I have a lunch (so damn professional) in Moss Landing with some very prestigious, very respected, very intimidating people who are judging my character and professional abilities, also for my capability to attend their extremely stick-up-the-ass sort of week long political state shitfest.
My school is basically counting on me and the people who are sponsoring me pretty much have to decide whether they fucked up on choosing me to pay for to go to this thing.
And I still have to figure out something to wear to achieve this “Although I am in high school, I assure you I am middle aged at heart, I mean look at my power suit and my restrain from showing my boobs” look. And I am seriously lacking in the power suit department.
And if that WASN’T STRESSFUL ENOUGH.
Afterwards I have to run home, re-curl my hair into a beach-sex tousled look, throw on jeans, a push up bra, and a shit ton of dignity, and be picked up by a guy by the name of Cody. This Cody, who I have yet to meet previously, apparently is ridiculously hot, surfs, thoughtful, has a seexxxy tattoo, and enjoys spending spare Friday nights with his grandmother.
By thorough instruction and mental couching, I have to be a hybrid of Hard to Get, Confident, Chuckle-Inducing, In Control, Nineteen Years Old, Head Turning, Sort of Stoner, Photogenic, Witty, Relaxed, Intriguing, and Smell Good all in the first date.
Send me good thoughts. Whew. Breathe.
Also. We’re moving. There’s that.
Okay. Also. To do list.
Graduation Announcements (T- 18 Days…!!)
Homework. I’m sorry wat. This is optional.
Jamba Juice Application (Let’s be real I’d rock that brown visor.)
Sawasdee Paycheck. (I don’t wanna I don’t wanna.)
Cornell Music Festival (Oi vey. So many Christians. But it’s money)
Okay I would finish but the freaking sex noises from the other room NEED TO CEASE. We get it. You’re orgasm-ing. Thank God we’re moving.
Just me and mama. We got dis.
I think it’s time to go to bed. Whew.