I've been searching the web for reviews of the recently released Victoria's Secret bra: The Miraculous Bra. I found the most thorough discussion on the bra here: http://forum.purseblog.com/the-wardrobe/victorias-secrets-miraculous-bra-525036.html. There were so many conflicting experiences mentioned here an on a couple of other sites that I decided to get proactive, find out for myself, and share the results.
Trial #1: I went to the mall with my boyfriend (b/c he loves the freaking mall with almost all of his little New Yorker heart), and as we passed Victoria's Secret I almost ripped off his arm as I made a b-line toward the new display. As soon as I picked up the bra, my first reaction was "Whoa!" Talk about padding to the extreme. I eavesdropped on fellow shoppers milling around the display full of Miraculous bras, and I heard everything from "Are you kidding?" to "This is ridiculous!" and "Wow, this thing is heavy." Despite the cloud of negativity hovering over the table of bras, I decided to move forward and try it on. I chose a 32 B in black.
Now, the shirt I was wearing that day made my boobs look good no matter what bra, if any, I wore (and I wasn't wearing a bra, which is one of the few benefits of having smaller breasts). When I tried on the bra and pulled my sexy shirt over it, my boyfriend said my boobs looked great - if I was going for an instant boob job type look without spending $10k. Kind of a weird compliment...
Trial #2: It was cold that day, it being November, and I wore a sweater. I went alone after work to try on the bra again, still not convinced from the first time if I want to walk around looking like I have great, fake boobs. I tried on a 32 B again and adjusted the straps in just about every way possible. It just didn't look right. My boobs didn't look that much bigger, most likely due to the sweater I was wearing, even though it was pretty form fitting. It just looked like I had to small fists growing on my chest. I still was not convinced.
Trial #3: After reading reviews of the Miraculous bra from the link above, I decided I needed to give the bra one more try and try different sizes - maybe go up or down a cup size. I went to Victoria's Secret alone again, and thankfully I was wearing a thin sweater that I knew would determine whether this bra would work or not. Every time I wear my Miracle bra, which I LOOOOOOVE, in this sweater, my little boobs look damn fine if I do say so myself - and apparently I do. I considered trying on a 32 C, but the cups looked way too big. I knew there would be a big gap between the bra and my boobs even if I adjusted the straps as tight as they would dare go.
So I picked up a 32 A & B. The A was a tragedy. It looked like I had some kind of weird 1950's bra on that makes your boobs look like cones. That was an immediate 'no spank you.' Then, I tried on the 32 B, determined that it would work after all of these tries, all of my online research, all of my hope! It didn't work out.
My Overall Rating:
The bombshell is a dud. Trust the reaction you have when you first see it; go with your feminine intuition. It just doesn't work. There is so much padding that even when it adds volume and shape it makes it look like you have two hard implants strapped to your chest.
One reason I really wanted this bra to work - other than the obvious reason of wanting to make my boobs bigger without a procedure - was because Victoria's Secret sent me a coupon with $10 off a purchase of $50 or more and a free pair of panties. But alas, the marketing lure couldn't compensate for this exaggerated bra design.
Guess I'll just stick to my one sexy shirt!
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Kick Me When I'm Down
In between my last post and the one you're reading right now, I applied for a new job. I've been at my current company for over a year, and I had planned to stay on briefly while I sought WAY better paying opportunities.
And it seemed I had found one at a large, boutique firm that had a very well-furnished office and polished employees so obviously I woulda been gettin' paid! They called me in for an interview, and I must have nailed it because they called me back in for a second interview to meet the partner of the department I would have been joining. Things went (well at least looked like they went) great. We were talking about her kids, books, and just generally having a great time. It didn't even feel like a formal interview.
Then I met her. THE BITCH. It was the girl for whose position they were hiring. She just had a baby, which you could tell by what looked like a small tire around her waist, and was resigning to become an important stay at home mom.
Let me get to the main reason as to why I now consider her a mortal enemy. She asked me what a chapter 7 was. I told her. She asked me again. I gave her an even longer exegesis on the definition of a chapter 7. She asked me what a chapter 13 was. I told her. She asked me the difference between a chapter 7 and a chapter 13. Hmmm, if I just told you what a chapter 7 is and what a chapter 13 is, wouldn't it be obvious to any mind capable of reasoning that I knew the distinctions between the two since I had just outlined them? After another long explanation of the difference between the two chapters, she then lectured me for 5 minutes on the meanings of chapters 7 & 13. Really, bitch, really?
