Where I should be excited that I am at the taping of my favorite sports TV show (it's good to be an intern, yo), I am instead having a silent freakout.
This post is written from the Blackberry because my computer is having a severe case of PMS. Long story short, I was being a brat to poor Savion and now when I restart her there is a hateful blue death screen with scary words like "BIOS" and "SAFE MODE" and just...oh, it's awful. My old computer did the same thing. Towards the end of her life. Which is why she is no longer with us!! Well, she's at my parents house, barely alive. So I guess she's in ICU or hospice. Not quite dead.
But anyway. By the grace of God, the assignment I thought was due today wasn't (I had church right in my driver's seat), but I NEED my computer to work!
Plus I've had a long day/week/life and I now I can't even unwind by watching a cheesy p*rno!!
I can't believe I just wrote that. But we're all adults, here. And you can't tell me laughing hysterically to some stupidly-titled, low budget flick doesn't warm the coldest of hearts. And if you say "ick no I've never watched 'Beverly Hills Bordello' and laughed mightily" then you are a liar and should be experiencing flames from the vicinity of your pantaloons.
FFUUUUUUUCCCCKKKK!!
PS--I hear Charles Barkley and I see Chris Webber! OMG my dad is gonna be so jealous! I love my life (this last post aside, of course).
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
What a day, What a Day
The grand list of Lucky's Favorite Holidays goes a little something like this:
1. Christmas
2. My birthday
3. Thanksgiving
The list is longer, but in this case the rest are really irrelevant.
Pay special attention to that second one, because it's coming up soon--November 7. **Yes, on this day that the Lord hath made, I was born almost 20 (gasp!) years ago. If I haven't said this before, birthdays are a huge deal to me. It's partly because I started school early, so I'm always the last birthday--even now all of my friends are older than me. Age before beauty, I say.
If you're wondering whether or not my age has ever kept me from partying with my of-age friends, rest assured that no, it has not. Well, I was turned away from a club freshman year because I was only 17, but I was also so very, very stupid: I'd forgotten my ID anyway (it was my first time, okay?). Me and Ms. Politics had to ride the train and then walk back to campus in the chilly [cold and unfriendly] fall night. One of us was wearing a very short skirt. And it wasn't Ms. Politics.
Celebrating birthdays isn't immature, either, it makes total sense: your birthday is the day you came upon this very earth! Basically I'm a total kid when it comes to birthdays. It's funny because my birthday usually falls on Election Day, and this year, ironically, it doesn't. When I was little, I used to think that people were making a big deal about Nov. 7th because it was my birthday, not voting day (secretly I still think so).
**I giggle every time I say "November 7th." It's the 5-year old in me, okay?
I also reserve the right to be incredibly self-serving on my birthday (everyone does, in my opinion, so it's okay). And especially with the tough time I've been having lately, a little self-indulgence is the order of the day. So without further adieu, we have Lucky's Birthday List (non-comprehensive):
1. Kimora: Life in the Fab Lane on DVD
2. a digital camera (my old one broke)
3. Zoolander and Transformers on DVD
4. "I Love Black People" t-shirt
5. A birthday kiss! (a. negotiable, 2. cyber-kisses from the blogosphere are totally accepted and invited, FYI)
As I said, it's a work in progress. I'm not sure if I want to have a party or anything, or even go out to dinner. I wouldn't mind a quiet evening with me, my DVDs, and, well, chocolate cupcakes with pink frosting (ahem, Motown Lover, Sistah Girl, and Top Chef, y'all know y'all can throw down in the kitchen!) would be nice. I have to think of one totally extravagant and girly thing to do for myself, though. A movie-marathon? Mini shopping-spree? Help, dear readers! What should I do for my special day? Share your brilliance. And for kicks, spill: what was your best birthday so far?
I'll [show] tell you mine if you [show] tell me yours. Ha.
1. Christmas
2. My birthday
3. Thanksgiving
The list is longer, but in this case the rest are really irrelevant.
Pay special attention to that second one, because it's coming up soon--November 7. **Yes, on this day that the Lord hath made, I was born almost 20 (gasp!) years ago. If I haven't said this before, birthdays are a huge deal to me. It's partly because I started school early, so I'm always the last birthday--even now all of my friends are older than me. Age before beauty, I say.
