OH, You Mean Taff? That BAMF!

So I figured I'd open this post with something amusing.

There's this girl who lives on the third floor (where I live), her name is Sophia. She tried to sell me her printer.
Sometimes, you'll go into the bathroom and all of the lights are on but it doesn't look like anyone's in there. (we're really environmentally conscious here, the last person in the bathroom turns out the light). You'll go into a stall to do your business (PEE, YOU DUMB SHIT!). You'll wash your hands. You'll turn out the lights and walk out. Then three seconds later, you'll hear a loud

"HEY, HEY!"


Oh, Sophia.

What do you do in there?

Last time I walked into the bathroom right after she left it, it smelled like meat.
Ground beef, to be exact.

So I'm going to New York with Julia this weekend.
My parents are very strongly against it.
Normally, I would say "but they can't do anything about it!"
But actually, they can.
Due to the code "2222" next to my name.
(which means I'm a prisoner at the school with my parents' permission)

I have found a way to overcome this!
I forwarded an "e-mail from my mom" to our dean's assistant telling her that I have permission to go to the city.
In actuality, it's a letter listing specific reasons why I'm not allowed to go.
I even let all grammar and articles go to the wind!

Oh, and I accidentally cut class yesterday to have lunch with Matt.
This is getting very bad.
(also, I might miss out on NY because I have Sunday Detention...)






Just to let you know, I was being completely sarcastic throughout this entire post. Never would I refer to myself as a BAMF, even when meant as a compliment, it's an insult.