From there it was a spiraling descent into further condescension directed at me from her. I honestly have not been talked down to in the way that she talked down to me since I was maybe 12. Because I figured that this was some trick part of the interview process that they chose not to disclose beforehand to me, I didn't say anything combative to her, at the expense of my own pride and defense.
I didn't say that she looked horrible after having her baby. I didn't say that the 6 month paralegal degree from Clayton State of which she boasted sounded like a steaming piece of garbage. I didn't say that she should look forward to being spoken to in the same manner in which she was addressing me once her baby is school aged and she tries to re-enter the workforce after having 5 years of 'stay at home mom' as the most recent experience on her resume. I didn't say any of the things that were boiling to the top of my skull and about to spill out through my ears.
No, I'm just going to wait for the westernized idea of karma to do it's thing. What goes around comes around whether we like it or not, whether it's good or bad. Maybe I was treated that way because of the way I've treated someone in the past. But at least I know that she'll experience the same belittling at some point in her life. I just wish it would be in the near future and that I would be around to see it happen to her. Darn the luck!
Anywho, after putting up with her verbal abuse, I was politely informed that they hired someone for the position, i.e. hired someone other than me.
The whole experience left me with bitter feelings, because not only was I made to feel like shit about the knowledge I have acquired over the past year plus - thinking maybe it was some sort of ritual hazing they do to prospective candidates - but then I wasn't even offered the job. In conclusion, I don't like the fat mom, and I don't like her firm.
And it seemed I had found one at a large, boutique firm that had a very well-furnished office and polished employees so obviously I woulda been gettin' paid! They called me in for an interview, and I must have nailed it because they called me back in for a second interview to meet the partner of the department I would have been joining. Things went (well at least looked like they went) great. We were talking about her kids, books, and just generally having a great time. It didn't even feel like a formal interview.
Then I met her. THE BITCH. It was the girl for whose position they were hiring. She just had a baby, which you could tell by what looked like a small tire around her waist, and was resigning to become an important stay at home mom.
Let me get to the main reason as to why I now consider her a mortal enemy. She asked me what a chapter 7 was. I told her. She asked me again. I gave her an even longer exegesis on the definition of a chapter 7. She asked me what a chapter 13 was. I told her. She asked me the difference between a chapter 7 and a chapter 13. Hmmm, if I just told you what a chapter 7 is and what a chapter 13 is, wouldn't it be obvious to any mind capable of reasoning that I knew the distinctions between the two since I had just outlined them? After another long explanation of the difference between the two chapters, she then lectured me for 5 minutes on the meanings of chapters 7 & 13. Really, bitch, really?
From there it was a spiraling descent into further condescension directed at me from her. I honestly have not been talked down to in the way that she talked down to me since I was maybe 12. Because I figured that this was some trick part of the interview process that they chose not to disclose beforehand to me, I didn't say anything combative to her, at the expense of my own pride and defense.
I didn't say that she looked horrible after having her baby. I didn't say that the 6 month paralegal degree from Clayton State of which she boasted sounded like a steaming piece of garbage. I didn't say that she should look forward to being spoken to in the same manner in which she was addressing me once her baby is school aged and she tries to re-enter the workforce after having 5 years of 'stay at home mom' as the most recent experience on her resume. I didn't say any of the things that were boiling to the top of my skull and about to spill out through my ears.
No, I'm just going to wait for the westernized idea of karma to do it's thing. What goes around comes around whether we like it or not, whether it's good or bad. Maybe I was treated that way because of the way I've treated someone in the past. But at least I know that she'll experience the same belittling at some point in her life. I just wish it would be in the near future and that I would be around to see it happen to her. Darn the luck!
Anywho, after putting up with her verbal abuse, I was politely informed that they hired someone for the position, i.e. hired someone other than me.
The whole experience left me with bitter feelings, because not only was I made to feel like shit about the knowledge I have acquired over the past year plus - thinking maybe it was some sort of ritual hazing they do to prospective candidates - but then I wasn't even offered the job. In conclusion, I don't like the fat mom, and I don't like her firm.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
I Miss T Pain
While I was driving home from work today, 'Can't Believe It' came on the radio, and I instantly realized what has been missing in my world, inundated with Drake and Lil Wayne back-to-back replays. It's T Pain. I miss him.