If you're wondering whether or not my age has ever kept me from partying with my of-age friends, rest assured that no, it has not. Well, I was turned away from a club freshman year because I was only 17, but I was also so very, very stupid: I'd forgotten my ID anyway (it was my first time, okay?). Me and Ms. Politics had to ride the train and then walk back to campus in the chilly [cold and unfriendly] fall night. One of us was wearing a very short skirt. And it wasn't Ms. Politics.
Celebrating birthdays isn't immature, either, it makes total sense: your birthday is the day you came upon this very earth! Basically I'm a total kid when it comes to birthdays. It's funny because my birthday usually falls on Election Day, and this year, ironically, it doesn't. When I was little, I used to think that people were making a big deal about Nov. 7th because it was my birthday, not voting day (secretly I still think so).
**I giggle every time I say "November 7th." It's the 5-year old in me, okay?
I also reserve the right to be incredibly self-serving on my birthday (everyone does, in my opinion, so it's okay). And especially with the tough time I've been having lately, a little self-indulgence is the order of the day. So without further adieu, we have Lucky's Birthday List (non-comprehensive):
1. Kimora: Life in the Fab Lane on DVD
2. a digital camera (my old one broke)
3. Zoolander and Transformers on DVD
4. "I Love Black People" t-shirt
5. A birthday kiss! (a. negotiable, 2. cyber-kisses from the blogosphere are totally accepted and invited, FYI)
As I said, it's a work in progress. I'm not sure if I want to have a party or anything, or even go out to dinner. I wouldn't mind a quiet evening with me, my DVDs, and, well, chocolate cupcakes with pink frosting (ahem, Motown Lover, Sistah Girl, and Top Chef, y'all know y'all can throw down in the kitchen!) would be nice. I have to think of one totally extravagant and girly thing to do for myself, though. A movie-marathon? Mini shopping-spree? Help, dear readers! What should I do for my special day? Share your brilliance. And for kicks, spill: what was your best birthday so far?
I'll [show] tell you mine if you [show] tell me yours. Ha.
Monday, October 27, 2008
What It's All About
"Step Out on Faith" by Kevin A. Williams
"Power of Love" (K.A.W.)
"The Future" (K.A.W.)
Because I just can't get enough of that black love!
Next, I'm gonna get one of these shirts...
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
What's Going On
We know that cooking is not, nor has it ever been, my forte. I am just too lazy. For the first month of school, I begged Top Chef to make me food so I wouldn't waste away to nothingness. Imagine my pride, then, when I whipped up some Hamburger Helper the other day! And corn! So there I am, playing music (for ambience, baby) and taking a picture of my cuisine, when Roommate's BF (henceforth known as RBF) comes in with an armload of groceries.
"You cooked!" he said.
"I know, right? And I didn't burn the house down!" I said.
Then Roommate comes downstairs.
"You cooked!" she said.
Honestly. I made all those chicken pot-pies, didn't I?
Anyway, after bemused appreciation of my efforts, Roommate and RBF proceed to go all Iron Chef on me and whip up this...feast. Putting my poor salisbury-steak flavored, Hamburger Helper-y goodness to shame. I slunk out of the kitchen, recognizing defeat. I felt like Jazz on the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air after Trevor prepares creme brulee for Hilary: "I guess no one wants the Pop-Tarts I made!"
I had to laugh, though. And I didn't leave, either. At first (we're making progress, yes?) Instead I sat my ass (with my food, thanks) on the couch and watched Fantastic Four 2 while they prepared their romantic dinner for two. I don't know what they made (potatoes were involved), but anything can be a romantic dinner when the couple making it is SO FREAKING CUTE YOU WANT TO DIE. They are. She's so petite and has a tiny little chipper voice and he is tall, dark and absolutely positively fuckable. And nice. And walks around in--I kid you not--wifebeaters. The first time I walked in to that sight my heart almost stopped. Every time I see him I probably have lust in my eyes. I just know it.
Moving on. I just realized that there are a few people who are dear to me that I barely acknowledge here. It's partly because our antics are too long to transcribe but deserve a mention nonetheless. Dr. Argentina is a main character in the story of mi vida. He is...a lot, to say the least. He goes to Brother College and we've been friends since freshman year. Literally a party in a bomber jacket, he's a really good listener, and is smart as hell to boot. He's crazy and I love him. And yes, insert Will and Grace analogy here--applicable to me, Cali Girl, Ex-Roommate (henceforth known as Ms. Politics/Ms. Politician/or similar), and Sistah Girl, especially him and CG.
