Hooray for not being dead.

Is there an award for Worst Blogger?

If not, I'm going to invent one. Right now. But I'd probably still not win it. That's how bad I suck at blogging.

Simon Cowell says I suck. My life is now without purpose.

Enough with the self-flagellation. Time to get back on the bloggin-wagon.

Oh my god, I just invented a new phrase. I'm awesome.

ANYWAY, for those of you who actually read this tripe, I had an asscrapload of stuff to do in the last month. Observe.

1.) I MOVED!

My lease ran out, and in order to go month-to-month I would have had to pay an extra $200 a month. Considering the fact that I lived in Da Hood, Sunday mornings I'd get woken up by the old lady who thinks she still lives in Mexico and yells, "tamaleeeees" as loud as humanly possible while slowly ambling up and down the next street, and I'd lost count of the number of times I nearly shit my pants from when the maintenance guy slams the door shut on the storage garage, on top of which my apartment was so conveniently located, terminating my lease and going back to Chateau MomandDad was an easy decision.

So one grey and overcast morning, I rented a UHaul, called a few friends who still like me for reasons unknown, and packed all of my stuff into a storage unit like so many bits of Tetris blocks. I kept only a couple of suitcases of clothes (I have since gone shopping. I swear my mom just needs to be my personal shopper FOREVER. Otherwise I'd be running around in a burlap sack), some shoes (I will not say how many. I luuurves my shoes), my bike and my laptop. It does suck because now I'm far from Orange County (land of Botox and bolt-ons), Boyfriend, and there is not one day that goes by that I don't wish I had [some random item that's in storage] on me.

2.) I got tested.

Thankfully, I don't have herpes.

:P

A few days ago, I headed out to one of the many industrial parks in Anaslime to take the GRE. Once there, I followed the obvious signs to the testing center (they obviously don't think much of the people taking the test), where I was met by a 30-somethingish dude who had obviously rolled a fatty to go with his morning Frappachino. For medicinal purposes, obviously.

Breakfast of champions.

Anyway, I spent about 3 hours slogging through math problems I haven't seen since 9th grade and reading essays about the evolution of the lungfish for reading comprehension. I felt like my brain was the quiet little village with thatch-roofed huts and this stupid test was a boatload of vikings washing onshore to pillage and burn the whole fucking place to the ground.

What's in your wallet?

With the knowledge that my essays were going to be read by dry, stuffed-shirt professor types, I wrote my argumentative essay on...wait for it...Harry Potter.

Is my nerd showing? Sorry...it slips out from time to time. Satisfied that I had stuck it to the man (heehee) for making me PAY to sit through that bullhonkey, I submitted my scores and made my way to my favorite coffee shop to read the inspiration behind my GRE writing.

2.) I has boyfriend now.

This, ladies and gentlemen, is the biggest factor behind my falling off the bloggin-wagon (it works on so many levels!). Boyfriend and I met back in November through a mutual friend, initially because I had applied to his company and I needed pointers for the interview. We met at a Starbucks, I asked questions, he answered them. I took notes. We shook hands, wished each other luck, and I left. I don't think either of us even removed our sunglasses. I was more preoccupied with getting to Long Beach afterwards for drinks at Tequila Jack's with Ig, Uli and Rudy.

I have my priorities, after all.

Needless to say, I failed the interview. Dismally. I texted Not-Yet-Boyfriend-Still-Just-Platonic-Acquaintance as soon as I walked out, bemoaning how badly I had done. We met, picked apart the interview, and just decided that I wasn't meant to work there. Texting correspondence continued, and in December he for some reason decided to take me out in public. He asked me to go with him to his company's party, and I said yes, thinking he just needed a dance partner. I obviously didn't think much of myself at this point.

After said outing, Not-Yet-Boyfriend decided to hang out with me. Again. And again. And again. It took a few weeks for me to convince myself that this really was dating and he wasn't just using me as a research subject (he's a Ph.D. student). Now he's just Boyfriend.

Fear not, my ickle beasties. This doth not meaneth that I will wear big girl pants and act like a grown-up. In fact, in the last seven months, Boyfriend has had to come to terms with the following:

• If someone burps, I will laugh. Especially if that someone was me.
• He has to refer to my car as a 'he'. And call him by his name.
• I will frequently forget to fully charge my Ipod, leading to a dead battery in the middle of a work out, leading to a very angry Hobbit.
• I hate talking on the phone.
• I am always willing to make an ass out of myself in public. Especially when sober.
• Instead of slutty Girlfriend-In-Her-Skivvies pictures, he will get this:

*breathes heavily* Luke, this is your girlfriend.