His name is William Sledd . But don’t fret, it’s not a stalker, weird internet crush. It’s like OMG! You’re too fabulous for my gayness so I’ll admire from afar!

Visit him. And his YouTube videos. They will pretty much make you pee your pants. Then have an uncontrollable urge to want to do him. Twice.

I think I’m going to create a seperate blog describing my adventures with this book, and maybe even a YouTube account of me doing to activities so that you all may see my life changing right before your eyes! I don’t know. But I do know I’ll be starting it tomorrow. Yes, my life will begin changing tomorrow. Today, I will sleep and eat and be merry.

Update Okay, I couldn’t wait! I started today. And I made a seperate blog about it. I won’t write about it much here. So yeah. Here is the link.

I don’t write about you much because here, on this blog, I write mostly about the woes in my life. I write what bothers me or other nonsense in my life that stresses me or things not of huge importance. Not that what I write doesn’t mean anything to me, because it does. It means a lot. As do you.

I don’t write about you often because the jokes you and I have are insiders only, things others wouldn’t understand immediately. Without explanation, and explanations ruin the joke. They are for us; sort of a private code you and I share. You may not feel the same, but I do. I know my other friends wouldn’t understand batman pictures or that messy rooms are okay. I do.

Goodbye Best Friend J. Goodbye to afternoons in your room and dinner at your mothers. Remember that time when she took us to that Korean restaurant and she got me drunk on sake? That was a fun day. I will miss those days.

You were the first to get me to a Chipotle. You told me the exact amount of three chicken tacos. And even though I don’t remember that amount right now, I still remember that day.

I hope you will remember. My best friend.

I know the next four years will be amazing and full of adventures. Something I am so happy for you to have because I will be on my own journey. We will still have long talks, share Chipotle, however, now it won’t be together.

I know you will be happy and have the time of your life. And even though I hate writing that cliché, I know it will be.

You make me proud. I love you. I miss you already.

Always,

Ry

I am the only one of my friends who doesn’t have a job right now. And I cannot lie to you, my dear readers, but I don’t care not having money and not working my ass off. In fact, I enjoy waking up at noon, not showering until 4p and going out with friends when they get off work. It’s fantastic, but I feel like the biggest, laziest, fat ass in the whole world!

I have like five bucks and even though my parents keep saying they aren’t going to keep giving me money, they do. And maybe it’s their fault I have no work ehtic.

My best friend in the whole world is moving far far away from me in 17 days and I’m am so heartbroken. I will miss her so much. More than anyone can miss their best friend, because I’m that dramatic.

Off to Oregeon she goes, to start her life with her boyfriend and their new apartment and their dog. And even though I am extremly happy and excited for her, I can’t help but thing I’ll be at my parents house eating their food and living off them.

Seriously, I need a job. Want to give me one? I work hard and will steal slightly less from you than my last employer. Promise.

My sister just brought a grillled cheese sandwhich and an orange soda to me in my bedroom. I’m so pathetic.

And I went with my mothers side of the family and all they did was nag that my hair was too long, or why do I have a tattoo, or “Your going to hell because piercings are a rebellion agains God!”

I did, however, go swimming everyday and I had the lovely experience of going to Mexico. After that little trip I have to say I am so grateful to be an American. That country is really poor, the people are anyway. I met a candidate for mayor of the city of Juarez and he was obviously American educated. The whole of the government is like that- American educated and corrupt. That is totally a biased statement so hold on the angry email, please. Send it to your local Mexican politician.

I walked into the party, said hello to everyone, including STD boy, and surprisingly, there was no tention. We talked, laughed, drank, and even shared a cigarette together. I guess his drunken mistake turned into my sober grudge which helped no one.

The night was so much fun. I made some people play my favorite drinking game called Fuck the Dealer. A high-low card game in which the oject of the game is to fuck over the dealer. Ha. I like it because I am always the dealer, and I always get drunk in like 5 minutes!

Later in the night BFSs’ mother came over. At the time I was already drunk so I thought nothing of it. Which is weird because she thinks I am the nice, good, clean one of our group and would be appalled at a group of underaged kids drinking. Little does she know that I am the one who loves to be drunk on a Tuesday afternoon. Ha. Don’t judge. It’s not nice. Mister lurker who searches for “amazing ass” and get’s my post on jeans. Yeah, YOU!

She is kinda like Regina’s mother from that movie Mean Girls. Remember? With the boobs made of steal and rubber? And dresses like a kid. Well BFS mother doesn’t really dress like a kid, be she does love to shop, drink, and be merry. When she came over I was already drunk and when I am drunk I am pretty happy to see everyone. She and I even did three shots together! Yeah, I was that drunk boy, the one who does shots with the mother.

After a bit, BFS thought that maybe his mother should leave (they live in the same neighborhood). Best Friend F and I put up a fight, yelling at Scott that she should stay and he was being a mean loose booty whore! LET HER STAY!

Finally, BFS prevailed and BFF and I walked her home. When we got there they got into a deep conversation, which I do not do when I’m drunk, so I got up and left. Now, one would assume that I would have walked back to the party, oh! but I’m full of surprises. I ended up walking down a dark street back to my house. Yeah, the 5 miles back to my house down a dark street. BFF picked my up less than half way home and drove me the rest of the way.