Take last homecoming, for example:
Me: Should I wear Spanx tonight?
Him: What the hell are those?
Me: (I explain this marvelous invention)
Him: (Without hesitation) Yep, put 'em on. You may get into a fight tonight and we don't want your ass hanging out: (Imitating, presumably, me raring for a fight): "I wore Spanx for bitches just like you!"
So yes. Welcome Dr. Argentina to the canon of crazy.
CG, Ms. P and me saw The Secret Life of Bees yesterday. Loved it. I had to read the book for class, and although it didn't match up to the text (movies never do), I loved it. Yes, probably could have been better actresses, blah blah, but whatever. And Nate Parker was in it, formerly of The Great Debaters fame. Yum-o.
Ugh. I'm sitting here in classes listening to psuedo-philosophical discussions that are slowly breaking my spirit, honey. Here we go. "Beyonce is too sexual in her new video blah blah." These fucking puritannical collegiates make me nauseous. It's like any type of sexuality or, hell, bare skin is shamed and thought to be Destroying the Black Community. Get over it. The dance team at Brother College is WAY sluttier than Beyonce's choreographed, trained dance routine done wearing a--ohmigosh!--dance costume and high heels. College teaches you to critically analyze, but I hate when people take that for blowing every single thing the fuck out of proportion.
Maybe I'm just not enlightened enough. Ha. It's just probably my dirty mind justifying its place in an academic setting. Well shit, if that's the case, I'd better make my filth-ridden mind a drink 'cause its here to stay, thank God.
*PS-will add links later, when I should not, in fact, be doing other productive things.
"You cooked!" he said.
"I know, right? And I didn't burn the house down!" I said.
Then Roommate comes downstairs.
"You cooked!" she said.
Honestly. I made all those chicken pot-pies, didn't I?
Anyway, after bemused appreciation of my efforts, Roommate and RBF proceed to go all Iron Chef on me and whip up this...feast. Putting my poor salisbury-steak flavored, Hamburger Helper-y goodness to shame. I slunk out of the kitchen, recognizing defeat. I felt like Jazz on the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air after Trevor prepares creme brulee for Hilary: "I guess no one wants the Pop-Tarts I made!"
I had to laugh, though. And I didn't leave, either. At first (we're making progress, yes?) Instead I sat my ass (with my food, thanks) on the couch and watched Fantastic Four 2 while they prepared their romantic dinner for two. I don't know what they made (potatoes were involved), but anything can be a romantic dinner when the couple making it is SO FREAKING CUTE YOU WANT TO DIE. They are. She's so petite and has a tiny little chipper voice and he is tall, dark and absolutely positively fuckable. And nice. And walks around in--I kid you not--wifebeaters. The first time I walked in to that sight my heart almost stopped. Every time I see him I probably have lust in my eyes. I just know it.
Moving on. I just realized that there are a few people who are dear to me that I barely acknowledge here. It's partly because our antics are too long to transcribe but deserve a mention nonetheless. Dr. Argentina is a main character in the story of mi vida. He is...a lot, to say the least. He goes to Brother College and we've been friends since freshman year. Literally a party in a bomber jacket, he's a really good listener, and is smart as hell to boot. He's crazy and I love him. And yes, insert Will and Grace analogy here--applicable to me, Cali Girl, Ex-Roommate (henceforth known as Ms. Politics/Ms. Politician/or similar), and Sistah Girl, especially him and CG.
Take last homecoming, for example:
Me: Should I wear Spanx tonight?
Him: What the hell are those?
Me: (I explain this marvelous invention)
Him: (Without hesitation) Yep, put 'em on. You may get into a fight tonight and we don't want your ass hanging out: (Imitating, presumably, me raring for a fight): "I wore Spanx for bitches just like you!"
So yes. Welcome Dr. Argentina to the canon of crazy.
CG, Ms. P and me saw The Secret Life of Bees yesterday. Loved it. I had to read the book for class, and although it didn't match up to the text (movies never do), I loved it. Yes, probably could have been better actresses, blah blah, but whatever. And Nate Parker was in it, formerly of The Great Debaters fame. Yum-o.
