I defrosted chicken, now I have to eat it. I chop the chicken, now I have to cook it. I open the fridge for something to go with it and all I find are eggs. Now I’m eatings eggs and chicken.

It tastes like incest.

Is it strange that because I’m talking to a black girl on Facebook chat that I get an uncontrollable urge to listen to rap music at the same time? Like, to set the mood or something?

… or as I find out today, they really don’t.

Alrighty, despite usually not giving into New Year resolutions because a) I believe you can make changes at any point in time and b) I’m too lazy to stick to said changes, I sort of caved in this year. A friend made setting goals and stuff sound very appealing and constructive, so I’ve SORT OF made multiple resolutions, or more like set a few ‘goals’ or tasks at hand. Part of this means doing more interesting things, enjoying life a lot more and to stop being such a little bitch.

That also means having a clear, free, floaty light head devoid of all pressures and starting over and reinventing STUFF. Until I can do that though, I have to DESTROY the last thing that’s been carried over from the last year, and would  you believe it? It’s an essay.
I’m sure at some point in the future another parasitic problem will appear and try and suck my soul from my eye sockets, but hopefully by then I’ll be so high on my ‘new’ life, I’ll just beat the shit out of it with a baseball bat. And pour salt on it, because I’ll have beat it so hard that it’ll have open wounds and have a similar biology to that of a slug, resulting in a slow, painful, salty dissolving death. Yeah, shit’s gonna get real, yo.

So, I made a promise to myself that I won’t leave my house or indulge in anything that I might get pleasure out of until the 14th when the essay deadline is. If there is a God, he’s a very ironic motherfucker as he decided to throw a lot of snow all over the country, giving me a week extension on the essay. Now, this is good in the sense I have more time to do the essay, bad in the sense that I also have more time to waste. And if I ever have the choice to waste time over doing productive shit, I’ll pick wasting time. Yes, this needs to stop and I will address this soon enough.

So I call my good friend who also has a deadline soon and figured that because I’ve decided to hide away from all that is good in the world and not do work, everyone else is doing the same.
WRONG.

He tells me he’s going out tonight to get drunk and invites me along. I spend five minutes calling him a bastard for trying to break my knowledge-chastity. You know when people try to train animals (mainly dogs, I guess you wouldn’t do this with a hippo or rhino) by putting food in front of them and waiting to see if they’ll take it when they shouldn’t? Yeah, now I know what it feels like and it’s fucking CRAP.

But yes, willpower won the day and I turned down the night out for a night in with my blog. I am so cool.
And then, whilst I’m researching a movie about a gay Austrian, I get a text at 12:50am from my friend:

**** got bj from a girl

… okay, no disrespect to ****, but I quite often doubt his ’skillz’ at landing the ladies. A doubt I might have to put to rest someday. Today is not that day, as I’m going to continue to be the little pretentious bitch I was because it’s not time to hand in the essay yet. Okay, ready?

THAT WAS MY BLOWJOB!!

Yes, maybe I’m just being jealous because of the whole” from a girl” part of the text. I might not care so much if it read “from a guy” or “from a komodo dragon”… perhaps a little if it was a komodo dragon. Just because I could say I did it.
Of all the nights I decide to stay in (and I rarely do so) I pick the one when the most slutty, possibly short-sighted girls are out in full force. I’m not saying that I would rather recieve oral sex than write a decent essay and get a good mark, but… actually, yeah that’s exactly what I’m saying.
Clearly studying is a huge waste of time and a danger to world peace and my already non-existent sex life and I should spend less time focusing on being disciplined and intellectual than going out and standing in the corner of a nightclub alone and awkwardly wondering what the girls would look like naked or dressed like Pikachu.

So whilst my friends are out partying, getting blowjobs, and probably winning the fucking lottery I’m writing in my blog. I think I made the right decision.
God, I fucking hope she was ugly.