Stephen Glass is back. My grandmother was in town for Shabbat, but enjoying my newly endowed VIP status, I still managed to sweep on this weekend, suckas.
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It's been a scene of mix-ups and false starts lately.
Lately, I've been cultivating my inner monologue. It makes it easier to cope. I walk to class with my headphones on, casting a misanthropic eye up and down the Walk.
You have to have plans for Valentine's Day. Everyone has plans. Me, I've got plans, too.
Every February, as Valentine's Day draws near, I find myself reminiscing about the men I've known (in the biblical sense, of course), not so much surveying my options for that particular saint's day as giving myself a big high five for my options of yore.
12:15 a.m.: Stopped by a '90s party on Sansom and didn't know a soul. The hottest girl in the room held hands the entire night with some douchebag wearing a long face and a blazer.
12:15 a.m.: Stopped by a '90s party on Sansom and didn't know a soul. The hottest girl in the room held hands the entire night with some douchebag wearing a long face and a blazer.
You have to have plans for Valentine's Day. Everyone has plans. Me, I've got plans, too.
Every February, as Valentine's Day draws near, I find myself reminiscing about the men I've known (in the biblical sense, of course), not so much surveying my options for that particular saint's day as giving myself a big high five for my options of yore.
The other night I asked a friend who just returned from Zanzibar to describe one thing she learned. Her response: if you look an approaching, possibly deadly coyote dead center in its eye, it will bolt faster than you can say bolt.
Last week's Street-Swept: hella pissed. The Sweeper to return in full next week despite public outcry.
In brief: Coat-snatcher takes advantage of underage drunkards at MarBar... Birthday girl's trip to AC ends in forcible removal from casino... Hunstman torro loses clothes, morals at "quincea¤era"... Older Thetas spotted at Black and Gold party (Sweeper's event of the weekend), waiting in line and lamenting their peak years while making room for young, hotter, less-dressed littles.
Got dirt?
Seven years ago, I was sitting in the back-seat of a parked car. My family had decided to climb the nearby mountains to catch a view of the fireworks and, more importantly, to watch from a safe distance the crumbling of civilization as we then knew it.
Nose Job Files: Spruce St. de-chartered, who supports his taste for plastic surgery with proceeds from his online franchise, is rumored to have made things official with longtime girlfriend.