All or Nothing

Yesterday afternoon, I was feeling sorry for myself. With the coming of my birthday party, it would seem that I would be completely alone. It's been so long since I have ever felt like someone cared for me. But all of that changed with the prospect of Hot or Not.
The internet...truly is a new sexual revolutioin. Ever since I've joined hot or not, I've met many respectable suitors to be the new thing in Emily's pathetic life. Let's take a same look into the men of my life (not like you guys don't know how they are anyway)

Blake- I am truly in awe of how wonderful Blake is. And with a scheme, I will be seeing him in two weeks hopefully. There is no one I trust more and care about more than Blake. No one has treated with me with such respect and care. Why any girl wouldn't want to be with him, is beyond me.
Mr. Hennessey- a Hot or Not guy, strange in some respects, but with those cold brown Irish eyes, he is a fine boy. What will become of it...I don't know.
Colin Donegan- A staple in Emily's life for about, five years now...his slutty girlfriend is about to break up with him and he wants to be with me. Colin looks like Mr. Hennessey in some respects. There are many cons to dating Colin, He dated Jen for a year...he goes to college in Ohio, and all throughout senior year of high school, his favorite afternoon game (besides football) was "let's take advantage of Emily." Did he mean all the things he said to me? Who knows...
West Point III (aka Vic)- I know what you're thinking...not another one. But Vic's not like the other West Point guys that have slid in and out of my life. For one thing, he's a liberal, hates guns, and lives in the great first state of Delaware. I know he's from West Point...and I said I was done with that grey death trap, but maybe this could be the start of something good.
All this in a week...and who will win Emily's heart? If Blake lived closer, I would be with him...but sadly, too many miles to Topsfield.

On an unrelated note, I heard two people having sex for the first time in my life. Colin and Ali were having sex around seven last night and Porter and I stood in the hall and listened to the howling and grunting. It sounded like they were mourning the loss of a loved one in an ancient ceremony. When I start having sex again (yeah people, coming up on two years...) I hope I don't sound like that.

Well, my birthday party is coming up and I've invited everyone from Porter to Nick. I don't think I have enough cake for everyone though. But the party is going to be the shit. I can't wait...
Lots of beer, cake...surprises??

Anxiety

"The unpleasant emotional state consisting of psychophysiological responses to anticipation of unreal or imagined danger, ostensibly resulting from unrecognised intrapsychic conflict. Physiological concomitants include increased heart rate, altered respiration rate, sweating, trembling, weakness and fatigue, psychological concomitants include feelings of impending danger, powerlessness, apprehension and tension."

This is me. My psychologist says that I suffer from an anxiety problem that makes me scared to do the simplest things. Picking up the phone, going down hallways, everything. It's nice to know what's wrong with me and all...but still...as I read the psychological definition above, I start to worry if I'm even sane. "unreal or imagined" danger...oh dear. But I'm going to work on it. Soon, I'll be normal, I promise.
On other news, Jesse has decided that instead of going to Alabama, he's going to Ithaca to "see the boy." Yes, Jesse...our famous Jesse, is going to leave his two best friends to have a frolic in the garden of sexual delight. At first I was mad...all our plans were ruined. But you know, after accepting Braden's new ladyfriend, accepting this won't be so bad either. I've gotten used to disappointment. I just hope that maybe this weekend, something good will come of my party and I'll wake up the following morning to be happy for once. Happiness, wow. That's a pretty great concept.


Nothing more to say...

