So I had this really, really sad plant, right? I picked it at random at Wal-Mart (back when I still shopped there, of course), and then proceeded to kill it. If I watered it, it died. If I let it dry out a little more, it died. My vine thrived (well, sort of…) while this thing died. I didn’t even know what kind of plant it was, because there wasn’t a card in it. Let’s have a moment of silence for the nameless, specieless plant. … Finally, I decided to buy another houseplant. I like having the bookshelf in front of my window and by my bed covered in plants.…

So last weekend, I mentioned that I’d embarrassed WO two times at his birthday celebration. Each of these are worth a little explanation, particularly now that he’s stopped blushing. The first was minor. I just wrapped all his gifts in Disney Princesses wrapping paper. Very pink, very girly. But WO likes girls, and what’s better than a book wrapped in a grinning Jasmine from Aladdin? The second… ah, the second was the kicker. One of his birthday gifts was Neil Gaiman’s Sandman: The Kindly Ones, the ninth in a series of graphic novels involving Dream/the Sandman. (Fun series of books; I’d recommend them, despite the cost.) The second portion of…

I discovered the identity of the gas-passer mentioned in my last post. Turns out he’s the guy I randomly picked to email this quarter whenever I missed class and needed to get the homework. There’s about a 1 in 25 chance of that, and I just got so lucky. Honestly, guy. It’s rude enough to fart in public, and it’s worse when your farts actually stink. *gagging sounds* Hey, maybe I should email him. “Dear Mr. Hobo… Stop being a nasty fucker!”

Don’t yank on your balls during a formal presentation. That’s just nasty. Don’t fart in class. Every day. In multiple 10-second-long bursts. There are no words to express how fucking disgusting that is.