Ugh. I'm sitting here in classes listening to psuedo-philosophical discussions that are slowly breaking my spirit, honey. Here we go. "Beyonce is too sexual in her new video blah blah." These fucking puritannical collegiates make me nauseous. It's like any type of sexuality or, hell, bare skin is shamed and thought to be Destroying the Black Community. Get over it. The dance team at Brother College is WAY sluttier than Beyonce's choreographed, trained dance routine done wearing a--ohmigosh!--dance costume and high heels. College teaches you to critically analyze, but I hate when people take that for blowing every single thing the fuck out of proportion.
Maybe I'm just not enlightened enough. Ha. It's just probably my dirty mind justifying its place in an academic setting. Well shit, if that's the case, I'd better make my filth-ridden mind a drink 'cause its here to stay, thank God.
*PS-will add links later, when I should not, in fact, be doing other productive things.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Flashback Quote
I just erased a post. It was about a past sort-of, almost removal of underwear.
Have you ever looked back on a fake relationship and felt nostalgic, mortified, embarrassed, an anger that, left unchecked, could turn into hatred, and relieved to be "rid of that asshole" all at once?
It's been happening a lot lately. Please tell me I'm not the only one.
Have you ever looked back on a fake relationship and felt nostalgic, mortified, embarrassed, an anger that, left unchecked, could turn into hatred, and relieved to be "rid of that asshole" all at once?
It's been happening a lot lately. Please tell me I'm not the only one.
Friday, October 17, 2008
City Love
I'm going to bed soon, I swear.
I just had to comment on the momentous occasion that today (well, yesterday) was John Mayer's birthday. As one of my All Time Favorite artists, I wouldn't feel right unless I marked the day. John's (I call him that because we're tight like that) first album, "Room for Squares" reminds me of high school. I was just starting to come into my own and that CD got me through. I remember the first time I heard "Your Body is a Wonderland." It was a Thursday evening. I remember the first time I saw him in concert--it was outside, and I still have the t-shirt. I remember staring at my ceiling, playing "Love Song for No One" over and over, singing with the music that said "I'm tired of being alone/so hurry up and/get here." My favorite quote is from "Why Georgia Why" that goes:
So what
So I've got a smile on?
Well it's hiding
The quiet superstitions
In my head.
Don't believe me
Don't believe me
Don't believe me
When I say
I've got it down
Everybody's just a stranger
But that's the danger in
Going my own way
Guess it's a price I have to pay
Still everything happens for a reason
That's the reason why
I ask myself
Am I living it right?
Am I living it right?
Am I living it right?
Why, Georgia, why?
Anyone who has figured out the album "Room for Squares" has, in turn, figured me out. In which case he (hopefully it's a he) should marry me immediately because John Mayer has managed to take almost every insecurity or looming, wondering thought I've ever had, twist it around to make perfect sense, and put it against his acoustic guitar.
And for that, I am eternally grateful.
I just had to comment on the momentous occasion that today (well, yesterday) was John Mayer's birthday. As one of my All Time Favorite artists, I wouldn't feel right unless I marked the day. John's (I call him that because we're tight like that) first album, "Room for Squares" reminds me of high school. I was just starting to come into my own and that CD got me through. I remember the first time I heard "Your Body is a Wonderland." It was a Thursday evening. I remember the first time I saw him in concert--it was outside, and I still have the t-shirt. I remember staring at my ceiling, playing "Love Song for No One" over and over, singing with the music that said "I'm tired of being alone/so hurry up and/get here." My favorite quote is from "Why Georgia Why" that goes:
So what
So I've got a smile on?
Well it's hiding
The quiet superstitions
In my head.
Don't believe me
Don't believe me
Don't believe me
When I say
I've got it down
Everybody's just a stranger
But that's the danger in
Going my own way
Guess it's a price I have to pay
Still everything happens for a reason
That's the reason why
I ask myself
Am I living it right?
Am I living it right?
Am I living it right?
Why, Georgia, why?
Anyone who has figured out the album "Room for Squares" has, in turn, figured me out. In which case he (hopefully it's a he) should marry me immediately because John Mayer has managed to take almost every insecurity or looming, wondering thought I've ever had, twist it around to make perfect sense, and put it against his acoustic guitar.