Final Stage: Acceptance

Since my escape home from Bard for the weekend, I realized I had to accept what happened between Braden and I. I emailed him a few days ago (a reply I did not receive, but hopefully he understands)...and apologized for my behavior. He's happy and that's all that counts. I care about him enough to let him be happy and not to be miserable. Maybe everything happens for a reason.
As for the process of my play, writing the scene I had envisioned about Braden and I was very emotional. I feel somehow obsessive now that I write about him. But in truth, the play wouldn't have taken place if I hadn't gotten to know him. He was the inspiration for the play, and to not put him in would be ruining all the ideas I have had since november when the idea first popped into my head. There are lines in the play that make me seem pathetic.
"Well, I’m going to say it again, I love you. (Shouts) I love you Braden! I don’t care who fucking hears me; I love you even if you do have a batman plush toy on your bed"
But, people...it's just a play. This statement is utter fiction and always will be. Let me say it again, It's a play. I never loved Braden, nor would I be as intimate with him as I am in this play. It's an idea, a passing thought. Maybe I wish I did love him, maybe I would...nah, best not think about it. It's just a play, mere drama.
I just wanted to apologize to everyone...I feel like I apologize for all my actions too much because I have to. It's always my fault that something doesn't go wrong...it's been that way ever since I can remember. So, I accept the blame and move on...It's not that bad.
Lyin in my pjs on a saturday night watching "Sister Act" on the WB is the ultimate life I thought I would live. I had a passing thought about getting my phd today...I'm sure that's not going to happen. I also had a passing thought, a serious one, about Cornell's journalism program after Bard. Then I laughed to myself.
Maybe the authorities are right in saying that I am a soccer mom. Should I just give up and accept my fate like I've accepted so many other things? Should I just realize that I am woman, and I will drive a mini van and have children with generic biblical names like John and Sarah? Or should I rebel against what people think...and go to Cornell, go get my phd, and maybe, quite possibly become something of an academic? Rebel against what people are thinking and stay mad at Braden?
No, staying mad at Braden would just be stupid. He's happy...and he should be happy. I feel as though ever since Braden and I have, whatever you want to call it...the suite has been colder, less inviting...Josh, Casey, Kelly, Sara...Lord knows I respect them so much, and think of them as some of the greatest people at Bard...I just feel like there's no sense of bonding anymore. Like we've been down this road before and everything was all puppies and kitties when Braden and I were together, or trying to be together. Lord, I should have seen Braden and I would be doomed. He was practically in tears when he told me he wanted to 'give it a shot' in his muffled disjointed speech...and I just held him and told him not to cry, like I was his mother. I am no one's mother. But, not doomed, what am I mean is...oh goddamnit, I don't know what I mean. I never know what I mean. I'm like Braden, he says one thing but it means something else.
Too much drama in my life...I need to slow down, take a breath...and enjoy what little sanity I have left.

The blue shirt I picked out found him love without me...

This week hasn't been a good week for me. Last night especially.
I was asking Braden if it was okay if I used him and his cartoon character Kitty Hawk in my play, "Altered Ego", about internal realities in relation to the world. I wanted to make sure, because in my play, Braden and I are dating, the storybook I always pictured me and him would have, two mismatched crazy lovers with nothing but themselves.
I apologized to Braden for ignoring him and he said he was doing the same. I don't why I ignore him, it's just part of myself. There is something frightening, something strange...I don't know. Anyway, he told me there was a reason he had ignored me. The reason was he had met someone, a girl even...at the swing dance. The danced, they liked each other and they "kinda hooked up" was the phrase that Braden used.
Well folks, there is a blue moon out tonight. Braden has two girls. My mind filled up with tears and I cried like I haven't cried in a long long time. I had been doubled crossed! We were just taking a break! He promised things would get better! And now, a week after our parting he's making out (he didn't even really make out with me!) with some girl? This, boggles my mind! The unexpected always happen to Emily Sauter. Now all my play ideas are ruined. How can I make myself in love with Braden when Braden involved with someone else. It seems so cheap and obsessive, and I've been down that road before. It's not a good road.
he was wearing that blue shirt, the one that made me sexually attracted to him...and now some other girl's pawing the buttons on it, the shirt I thought would solve our sexual disaster...was bringing him pleasure with another girl.
He apologized again today, told me he couldn't be happy with new girl because he was sad I was upset. You're damn right I'm upset I told him. I was so upset I wrote a poem:
The Blue Shirt I picked out Found Him Love
Yes, the Idea is true
Theories of love let him be happy
But so horrible is rejection
In blue shirts, you move like a spiked punchbowl
Flowing through the veins of a 12 year old
You are the 12 year old refined.

