Marc
Last night ended in a sentimental journey back home where Matt and I took out our frustrations on our couch and coffeetable. Sadly they couldn't make it back in for breakfast this morning as they are either in pieces in the dumpster (coffee table) or sitting idly by, upside down, kicked and tattered at the construction site next door (the couch). We didn't burn either one of them like our next door neighbors did. It was a nice ten-foot flam, burning for quite a while until the fire department showed up and went to work. It took 'em forever to get here, too. Good thing it was just a couch and not, let's say, our house.
Matt was getting all sentimental about not partying much anymore, and I guess we really had no other choice, you know? Just needed to get it all out, and the couch seemed like the most likely candidate, what with the hole that's been in it forever at the far end. So, we beat the shit out of it. Somebody peed on it, too, which kind of sucked because, you know, how're you supposed to punch and kick it when there's pee all over it? Gross, but it's what happened. I didn't participate after too much longer.
Some people were wanting to take it and burn it, and I guess I just don't see the fun in that. Where's the aggression and tension that's getting released by burning something? Makes no sense to me. Kick it, punching it, hitting it with brooms and shit -- that's getting out a good release. Torching it? Nah, bra. Not feeling it.
It was a weird weekend all around, I'd say. I got into a spitting fight with my newest roommie, Erin, last night. She actually spit on my glasses, so I had no choice but to retaliate. I spit in her hair. Love is in the air, you know? Everyone let's go a little bit now that warm weather looks like it may be here for good. I don't know. I turn 23 on Friday, and I can't believe that I still think things like "breaking a couch is cool" and "getting in a spitting fight is cool". Whatev.
Last night ended in a sentimental journey back home where Matt and I took out our frustrations on our couch and coffeetable. Sadly they couldn't make it back in for breakfast this morning as they are either in pieces in the dumpster (coffee table) or sitting idly by, upside down, kicked and tattered at the construction site next door (the couch). We didn't burn either one of them like our next door neighbors did. It was a nice ten-foot flam, burning for quite a while until the fire department showed up and went to work. It took 'em forever to get here, too. Good thing it was just a couch and not, let's say, our house.
Matt was getting all sentimental about not partying much anymore, and I guess we really had no other choice, you know? Just needed to get it all out, and the couch seemed like the most likely candidate, what with the hole that's been in it forever at the far end. So, we beat the shit out of it. Somebody peed on it, too, which kind of sucked because, you know, how're you supposed to punch and kick it when there's pee all over it? Gross, but it's what happened. I didn't participate after too much longer.
Some people were wanting to take it and burn it, and I guess I just don't see the fun in that. Where's the aggression and tension that's getting released by burning something? Makes no sense to me. Kick it, punching it, hitting it with brooms and shit -- that's getting out a good release. Torching it? Nah, bra. Not feeling it.
It was a weird weekend all around, I'd say. I got into a spitting fight with my newest roommie, Erin, last night. She actually spit on my glasses, so I had no choice but to retaliate. I spit in her hair. Love is in the air, you know? Everyone let's go a little bit now that warm weather looks like it may be here for good. I don't know. I turn 23 on Friday, and I can't believe that I still think things like "breaking a couch is cool" and "getting in a spitting fight is cool". Whatev.
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