You know that moment when you walk into a room, see a roommate doing homework, then leave and you don't know whether to bid them a "have fun," "good night," "good job" or "good luck"? Oftentimes, I am sorely tempted to say, "good toast," and leave it at that. Unfortunately, the reasoning stems from the awkwardness of not knowing which words to say, and this seems like it may be a counterproductive solution.

5 girls use more hand soap and toilet paper in two weeks than 1 girl and 4 guys use in 2 months. Take the one girl out of this scenario and that time-frame quadruples. I hope I have all boys. This desire stems from my cheapskatia...ness.

I will in fact sell my molasses-slow blood for a free t-shirt and delicious FREE snacks that I can shove into my pockets for a free lunch and dinner. We could feign selflessness and call it donating, but let's be real. That's a lie. There's no such thing as a free lunch. Or a free dinner. But maybe a free t-shirt. I don't really know where I'm going with this.

Lunch and dinner consisted of a juice box,chocolate fudge Granny-B cookies, and that cheese spread stuff with crackers you haven't had since the 5th grade. My veins feel empty today. What an odd correlation...

Sometimes, Bobby Darrin is necessary in order to motivate myself to clean my room. It's like every Saturday at home ever.

Sometimes, it's okay to have a sugar intake level that would give my dentist a hernia because:
A) I have a good track record. No cavities (knock on wood).
B) It was my first sleepover and it was necessary.

Sometimes, it's good to be a girl. Especially on those days when you are exceedingly unkind to your running buddy. This includes countering everything he says with "your mom," throwing your room keys at him, calling him the devil, questioning his running authority, and/or expressing your wish that it really was your voodoo magic that brought his inexplicable leg soreness. Everything is instantly made better when you go home and discover that your womanly built-in-excuse-system is in full swing. Okay, lies, everything is instantly made worse except the fact that I now have something to blame for the inner beast. Now I can maintain that I still like stick to my mantra: Kindness Begins With Me.

The following is a picture of what the next week will look like:

Person: My roommate.
Place: The library.
Thing: That facial expression. It's incredible.

I secretly yearn for blogging on a daily basis, but I hold myself back because I'm afraid of the power. That and I'm secretly 80-years-old and afraid of all technological communication, including Facebook, texting, emailing, and blogs. But alas, my restraint for all things is waning as warm weather approaches. I'm unleashing a different kind of inner beast now-- not the one that offends you, your hobbies, your injuries, and your mother. This is the end of the post.

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