Everyone may have gotten a little annoyed with his liberal use of Auto-Tune, but you have to admit that the man was a hit maker. And I love that he wasn't afraid to dress like an outright circus clown instead of trying to dress like a baggy pant wearing thug who inadvertently turns out looking like one anyway. T Pain where are you? I'm sure he's away in some musical lair somewhere crafting more million dollar hits. In the meantime I patiently await his return.
Another thing I'm patiently awaiting is the end of my lease. I'm trying to figure out another living situation b/c I absolutely despise one of my roommates. The other one is fine b/c he's mostly away on business or who knows/cares what, but this other one... if I arrived home one day to the news that he had died in a horrific car crash, I would feel like I've won the lotto.
I know that sounds horrible, but if you were in my shoes, you would have just as much if not more of a desire to hurl them at him as I do. Just imagine going from peace and quiet - a haven from your 10+ hour work day, to practically living in a loud dorm. Okay, so I'm officially an uncool grandma, but grandma needs her rest dammit! There are people over ALL the time. Yes, I have my own room, but unfortunately enough for me the walls are as thin as air.
I have to wait until July to move out and it is now November, unless I can find someone to take over my lease/rent and get my landlord on board to allow me to do that. It just sucks b/c I did enjoy living here UNTIL HE MOVED IN. It just seems so unfair since I was here first and everything was just fine. Either I've done something really bad, and it's coming back around to even out the score, OR something better and more fair is in the works because you can't have rainbows without rain!
Everyone may have gotten a little annoyed with his liberal use of Auto-Tune, but you have to admit that the man was a hit maker. And I love that he wasn't afraid to dress like an outright circus clown instead of trying to dress like a baggy pant wearing thug who inadvertently turns out looking like one anyway. T Pain where are you? I'm sure he's away in some musical lair somewhere crafting more million dollar hits. In the meantime I patiently await his return.
Another thing I'm patiently awaiting is the end of my lease. I'm trying to figure out another living situation b/c I absolutely despise one of my roommates. The other one is fine b/c he's mostly away on business or who knows/cares what, but this other one... if I arrived home one day to the news that he had died in a horrific car crash, I would feel like I've won the lotto.
I know that sounds horrible, but if you were in my shoes, you would have just as much if not more of a desire to hurl them at him as I do. Just imagine going from peace and quiet - a haven from your 10+ hour work day, to practically living in a loud dorm. Okay, so I'm officially an uncool grandma, but grandma needs her rest dammit! There are people over ALL the time. Yes, I have my own room, but unfortunately enough for me the walls are as thin as air.
I have to wait until July to move out and it is now November, unless I can find someone to take over my lease/rent and get my landlord on board to allow me to do that. It just sucks b/c I did enjoy living here UNTIL HE MOVED IN. It just seems so unfair since I was here first and everything was just fine. Either I've done something really bad, and it's coming back around to even out the score, OR something better and more fair is in the works because you can't have rainbows without rain!
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Every Girl Wants to be a Stripper
Of this I'm sure. How do I know? Because I just went to my first pole dancing class less than a week ago.
It.was.awesome!
And it was a great place to make some interesting observations.
Observation #1: FAT GIRLS WANT TO BE STRIPPERS TOO
There were seven stripper poles (not including the instructor's pole) and 11 of us closet freak ladies who showed up to the class. Amazing that in the South you've got the Bible belt and you've got girls packing into an intro stripping class in their tights and near-undies paying to shake it.
Out of 11 girls, 3 were BIG girls. Not thick, BIG. And no, I was not one of them. I guess big girls have inner freaks too...ones they might have accidentally ingested. Have you ever seen a BIG girl slide sexily around a stripper pole? Neither have I. I didn't see any of the 3 break any laws of physics that night.
Observation #2: CRIPPLED GIRLS WANT TO BE STRIPPERS TOO
Now, this was more surprising than the BIG girls. I noticed this girl in the lobby standing around a few other girls. She had a cane. It wasn't a cane that could have been mistaken for a cleverly added accessory of a bold fashonista (it was a dance class after all). It was one of those metal canes with the gray rubber handle and the four legs at the end. This cane meant business when it came to keeping this girl upright.
Once they let us in the room after the last stripping class (another full looking one) ended, I was instantly mesmerized by the shiny red poles sticking up out of the floor and chained to beams in the ceiling. I claimed a pole in the last row and right in the corner of the studio.