And for that, I am eternally grateful.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Pit-Stop on the Road of Life
Don't cast me to the wolves, y'all. I'm still here. Just am busy as hell and I wouldn't feel right half-assing my blog posts just to say I filled some quota. Once the world has been set to rights, I will be back, in dramatic tang fashion.**
**The correct term is "in dramatic c*nt fashion" in reference to The Gays among us. But, try as I might, I cannot type that word, let alone say it/use it/call anyone it who is not a Gay. Cindy McCain I am not. And for that I thank--on bended knee--the one we call J-E-S-U-S.
Speaking of Jesus, I recently compiled a list of My Favorite Men (besides my guy friends) and He was on it. The list goes:
1. Jesus.
2. My dad
3. My godfather, Uncle C
4. (tie) Barack Obama and Jose Cuervo
Now before you say anything, to me, Jose Cuervo is, indeed, very, very real. Anyway, stay tuned because, as we've been studying binary opposition, I will probably make a list in the very near future of my NOT-so-favorite men. This you won't want to miss. Here's a hint: John McOldFart will probably be on there somewhere.
And that's just in the politics category...
**The correct term is "in dramatic c*nt fashion" in reference to The Gays among us. But, try as I might, I cannot type that word, let alone say it/use it/call anyone it who is not a Gay. Cindy McCain I am not. And for that I thank--on bended knee--the one we call J-E-S-U-S.
Speaking of Jesus, I recently compiled a list of My Favorite Men (besides my guy friends) and He was on it. The list goes:
1. Jesus.
2. My dad
3. My godfather, Uncle C
4. (tie) Barack Obama and Jose Cuervo
Now before you say anything, to me, Jose Cuervo is, indeed, very, very real. Anyway, stay tuned because, as we've been studying binary opposition, I will probably make a list in the very near future of my NOT-so-favorite men. This you won't want to miss. Here's a hint: John McOldFart will probably be on there somewhere.
And that's just in the politics category...
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Gold Digger's Lament
I'm starting to think that money really does make the world go 'round. Was it supposed to be love? No, I'm pretty sure it's money.
There's just never enough of it. I'm not quite struggling by any means (I don't think), but sometimes it just seems like I'm supposed to have more money that I do. A lot of it has to do with my environment. For me, there's a lot attached to money and asking for it. I'm not going to get into it, but money problems have affected me way more that I let on. And the problem with that secrecy is that I can't keep up. I can't just ask my parents for money. What's more, I don't want to. That's the part people don't realize. I very well could just keep asking for Mom to put more money in my account, but again, for reasons I will skip over at this moment, I choose not to, unless I really, really need to. Contrary to popular belief, going out to dinner or a movie does not qualify as a "need."
What I'm inarticulately saying is, I'm not cheap by choice. I am, but I'm not. Things like guilt, memories, responsibility play a large part in the decisions I make when it comes to money. I just wish I could tell people that without telling them.
I guess I just did, huh?
There's just never enough of it. I'm not quite struggling by any means (I don't think), but sometimes it just seems like I'm supposed to have more money that I do. A lot of it has to do with my environment. For me, there's a lot attached to money and asking for it. I'm not going to get into it, but money problems have affected me way more that I let on. And the problem with that secrecy is that I can't keep up. I can't just ask my parents for money. What's more, I don't want to. That's the part people don't realize. I very well could just keep asking for Mom to put more money in my account, but again, for reasons I will skip over at this moment, I choose not to, unless I really, really need to. Contrary to popular belief, going out to dinner or a movie does not qualify as a "need."
What I'm inarticulately saying is, I'm not cheap by choice. I am, but I'm not. Things like guilt, memories, responsibility play a large part in the decisions I make when it comes to money. I just wish I could tell people that without telling them.
I guess I just did, huh?
Awww
I'm still here, folks. Enjoy this video while I try to get my life together...
Cute, right? But get into her face at the 0:33 mark. She's like, "Who the fuck is...now I KNOW that is not...ok for real, somebody please tell me what the fuck is goin' on..."
Cute, right? But get into her face at the 0:33 mark. She's like, "Who the fuck is...now I KNOW that is not...ok for real, somebody please tell me what the fuck is goin' on..."
