You writer, you liar!

That makes sense. 

I do know an Emma! One of my best friends from high school is named Emma! I get in trouble when I’m with Emma. Emma is the inventor of Fuck Shit Up Mondays, which means that when we were together on Mondays, we’d randomly select people (or we’d have other people make suggestions and choose from those) whose shit we’d fuck up. This included things like hiding raw hot dogs in cars of people who left their doors unlocked/windows down. In order to prepare for Fuck Shit Up Monday, we’d wear combat boots, fishnet stockings, and red lipstick. (Beware the girls who wear red lipstick on Mondays!)

She was also there/encouraging me when I got my first traffic ticket, which is a really strange story. 

She was also the first of my friends to visit me when I was in New Orleans, and we decided to cut and dye our hair exactly the same and wear matching outfits and tell everyone we were twin sisters. We basically look nothing alike, but somehow it worked. There are pictures somewhere. 

Somehow that doesn’t surprise me, though it does sort of depress me. 

I’ve not read The Moon is a Hard Mistress, but it’s on my to-read list. It seems kind of awesome, and Robert Heinlein is fantastic, so I look forward to reading it. 

I don’t think I know any Isabellas. My 5th-6th grade best friend was named Kylie Isabella. She was from Holland. That’s the closest I can think of. 

How strange! Jacob must be the patron saint of bodily oddities. 

I did not know that about the name David. I know many, many Davids. There were 3 Davids on my floor freshman year: Dildo Dave, Douchbag Dave, and David Holmes, sometimes affectionately referred to as “Terrorist Dave” because our RA insisted that he was Middle Eastern, though he was actually biracial and from Nebraska. Anyway, Dildo Dave was named such because the first week of school one of the girls on our floor got stranded at a bar, and he volunteered to go pick her up. A bunch of people from the floor went with him for some reason, and they were all in his car, and Dave was like, “I’m really sorry about this guys, but I have to make a phone call.” So, he gets on the phone, and the guy answers, and Dave is like, “YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE, DID YOU LEAVE THAT DILDO IN MY CAR?” And that fucking asshole did in fact leave that dildo in his car. They found it after he got off the phone, and it was big and black, and I think it was later fused to a Nerf gun and made into a weapon. Anyway, that’s how he became Dildo Dave. As for Douchebag Dave, he was a really nice guy. I don’t know why we called him Douchebag Dave. 

You have the flu? =\ I’m sorry!! I hope you feel better soon. 

I do know a Jacob! My ex-boyfriend’s cousin is named Jacob. He does not have a bellybutton. 

Those are good choices. Those are the names of two people I married! 

Michael was my 8th grade boyfriend. I was his punk rock princess, and he was my garage band king. We had a punk rock wedding on the lake near my house. We didn’t have cake mix, so we had a cornbread cake with blue food dye. To my wedding, I wore a plaid skirt, bowling shoes, studded bracelets, and a Dropkick Murphys wifebeater. He wore jeans and a baseball hat. After the ceremony, we all jumped in the lake with our clothes on. A year later, I broke up with him by giving him a cartoon of a little guy I called “Jeffrey the Boyfriend Eater.” Here is the only picture I have from the wedding; I wish I had a better one, but this is kissing the bride: 

Jessica was the suitemate I told you about who stole my RA’s pajamas and made pancakes with me for him. We liked to take long walks together at night. On one of our walks, it started raining when we walked by a frat party and decided to invite ourselves in. We stayed for about 30 minutes and had some soda before heading into one of the frat brothers rooms, stealing some warmer clothes from his closet, and leaving. We decided to get married once when I was at Walmart, and she was stranded at school and we missed each other. We both wore wrapping paper dresses, which I designed. For her vows, she read me the lyrics to “Never Gonna Give You Up” and I read a list of synonyms for the word “great,” which not only described her breasts but also her spirit and our love for each other. We had Ringpop rings. A Jesuit nun attended our wedding and told us that it was the most fun she’d had in awhile. She asked us to invite her if we had any more weddings. Here are some photos: 

Oh why thank you. =] Though, he was rather uncomfortable, I think. Possibly more uncomfortable because of the 5 ft. tall male wearing thigh-high pleather dominatrix boots. We had an interesting floor. 

In 7th grade I was in love with an alcoholic named Luke. His little brother was named Paul. They were rednecks. They taught me how to shoot a gun. Their mother was also an alcoholic, but she was a nice lady. She wanted me and Luke to get married, which is I guess what rednecks do in middle school, besides drink. 

My ex-girlfriend’s ex-girlfriend is named Maddy, and on one of our first dates Maddy flashed everyone at the coffee shop we were at and sat on my ex’s lap, and my ex pretended she wasn’t with me for like 10 minutes because she “didn’t want Maddy to try to steal me.” Moral of the story: I was really weirded out, and that was the night I decided I would never trust my ex-girlfriend. 

The RA of my floor freshman year was named Alex, and we liked to do things to weird him out. Everyone (men included) came to the floor’s lounge in lingerie one day, and we just played cards until he came in. One girl on our floor left a full-size candy bar at his door every few days. I wrote him letters asking to use his bathtub because his was the only room on our floor with a bathtub, and I’d sneak into his room and put the letters in his bathroom. We also somehow got a hold of a calendar he posed for with just a cowboy hat over his crotch and printed out copies and showed them to everyone. My suite mate snuck into his room and stole his favorite duck-print pajama pants and everyone on the floor sort of passed them around and wore them randomly until eventually they were lost. Once, my suite mate and I cooked him a giant pancake breakfast at like 6 AM and broke into his room and fanned him awake with giant leaves. He yelled at us while eating the pancakes.  Eventually, he started locking his door.