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meet me in the bathroom, part. 324897235897

Last night at Lit was great, until suddenly at 2 am it turned into a huge mindfuck. Nicole spilled a vodka tonic down my boobs in front of a certain person (with pictures of himself all over his apartment) who was hanging out with a 17 year old girl with a garter belt for a headband. Max was high on "love" but unwilling to share, and then suddenly the whole upstairs smelled like paint fumes and I thought I was going to die.

Fossy has-a-lot-on-his-mind. But we're still his favorite, so no tab charges were applicable. OH, and Nicole hit fingerless gloves boy in the face, and I don't think he even minded. Whaaa?

OH, and Michael T was there. Wheee! I can't wait for the next Motherfucker.

I ended up in a basement apartment with a cat with a Louis Vuitton collar and then we were just three girls eating nutella and homemade peanut butter on a baguette at the cutest-overpriced-williamsburg-cafe-ever.

Yesterday I ALSO bought Franz Ferdinand AND the Von Bondies, and Jason played tracks of both for me. He's like my big brother I never had. Kind of like Jimmy actually, but with more vicodin and less ham. And we went to see Morrison Poe finally (because really, if we didn't this time, someone was going to murder us). They were good, mostly because the lead singer does an entire stripper routine (and ok, has an amazing voice). Unfortunately they remind me too much of Evanescence, and I haaaaate Evanescense. Can I be Noraescence? Hmm.

And finally, ladies, always remember to have the boy stand up before you make out with him. These things are important!

Cheerio.

(shit, this blog entry only makes sense to three people. maybe four)

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