Pretty Little Liars

Hello dear readers,

I've missed you. The past few weeks have been really crazy. I am officially back in my college town and am all moved in with a new apartment and a new roommate. It feels like a fresh start and I couldn't be happier. My apartment is the cutest thing on the planet, and my roommate has quickly graduated from being a friend to a sister.

Do not for a second believe that this good news means my life has taken a turn toward normal town. No, no. In fact, I have a few stories to share.

This first story is currently the most salient in my thoughts because it is the most recent (and shocking. And hilarious). Get this, readers. I, Gouda have now secured myself a reputation as some sort of crazy, sexually-frustrated rapist.

Hold the phone. Before you run off and inform your towns beefiest police officer about my escapades, listen to my side of the story.

I will preface this by saying that this past weekend was both fantastic and awful for different reasons. My friend L from high school was visiting and it was great catching up with her. We used to be extremely close and have drifted in recent years. This weekend changed that.

The bad part of my weekend occurred when I suddenly became every drunk person's Mom. Yes, you read right. Gouda, the girl that gets lost on five minute walks in her neighborhood and leaves the gas oven on every night BY ACCIDENT, had to play Momma Bear.

On Friday we all got super dressed up and cute. I even went as far as to wear extremely uncomfortable heels. My feet are still bleeding. It was going to be a good night, I could tell. I should've known better. I have the instincts of a goldfish. The night actually wasn't that horrible from what I remember. By the end of the night, L found herself somewhat intrigued by a lovely young man, named V. Ironically, V is close friends with someone named D that I had previously found myself attracted to. A whole group of us headed back to hang out at V's apartment, which also happened to be where D was staying [or so I thought].

On our way back, we ran into someone throwing up on a bridge. This young man had too much to drink and I didn't feel comfortable leaving him alone, seeing as I have somewhat of a medical background and a marshmallow heart. So, I urged L to continue on her trek with the rest of the group and decided to walk our puking princess home. Of course, he lived a few blocks out of the way, but I figured I'd rather make sure he was okay than step over his rotting corpse the next day while on my daily walk. I walked my new best friend home and made my way back to V's apartment. Apparently tequila brings out my inner Mother Theresa.

When I arrived, I thought that maybe the night would start looking up. I expected D to be there and thought that maybe, just MAYBE I could get to know him better. [A little background info: I just met D and for some reason or another, find him interesting. That being said, he definitely has a lot going on in his life and I'm not sure if the timing is right. That, and I barely know the kid. Every time we hang out, alcohol makes an appearance.] Boy, was I wrong. L and V disappeared for a little bit. From what I hear, they had a heated debate about politics and then went on to play some pretty hardcore chess.

So there I was, sitting in the living room with people I barely knew. I refused to abandon L in a town she didn't know, when she was my guest, and in the process, turned into that awkward friend that sits in the corner while her much hotter friend has a grand time. Normally, I would allow my social prowess to shine at this point, but I was exhausted and my feel were bleeding and I was painfully bored. Also, I got the sneaking suspicion that some of the company in the room didn't exactly love me, Lord knows why. Then, to my relief, D walked into the room. Actually it was more of a stumble. I think.

He sat on the couch and looked like he was about three seconds from death. Why, oh why dear readers, can I not have a crush on a normal boy and have normal situations with said normal boy? Apparently, he had ALSO had too much to drink and once again, I felt maternal flames lick through me the sun's fury. Mind you, at this point I was kind of annoyed. The ONE person I had counted on to sort of rescue my evening had turned into some sort of incapacitated bean bag. The next thing I know, I'm sitting there feeding him water, trying to talk to him so that he remains conscious. I think I definitely also got some good eye-rolls in there. Look, I am an affectionate person. From what I remember, I may or may not have given him little kisses to make him feel better. These were not passionate kisses a la Days of Our Lives, but were more like little pecks. As I was taking care of D, I felt the tension in the room increase. Since at that point my sole focus was taking care of him [as it had earlier been with princess pukie.], I didn't care much. I just wanted to get home and take off the heels-of-death. Long story short, I went home and L continued her game of chess, which went into overtime.

When I got home, I decided it would be a good idea to make Buffalo wing flavored mac'n'cheese. It tasted like a lovely combination of hot sauce and throw up.

The following night was equally boring [though the day, was awesome]. I do have many more stories from this weekend, which include the douchebag who tipped his kayak over, and me face planting [gracefully, and in slow motion, mind you] while trying to catch a frisbee.

I found out today, a few days later, that according to some that were at V's apartment [and I have a sneaking suspicion who], I was trying to "take advantage" of D while he was severely intoxicated. You know what, you are right. I am just so desperate for male attention [because clearly I don't get it that often] and am SO into men that are inebriated that I couldn't resist myself. The water and wishing I was at home was just a ploy to gain your trust so that I could steal D's innocence while you weren't looking. Is society so jaded that it's hard for people to think that someone genuinely cares about the well-being about another? Are we, as a generation, so untrusting of others that we have to come up with crazy stories to try to grasp the concept of something as simple as compassion? On one hand, the whole thing is so ridiculous that it's laughable. On the other, this situation is so stupid that it almost turns me off D altogether. I know none of it is his fault, but I'd rather not associate with people that would like to see me on America's Most Wanted.

Jealousy makes you ugly. Don't ever forget that, dear readers.

LoveLoveLove,
Gouda