Then I saw the girl with the metal cane again. The instructor assigned two to a pole, and the girl teamed up with one of her friends. Was she really going to dance? And let alone on a pole? I didn't mean to stare, but I never thought I would ever see this scenario play out in life.
The instructor (more on her later) began the class with a warm up - putting a sexy, strippery spin on the stretches. The girl with the cane already looked like she was struggling. At one point, the instructor had us sit on the ground to stretch our legs, and the girl with the cane was conspicuously left to stand. After the warm up, she sat down and stayed in that chair for the remainder of the class. But I bet she felt sexy as hell sitting in that chair!
Observation #3: STRIPPING INSTRUCTORS ARE HOTTER THAN HELL
Now I'm in love with another stripper - or at least a stripper instructor. This girl was just...damn (bites knuckles in remembrance). She had on these tight white boy shorts that teasingly let the slightest lower portion of her toned cheeks slip out. Her body was just phenomenal, from her calves to her thighs to her butt to her abs to her arms. I've never seen a stripper that toned so I'm not so sure she's a stripper. I was too nervous to approach her after class and ask her if she stripped somewhere or just loved teaching people to dance on poles.
Observation #4: OLD WOMEN WANT TO STRIP TOO
As the prior class was letting out there was this one big boobed lady who lingered on her pole to do some extra pole tricks - the kind where you climb up high on the pole and hang upside down with the nonchalance and grace of Venus. When she eventually decided to stop wowing us and come down, you could see that she was in amazing shape. Another woman there, who had just readjusted her jaw which had dropped to the floor along with the rest of ours, said this marvel of a woman was 50! Must I repeat: 50 years old this woman was! Yes, pole dancing is a great workout - my hands, right arm, and inner thigh were aching the next day - but I think this lady just needed an excuse to let out the freak in her from back in the day!
Conclusion
Several times in college, I've had to concoct (teehee) phallic analyses to make Shakespeare or Mark Twain more interesting, but no situation (outside of actual sex) has lent itself more readily to phallic interpretation than seeing 10 women sliding down, twirling around, and grinding on stripper poles. It's ironic that the phallus is a symbol of staid power, such as those poles secured to the studio ceiling, yet we were teasing and seducing those poles and making ourselves look and feel glamorous and sexy at their expense, and there was nothing those inanimate phallic poles could do about it, even as they towered above us all big, shiny, and red. We were subdued and subduing at the same time. Oh the beauty of balance.
It.was.awesome!
And it was a great place to make some interesting observations.
Observation #1: FAT GIRLS WANT TO BE STRIPPERS TOO
There were seven stripper poles (not including the instructor's pole) and 11 of us closet freak ladies who showed up to the class. Amazing that in the South you've got the Bible belt and you've got girls packing into an intro stripping class in their tights and near-undies paying to shake it.
Out of 11 girls, 3 were BIG girls. Not thick, BIG. And no, I was not one of them. I guess big girls have inner freaks too...ones they might have accidentally ingested. Have you ever seen a BIG girl slide sexily around a stripper pole? Neither have I. I didn't see any of the 3 break any laws of physics that night.
Observation #2: CRIPPLED GIRLS WANT TO BE STRIPPERS TOO
Now, this was more surprising than the BIG girls. I noticed this girl in the lobby standing around a few other girls. She had a cane. It wasn't a cane that could have been mistaken for a cleverly added accessory of a bold fashonista (it was a dance class after all). It was one of those metal canes with the gray rubber handle and the four legs at the end. This cane meant business when it came to keeping this girl upright.
Once they let us in the room after the last stripping class (another full looking one) ended, I was instantly mesmerized by the shiny red poles sticking up out of the floor and chained to beams in the ceiling. I claimed a pole in the last row and right in the corner of the studio.
Then I saw the girl with the metal cane again. The instructor assigned two to a pole, and the girl teamed up with one of her friends. Was she really going to dance? And let alone on a pole? I didn't mean to stare, but I never thought I would ever see this scenario play out in life.
The instructor (more on her later) began the class with a warm up - putting a sexy, strippery spin on the stretches. The girl with the cane already looked like she was struggling. At one point, the instructor had us sit on the ground to stretch our legs, and the girl with the cane was conspicuously left to stand. After the warm up, she sat down and stayed in that chair for the remainder of the class. But I bet she felt sexy as hell sitting in that chair!
