Rocks

I'm at a friend's place and when I say friend's place, I mean a bar. So, I'm at the "place" and someone told this random guy that it was okay to make small talk WITH ME. I still have NO idea who this jokester is, however this is the joke they played. The guy walks up and yells over the music, because that's FOR SURE the best way EVER to get in a girl's pants, "HEY! DO YOU OG?" I smiled and nodded, "Sure, I love to JOG! Clearly. You don't get this body, (and I did the point thing from head to toe) without loving to jog, my friend..."(The funniest part is for those who have seen me and know I CLEARLY don't jog. So that was fun in itself.) The guy's shaking his head back and forth like he's shaking off his catcher at the big game and says to me, "NO! NOT JOG SILLY, BLOG!" Still yelling of course over the damn music...

At this point, I'm annoyed. My glass is totally half empty, not half full and my hair's falling to the wrong damn side...you can't be over your personal weight limit AND have fucked up hair. It's in the "Fat & Tan or Skinny & White, You Choose" handbook that you get entering the seventh grade...however that's another chapter. And so I flip my hair and ask politely, "What the fuck is a blog?"

And here I am. Blogging. Not fucking jogging. But I might start that, too.