Sunday, October 5, 2008
I'm Not Bitter I'm Just Sayin'
I am nothing if not a staunch perpetuate of that highly coveted "Black love." I think it is a beautiful thing. And I love my roommate as much as someone can love a roommate they barely see but is still somehow slightly jealous of. Honest-it seems like I complain about her a lot but she's a great person to live with. I have issues, not her.
But. When I am trying to relax at the kitchen table and watch Youtube videos of sex songs, I need to do so alone. I was, in fact, doing so alone, until I heard the front door open and had to snatch my 'do-rag off quickly, forgetting that the jumbo-sized bag of Tostitos on which I was snacking was, uh, hers. I thought Roommate and BF would go upstairs and screw or something, seeing as they hadn't seen each other in like three days after her business trip. Oh, no. They sauntered around on the couch in front of the TV deciding what they wanted for dinner. Except the TV was OFF. THE CABLE IS BROKEN! I wanted to scream. SO WHY ARE YOU STILL DOWN HERE?!?
If you think I let us dance around in semi-awkward silence, you know nothing about the art of survival. I chose the least romantic music on my Itunes, ergo, Lil Wayne.
To cap it off, after losing an entire post dedicated to Lil Wayne last night because of bitchy Comcast, I spent a dramatic two days trying to install the stupid wireless internet. After I finally succeeded, Roommate comes home and asks if we can move the router upstairs into the office. Hold the hell on. I slaved over this internet connection. I forged a path through about a thousand different cords (how many fucking cords do you need to get ethernet? DSL? Whatever it's called) to set up Linksys. I yelled at the automated and completely useless tech support lady to put that thing up. Putting it together the first 50 times was traumatic enough. That router is staying right the hell where I left it. For now, at least.
Breathe. When they come back downstairs, I need to be safely in my room. I hate leaving while they're down here because every time I try they say something like, "Oh, you don't have to leave!" while they are giving each other back rubs or something.
To which I say, oh, but I do.
But. When I am trying to relax at the kitchen table and watch Youtube videos of sex songs, I need to do so alone. I was, in fact, doing so alone, until I heard the front door open and had to snatch my 'do-rag off quickly, forgetting that the jumbo-sized bag of Tostitos on which I was snacking was, uh, hers. I thought Roommate and BF would go upstairs and screw or something, seeing as they hadn't seen each other in like three days after her business trip. Oh, no. They sauntered around on the couch in front of the TV deciding what they wanted for dinner. Except the TV was OFF. THE CABLE IS BROKEN! I wanted to scream. SO WHY ARE YOU STILL DOWN HERE?!?
If you think I let us dance around in semi-awkward silence, you know nothing about the art of survival. I chose the least romantic music on my Itunes, ergo, Lil Wayne.
To cap it off, after losing an entire post dedicated to Lil Wayne last night because of bitchy Comcast, I spent a dramatic two days trying to install the stupid wireless internet. After I finally succeeded, Roommate comes home and asks if we can move the router upstairs into the office. Hold the hell on. I slaved over this internet connection. I forged a path through about a thousand different cords (how many fucking cords do you need to get ethernet? DSL? Whatever it's called) to set up Linksys. I yelled at the automated and completely useless tech support lady to put that thing up. Putting it together the first 50 times was traumatic enough. That router is staying right the hell where I left it. For now, at least.
Breathe. When they come back downstairs, I need to be safely in my room. I hate leaving while they're down here because every time I try they say something like, "Oh, you don't have to leave!" while they are giving each other back rubs or something.
To which I say, oh, but I do.
Saturday, October 4, 2008
Watch and Learn
All things considered, Usher's song "Trading Places" leaves a bit to be desired. The lyrics **are, well, pedestrian and cliche ("Gonna pay for dinner/take me to a movie/And whisper how bad/you really wanna do me"? Lord, have mercy). As for the video, it's raunchy, racy, and riqsue. And guess what?
I love it.
I can't even talk about it. It's just...wow. I'd like to...boy, oh, boy. And of course I totally watched it in class today.
**Except for this line: "You order Chinese food right before you do me." Pepper steak and a poke? Oh, if only.
I love it.
I can't even talk about it. It's just...wow. I'd like to...boy, oh, boy. And of course I totally watched it in class today.
**Except for this line: "You order Chinese food right before you do me." Pepper steak and a poke? Oh, if only.
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