Observation #3: STRIPPING INSTRUCTORS ARE HOTTER THAN HELL
Now I'm in love with another stripper - or at least a stripper instructor. This girl was just...damn (bites knuckles in remembrance). She had on these tight white boy shorts that teasingly let the slightest lower portion of her toned cheeks slip out. Her body was just phenomenal, from her calves to her thighs to her butt to her abs to her arms. I've never seen a stripper that toned so I'm not so sure she's a stripper. I was too nervous to approach her after class and ask her if she stripped somewhere or just loved teaching people to dance on poles.
Observation #4: OLD WOMEN WANT TO STRIP TOO
As the prior class was letting out there was this one big boobed lady who lingered on her pole to do some extra pole tricks - the kind where you climb up high on the pole and hang upside down with the nonchalance and grace of Venus. When she eventually decided to stop wowing us and come down, you could see that she was in amazing shape. Another woman there, who had just readjusted her jaw which had dropped to the floor along with the rest of ours, said this marvel of a woman was 50! Must I repeat: 50 years old this woman was! Yes, pole dancing is a great workout - my hands, right arm, and inner thigh were aching the next day - but I think this lady just needed an excuse to let out the freak in her from back in the day!
Conclusion
Several times in college, I've had to concoct (teehee) phallic analyses to make Shakespeare or Mark Twain more interesting, but no situation (outside of actual sex) has lent itself more readily to phallic interpretation than seeing 10 women sliding down, twirling around, and grinding on stripper poles. It's ironic that the phallus is a symbol of staid power, such as those poles secured to the studio ceiling, yet we were teasing and seducing those poles and making ourselves look and feel glamorous and sexy at their expense, and there was nothing those inanimate phallic poles could do about it, even as they towered above us all big, shiny, and red. We were subdued and subduing at the same time. Oh the beauty of balance.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
I'm in Love with a Stripper
I thought the song of the same title was ridiculous until I too fell in love with a stripper. Well I didn't actually fall in love, but I did develop a massive girl crush that's strong enough.
Now if you had seen me after my first (well second - my first strip club experience was at a seedy 18 and up club in San Francisco at 8pm on a weekday- eeewww) real strip club experience, you would wonder how the hell I developed a crush on a stripper! I received one dance from an actually really hot girl who had nice perky, implanted breasts, and I sat like a stick with a stick up it's ass while I made her dance awkwardly in front of me with my uncomfortable vibes. Not a good time.
Now this second (really third time's a charm!) time, it was my birthday. So thankfully I had free alcohol to loosen me up. And then she got up on the stage. She was perfect. She didn't even look like she would work at a strip club no matter how decent the establishment. I felt privileged to be seeing her perfect, naked body.
She was probably about 5'8" (with stripper heels) with a size 4 waist, toned legs, and perfect palm-filling breasts. She had a long weave, but she kept it nice so it wasn't a bad thing. I guess she was going for this sexy, black, Jessica Simpson in Dukes of Hazzard look because she had on these tattered blue jean cut off shorts. Mercy, thinking about her now makes me want her all over again...
Anyway, the girl was FINE. I had the great fortune of having my boyfriend buy me a dance from her, and it was just one of the best things in life ever. Her skin was so soft I wanted to feel it from the inside out! She was so damn fine I wanted to be her if I couldn't be with her!
But of course, neither of those things will ever happen. The closest I'll come is going to my pole-dancing class and remembering her as the instructor teaches me to swing myself a full 360 degrees around a pole. I'll do it in memory of her.
Now if you had seen me after my first (well second - my first strip club experience was at a seedy 18 and up club in San Francisco at 8pm on a weekday- eeewww) real strip club experience, you would wonder how the hell I developed a crush on a stripper! I received one dance from an actually really hot girl who had nice perky, implanted breasts, and I sat like a stick with a stick up it's ass while I made her dance awkwardly in front of me with my uncomfortable vibes. Not a good time.
Now this second (really third time's a charm!) time, it was my birthday. So thankfully I had free alcohol to loosen me up. And then she got up on the stage. She was perfect. She didn't even look like she would work at a strip club no matter how decent the establishment. I felt privileged to be seeing her perfect, naked body.
