God I love this song
Today was...
Today we elected new officers for YAWS. I am officially no longer YAWS president--and it's kinda sad, but I know Schleicher, Cristina, and Kelly will do a great job.
We hazed them, which was fun. We had them do handstands, kiss our shoes, recite poems of love to our feet (they had to make them up on the spot), and then we sat them in a circle, back to back, made them close their eyes... and drenched them with water.
I have a good feeling about it, all around.
The trip home was interesting, too. I hitched a ride in his truck and the windows fogged up with a vengeance. His air conditioner doesn't work, nor does his defroster, so for some time we sat in a parking lot, sweating our asses off, the entire windshield a sheet of grey, waiting for it to unfog and for the sudden rain to let up a little so he could drive.
We joked around--his sexuality is rather ambiguous, and we noted that if his parents were to call, he could tell them, "I'm in my truck... in an empty parking lot... windows fogged up... we're all hot and sweaty... her shirt (the outer one, you perv) is in my floorboard..." and the matter would be settled by his mother running triumphantly through the house shouting, "HE'S STRAIGHT! HE'S STRAIGHT!"
No offense, Jack, but you're like, one of the last people in the world.
Anyway, finally, we decided they never would unfog, and we did the unthinkable: He handed me an old shirt, and we tore off down the road, wiping off the windshield as we went and praying. And laughing hysterically. And spewing profanity. He sounded like a surgeon--"NICOLE! SWIPE!"--poking down Rutherford Blvd. at twenty miles an hour. There was this bizarre sense of urgency and I haven't laughed so hard in a long time.
It was raining HARD when we got home, so he came in for a few minutes and had a coke while I sang Gangsta's Paradise.
It's the little things in life, you know. Like wiping fog off of the windshield while driving and flashing your hazard lights when people try to pass you.
Today we elected new officers for YAWS. I am officially no longer YAWS president--and it's kinda sad, but I know Schleicher, Cristina, and Kelly will do a great job.
We hazed them, which was fun. We had them do handstands, kiss our shoes, recite poems of love to our feet (they had to make them up on the spot), and then we sat them in a circle, back to back, made them close their eyes... and drenched them with water.
I have a good feeling about it, all around.
The trip home was interesting, too. I hitched a ride in his truck and the windows fogged up with a vengeance. His air conditioner doesn't work, nor does his defroster, so for some time we sat in a parking lot, sweating our asses off, the entire windshield a sheet of grey, waiting for it to unfog and for the sudden rain to let up a little so he could drive.
We joked around--his sexuality is rather ambiguous, and we noted that if his parents were to call, he could tell them, "I'm in my truck... in an empty parking lot... windows fogged up... we're all hot and sweaty... her shirt (the outer one, you perv) is in my floorboard..." and the matter would be settled by his mother running triumphantly through the house shouting, "HE'S STRAIGHT! HE'S STRAIGHT!"
No offense, Jack, but you're like, one of the last people in the world.
Anyway, finally, we decided they never would unfog, and we did the unthinkable: He handed me an old shirt, and we tore off down the road, wiping off the windshield as we went and praying. And laughing hysterically. And spewing profanity. He sounded like a surgeon--"NICOLE! SWIPE!"--poking down Rutherford Blvd. at twenty miles an hour. There was this bizarre sense of urgency and I haven't laughed so hard in a long time.
It was raining HARD when we got home, so he came in for a few minutes and had a coke while I sang Gangsta's Paradise.
It's the little things in life, you know. Like wiping fog off of the windshield while driving and flashing your hazard lights when people try to pass you.