"Imma go home and get my work done" slowly turns into "Imma go home and be lazy and do nothing…oh HEY Tumblr."
The front of my top bookshelf consists of the following:
A picture of my dog with Santa Claus. She gets her picture with Santa every year. (It’s for charity. Plus it’s fucking cute.)
A stuffed Sherlock Holmes.
A stuffed Hot Pockets.
A picture of me and my mother from NYE three years ago.
I am obviously a mature adult.
Thursday: Frankenstein (Benny as Creature)
Friday: Bf finally comes home from work, then Mommy and Nana are taking us out for dinner to celebrate the day of his birth, then I am being a good gf and going to his favourite club and getting him nice and drunk. (I hate this club, btw. With a passion. Hence why I get “good gf” status.) I then get to hold him while he sleeps. I will be perfectly content despite the club being awful and my bf probs smelling like beer.
Saturday: Sushi lunch with bf. (And maybe bestie. SARY YOU WANNA COME?!) Then birfday party for me and the bf (his birthday is this Thursday, mine is next Wednesday). Drunken uh-ohs. Hopefully no puking. But c’mon, at this age, you NEED to drink away the pain of a birthday. You just do. Also sex. Lots and lots of sex.
Sunday: Hangover. Ugh. BUT birthday party with the fam for wee little baby cousin. Yay.
…And then Monday I have a midterm. For the class which I will be skipping to see Frankenstein. Awkward.
Um also Friday is a big deal because bf has never met my Nana. So. Ee! Plus free food.
What’s also beautiful is how I always get an excessive amount of birthday sex because our birthdays are six days apart. Birthday sex for his birthday on Friday. Birthday sex for OUR birthdays on Saturday. Birthday sex for my birthday…I dunno, whenever he’s home from work again. Next Friday? Wait no, I’m going home. WHATEVER. The point is I have birthday sex like three times in two weeks. Yessssss.
And I wrote this: “Maybe don’t read this around Nana. Also I apologize that your daughter is an overly-sexual freak. Just ignore some of those parts.”
And then I didn’t even fucking pay attention at all.
Because I’m too busy reading Johnlock.
Johnlock that I’ve already read before.
And then suddenly some bitch is screaming.
And I’m like ‘da fuq’?
I’m really good at telling stories.
This is why I want to be a writer.