The next day I was thinking about the night before, and yes, in fact it was weird that I was doing shots with BFS mother and maybe she shouldn’t have been there as long as she was. When I told this to BFF she immediately got so upset she ended out phone conversation. WTF?! And I don’t abbreviate! She has yet to speak to me, and it’s been three days.

And it’s little fits of hers like these that make me nervous to move in with her. Which, PS, I’m supposed to be doing in like three months. And I have no money! Holy crap I’m scared.

Well I met another boy, but I’m not going to talk about it because the last couple of times I did they have both turned out to be duds. So, I don’t want to jinx anything at all, because I am now a firm believer in luck and good juju.

Tonight I’m getting drunk, and I cannot wait. Because I haven’t been to a party in so long. There will be lots of people there, one in particular I can honestly I CAN’T FUCKING STAND!

Here’s the story. He sucks. But really, we were never really friends. But we had mutual friends and when Best Friend S would get stoned, it was usually with him, and he would usually hang out with BFS when stoned, and BFS hung out with me when he was. This boy smokes more pot than Snoop Dog in a marijuanna field. No Joke.

One day he asked me and a friend to drive he and some of his friends to a club because they had been drinking. No problem. We drive them, drop them off, and turn around to head back to school. More than half way back to campus I get a call, them asking me to bring the bottle of alcohol back, because the club turned out to be a bust. Duh, the club they went to is filled with nasty druggies who fuck on the dance floor. You need to get tested just for using the bathroom.

I said that I wouldn’t turn around because we were already at school and that we, and they, would get in trouble for having booze passed to them. Then I get this text:

“Consider yourself cut! You guys are being so lame. You’re not going to get in trouble!”

And what pissed me off the most was that this dumb slut didn’t have my number in the first place; he had to find it from someone who knew it. So, as politely as possible, I responded:

“Cut?! Big fucking deal, what makes you think we were ever friend in the first place! Get over yourself!”

Now we don’t speak ever and good, because if he accidently breaths on my I might catch syphillis.

I can’t stop think about you. And, honestly, I’m so embarrassed about it. Why? I only knew you a few weeks. But, really, I know why.

It was the way you took my hand unexpectedly into yours and kissed it. The whole time you were looking at me, not once taking your gaze off of me, holding my hand so tightly. You held my hand in yours just for a moment, the perfect moment. It was a perfect moment.

It was the way you laid your head in my lap. We were sitting next to each other and you scooted over and laid you head in my lap. But I was so nervous so I didn’t do the things that I would have normally done. Like stroke your hair, or take your hand. You made me so nervous. Your head was in the perfect spot, right in my lap, and I could feel you breathing and I felt so peaceful.

It was the way you sent me a random text message that simply read, “Muah”. With a symbol for a kiss – =-* It made me feel so special. I hadn’t felt that way in so long and it was you who did that. I loved those text messages.

And now we don’t speak and when I hear my instant messenger tell me a friend has signed on I immediately check to see if it is you. I open an IM screen and type one little word – hi – hoping everytime to send it to you. But I never do, I always get scared and close the screen and continue to try and busy myself and shoo you out of my mind. But I can’t. I still think about you. Weeks after we met.

Signed
Le Sigh.

The night before you wear them you think about them and what shirt to wear, which one compliments them perfectly, or which shoes to pair them with. I even bet you’ve had them for a really long time, too!

I do, and they are amazing and beautiful and make my ass look amazing. They are from American Eagle (because living off mommy and daddies money right now, that’s all I can afford. But believe you me, in five years I’ll be decked out in Burberry) and have this incredible stitching, great patchwork, and print, that almost makes them look like an artist made them. I love them even more because I’d wanted them for so long. Last year I saw them on display in the window and immediately fell in love with them. I went in to see how much they would take out of my already incredibly damaged credit card. Usually in AE I am able to afford what they sell, and becase I love the style there, I usually buy. I picked up the price tag, expecting to see them at around $60, and to my horror, they were set at $80! And because I had just spent loads of money at Hollister minutes ago, that was just inches out of my price range. I was so dissapointed because I loved them more than anything else I had just bought. I was even more dissapointed because just the day before I spent $120 on a pair of jeans that I decided I didn’t even like that much after I got home. They didn’t make my ass look amazing. But the denim was so soft. Like buttah!

I left the mall sad, planning how I could get more cash before my next pay day. And even then I couldn’t spend my check there because it was only going to be around $400 and my cell phone bill was due, including the bill for the new cell phone I bought for $300. Ahhh!! I was in dispair, lost with out these make-my-ass-amazing jeans! WOE IS ME! I knew I would never have them because AE’s stock changes so frequently, I had to say goodbye. And I did.

But weeks later, my credit card fully loaded and ready to reek havoc in the mall, I stepped into AE and LOE AND BEHOLD! There they were, still in stock, AND ON CLEARANCE! I died. Then I put them on, and my ass became amazing. And It has been ever since.

They are my make-my-ass-amazing jeans. They are old, and worn thin, yet! They are my favorite. I’m wearing them today, and I must say, my hair is a mess and I still feel hotter than Brad Pitt on his good day. Take that SUCKA!