Tag Archives: GREs

Hey Guys!


I turned in a wallet I found walking into my Metro station last week and didn’t even think about stealing her $6.  That guarantees me good karma for a solid week, right?

(Wow, it just took me an extra long time to figure out how to spell guarantee.  Maybe that’s why I failed the GREs this weekend.  Oh, you think you can’t fail the GREs?  Allow me to rephrase: SOMEONE has to be in the 5th percentile.  Maybe I should have studied.  High five.)


I was at Iron Horse this weekend after shoveling a shit ton of pasta into my mouth in celebration of Roommate A’s birthday and struck up conversation with the gentleman standing next to me at the bar.  After establishing that he was single, seemingly normal, gainfully employed and easy on the eyes (and not for me), I told him that I had the perfect woman for him– Friend B.

I worked wing-woman skills like you’ve never seen before.  I showed him Facebook pictures of Friend B, quizzed him on likes and dislikes, creepily took his picture (with his consent, otherwise would just be stalker-level creepy) to send to Friend B (who gave the nod of approval) and got his contact information.  I sent them both an e-mail of introduction yesterday afternoon and suggested they grab drinks.  They are doing just that tomorrow night.  No big deal.

I’m INCREDIBLY proud of myself.  I wish them a life of happiness so I can forever take credit.  No pressure though, guys.  No pressure.


I spent the majority of Friday night watching the Olympic diving trials.  Hard to have a conversation when men with 0% body fat are on the big screen in Speedos.  I’m sorry– what were you saying?  He just did a back flip and now he’s all wet.

I would never say that I’m un-patriotic by any means.  I love fireworks and hot dogs and will drink Bud Light if it’s in front of me, but wouldn’t say I’m super super into American pride by any stretch.  But during the Olympics, I get all excited and American as hell and resist all urges to run around town yelling USA! USA! USA! at the top of my lungs.  I’m so excited.


Happy birthday, Roommate A!  Your gift is another year of sheer bliss living in the same household as me.  The feeling is mutual.



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