I’m sick and it sucks. Jorge came over yesterday afternoon and we hung out for a bit at my apartment watching TV. We had made plans to meet up with Kip and Manuel and have dinner at Chipotle, then go bowling at the UT Student Union.
Jorge wanted to borrow a shirt because he didn’t like what he was wearing, or some other weird reason. He kept pulling out shirts from my closet and I was like, “No. That won’t fit you and I don’t want you stretching it out.” He was totally stressing me out. I don’t know why I agreed to let him borrow something.
Then he wanted to wear my Hustler shirt and I had to tell him no. I have such issues with people wearing my clothes. I always have, and I’m not too sure why. I think it’s partly because I love my clothes so much and it’s kind of like they are my identity and I don’t want someone else stealing my look.
He kept asking me where I got some of the things in my apartment, but I wouldn’t tell him. I don’t want him shopping at the same places as me. Why does that stress me out so much?
I just don’t ever want to go to his house and see all of “my” stuff there, and I don’t want to see him out wearing the same things as me; it’s just weird. It’s very Single White Female. I’m not saying he’s trying to “steal” my life though.
I would feel the same way about anyone having the same things as me. Yup, I’ve got issues.
Anyways… so we went to the drag and did some shopping at Urban Outfitters, then Legs Diamond. That little mega hot sexy ass guy was working. If I pray every night, do you think he’ll be my boyfriend?
We had dinner at Chipotle, which I remember that I don’t really like. They never roll my burrito the right way and it pisses me off. Could they at least roll it so that all of the ingredients are equally mixed?
When I asked for cheese, she just lumped a handful of cheese right in the middle; she didn’t even spread it out. Ugggh! Those people stress me out. I eventually just opened it up and ate it with a fork because it was too much rice and cheese all in one spot, and I couldn’t get to the chicken.
After dinner we went to the Union to bowl. I was really quiet (shocking, I know) because I wasn’t feeling well. I wasn’t sure if it was a cold or allergies. I think it may be allergies and I think it’s my sister’s dog that’s doing it to me.
My voice was all raspy and gross, and my throat was sore (it still is). I couldn’t really talk well. To make matters worse, my ankles are all scrapped up and gross from when I helped Leo move stuff out of his storage. I couldn’t really get into my bowling shoes without being in pain.
Yeah, so basically I was a broke down ho.
I bowled horribly, like shamefully bad, compared to how I bowled on Tuesday. I’m going to just say it was because of the foot, the sick, and the new lane… because it sure couldn’t have been that I just can’t bowl. 
We bowled three games and then went to play some air hockey. That didn’t last too long, so we hung around while Kip and Jorge played Mrs. Pacman, then we left to my apartment.
I had to let Manuel follow me home and he drives so slow that I was in pain. I can’t stand to drive that slow. He was seriously going 10 miles under the speed limit. It felt like it took an eternity to get home and I was completely unnerved.
We hung out at my place and watched Love Actually. Jorge picked it out, and I was more than happy to agree to watch it. Jorge had also invited two of his friends over to hang out (without asking me, I might add), so they watched with us for about 45 minutes, then left.
I just stayed quiet in the corner and kept to myself. I was so worn down and icky feeling. They all didn’t leave until almost 4am, so I just walked the dog and went to bed afterwards.
I woke up this morning at 11:30. My cell went off, letting me know I had a voice mail, but the phone never rang. When I checked it, I had two message from yesterday. Why didn’t I get them earlier? I need a new phone!
So I’ve been sitting around the apartment feeling miserable, but I think I’m going to meet up with M.Lo in a few to do something. I need to get away from this dog.
