick me right up out of my seat and sit down, putting me on his lap. Needless to say the boy is rather good with his hands--my shirt was nearly over my head and it wasn't very flattering. But he didn't try to make out with me, we just did a lot of talking, and that was kind of nice. I mean, he knew he wasn't getting any and all, and yet he turned down his friends when they asked him to leave to stay with me, which was kind of flattering. There are much more details about our conversation, but I don't want to read too much into it.

Then we went for pizza and sobered up and chatted some more and he always kept an arm around me, which was kind of cute. He walked me back to my house and I said "Well, Waits, you already know I'm not asking you upstairs," to which he was understanding--

And then I kissed him.

Yeah, yours truly stole her first kiss from a guy. I didn't screw it up either, which was nice. And then I said "You're so warm--remind me again why I'm not inviting you up?" To which he replied "Because you're a classy lady." He said he'd call me sometime (I'd given him my number earlier that day if he needed a ride to the reading that night), but I don't know if he will. And the more I think about him and those fun hours we spent together (we weren't that drunk--I'd only had two drinks, but I'm a tiny girl), the more I kind of liked it. And him. And I'm kind of surprised. And I kind of don't know what the hell to do about it.

I spent Thursday night and Friday morning sitting on the lap of some guy in a seedy bar down the street. The sad truth is I kind of liked it. Could I actually have a crush on someone my own age? Not so impossible.

This lush will be spending her St. Patty's Day at a Kegs and Eggs party with her soon-to-be-liberated-from-a-bitch-girlfriend brother and friends. Today, everyone is Irish! Woohoo!

As if life wasn't hard enough:

My Postmodern Philosopher Boyfriend kicks the bucket.

I find out that two of the three members of my Most Favorite Band Ever have children. You start feeling old when the guys you had crushes on at sixteen are pushing Gerber products.

Jordan Catalano has gone to hell and back. I think he's been hanging out with Kate Moss for that heroine-chic look. I loved Jared Leto, but when a man's more adept with the eyeliner than I am, I have to wonder if it's really meant to be. Where is the Jared Leto of plaid shirts and shearing denim jackets? I miss him.

Now I've got to get back to work, but I felt like sharing.

Between all my various problems (computer, school, boys, etc.), you'd think I had abandoned my lj for good. But honestly, things were just so frustrating lately that I really didn't feel like posting. I mean, it's hard enough trying to cope with Britney's crack-up and the Van Halen (with David Lee Roth, one of the few men I would willingly risk getting an STD to be a groupie for) reunion tour postponed indefinitely, so dealing with my real-life issues has posed quite the challenge! But here's what's going on, the short-hand version behind the cut.

( My Inner Monologue )