She was probably about 5'8" (with stripper heels) with a size 4 waist, toned legs, and perfect palm-filling breasts. She had a long weave, but she kept it nice so it wasn't a bad thing. I guess she was going for this sexy, black, Jessica Simpson in Dukes of Hazzard look because she had on these tattered blue jean cut off shorts. Mercy, thinking about her now makes me want her all over again...
Anyway, the girl was FINE. I had the great fortune of having my boyfriend buy me a dance from her, and it was just one of the best things in life ever. Her skin was so soft I wanted to feel it from the inside out! She was so damn fine I wanted to be her if I couldn't be with her!
But of course, neither of those things will ever happen. The closest I'll come is going to my pole-dancing class and remembering her as the instructor teaches me to swing myself a full 360 degrees around a pole. I'll do it in memory of her.
Evil Thoughts
Have you ever just wanted to be so evil to someone - do something so bad you knew would make you feel so perfectly satisfied? I have that feeling almost every time I see my roommate, also known as the scum of the deepest pit in hell.
I just don't like him as a person, and his face makes me want to wish evil on him and do him personal harm. Recently, I had a succulent, evil idea! I got soooo sick from partying hard on my birthday (my mom's theory) and couldn't swallow my own saliva. My throat was so swollen I sounded like an obese Martian when I tried to talk. This handicap caused me to have to keep a spit cup around to avoid the excruciating pain of any involuntary swallow.
Well, this spit cup filled up. And I COULD NOT get the idea out of my head of taking my sickly liquid, putting it in an empty spray bottle, and spraying it on anything my roommate was sure to touch. His toothbrush would have been perfect...but I have another roommate, and they share the same bathroom, so I wouldn't know which brush belonged to the one I hate.
But evilly imagine it with me: spraying it on his pillow so he's sure to inhale the germs, on his doorknob, and, oh, do I admit even further depravity by imagining spraying it on his food!
Why do I dislike this guy so much you're probably wondering? Because he was born of jackals. Well, really because he has whores over all the time. It's a different girl every other day, and I'm tempted to say out loud to him and whichever whore he has over at the moment, "Jeez another one? How many girlfriends does this one make - 12?"
Besides allowing strange women to roam through the house shouting his name when he's on the back porch smoking weed, he has these ghetto, loud friends that are ALWAYS over here. Everyday there is some person in my house I don't know!
On the bright side, he has made me vow to never, EVER (even if I had to live out of my car in the winter) live with another roommate - even if I know the person. I lived here first and enjoyed peace, but since he's moved in, evil thoughts have been doing cartwheels over his face in my head.
So for now, I just count down the days until my lease is over - or until I convince my boyfriend that we should move in together and get someone else to take over my lease. Until one of those two things happens, hopefully he dies or I just learn a great lesson in patience.
I just don't like him as a person, and his face makes me want to wish evil on him and do him personal harm. Recently, I had a succulent, evil idea! I got soooo sick from partying hard on my birthday (my mom's theory) and couldn't swallow my own saliva. My throat was so swollen I sounded like an obese Martian when I tried to talk. This handicap caused me to have to keep a spit cup around to avoid the excruciating pain of any involuntary swallow.
Well, this spit cup filled up. And I COULD NOT get the idea out of my head of taking my sickly liquid, putting it in an empty spray bottle, and spraying it on anything my roommate was sure to touch. His toothbrush would have been perfect...but I have another roommate, and they share the same bathroom, so I wouldn't know which brush belonged to the one I hate.
But evilly imagine it with me: spraying it on his pillow so he's sure to inhale the germs, on his doorknob, and, oh, do I admit even further depravity by imagining spraying it on his food!
Why do I dislike this guy so much you're probably wondering? Because he was born of jackals. Well, really because he has whores over all the time. It's a different girl every other day, and I'm tempted to say out loud to him and whichever whore he has over at the moment, "Jeez another one? How many girlfriends does this one make - 12?"
Besides allowing strange women to roam through the house shouting his name when he's on the back porch smoking weed, he has these ghetto, loud friends that are ALWAYS over here. Everyday there is some person in my house I don't know!
On the bright side, he has made me vow to never, EVER (even if I had to live out of my car in the winter) live with another roommate - even if I know the person. I lived here first and enjoyed peace, but since he's moved in, evil thoughts have been doing cartwheels over his face in my head.
So for now, I just count down the days until my lease is over - or until I convince my boyfriend that we should move in together and get someone else to take over my lease. Until one of those two things happens, hopefully he dies or I just learn a great lesson in patience.
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