Thank you Bard!

I just looked outside my large window to the steps of Tremblay. That's right...no one has shovelled. There is about, 18 inches outside that I will have to step in. Thank you Bard!
Bard also plowed my car in last night, making my car barely visible. Thank you Bard!
We also had class yesterday while everyone was delightfully proclaiming, "Snow day!!!" on their away messages, I trudged to class at 10 AM, my face frozen from the icy whip of the snow. While whiteout conditions ensued, I learned about the French Satirical theater. Though I did get a B+ on my paper, it wasn't worth walking all the way to Olin for a class when I could have been safe in the very heated confines of Tremblay. Oh yeah, our heat works now. And might I say, a little too well. I wish the heater would make up its mind about working. So thank you Bard, for classes and a crappy dorm full of assholes.
Bard did shut a few things down, like things we needed. No cafe, no Kline, no green onion, no shuttle. But we STILL HAD CLASS. My dinner last night was chocolate, swedish fish, and wheat thins. My lunch was a microwavable Chef boyardee lasagna (okay, I don't why they call it lasagna, there's no cheese in it!)...so once again, thank you Bard!
and while I was stuck in Tremblay with only reading to occupy my time (oh man, reading about Alexander the Great in 3 different accounts is sucky) the WHOLE WORLD was watching Joe Millionaire. But no, it's Bard's "policy" not to let the students have TV. So everyone knows what happened but me, but dont tell me because my mom taped it for me...so thank you bard, for not giving us a window into to the outside the world. At least they give us pretty crappy internet.
So I just want to say again, thank you Bard for taking my mother's hard earned cash, the money she's been saving up so I could get a decent education...the money she's been making, 15,000 dollars a year, all by herself now for almost 11 years...so her two daughters could go to good schools and grow up to be upstanding citizens.
I just realized something. Today's the 18th. That's the day my father died. 11 years ago. Wow...
Nothing like an awkward ending...

Me and The Lord

Since the heat in tremblay is apparently broken (once again, i pay 38,000 dollars a year why???) and the temp. outside is a very chilled 10 below, I have decided not to go outside today. My body aches from my 15 bouts at the "River Rat Rumble"..the fencing meet that I went to at Bard's favorite school, Vassar. There I fenced an assortment of people, from jerks (I kicked the jerk's ass) to a girl who looked like she was seven (the little girl kicked my ass). But one sticks out most of all, he was...The Lord. The reason I call him the Lord is that his last name is Lord, and by the way he acts, you would think he was the Lord. He's a cocky fencer (most guy fencers are anyway)...who believes himself to be the God of foil. He's a good fencer, probably the best one they have...but his motions, his flicking technique (i have marks from where he whipped me with his blade)...is just so obnoxious. I got one touch off the Lord...and when I poked him, he raised his other hand in the air to symbolize "one." 5-1...that asshole kicked my ass...but I got a touch off the Lord! That alone made me feel good about myself...stabbing the Lord. I hope he bruises the jerkass.
My valentines' day was good...Trefor and I watched "Road to Bali" starrin Bing Crosby and Bob Hope. Nothing beats early 1950's jokes I don't get. But alas, the movie was good.
A hot or not update: My score has gone down...ehh I'm not depressed. The only girls who get 9.9s are made up sluts. And I am glad to not be a not made up slut. I've met a lot of nice people though...
who knew happiness could come out of a pathetic website...
What an age we live in!

Fuck you, you shitty holiday!

I hate Valentine's day...and even if I had a boyfriend, I would still hate the holiday more, because I am not romantic. I hate this holiday most of all. I like conversation hearts, but that's all the fucking holiday has going for it.
In the spirit of my loneliness (Alex won't sleep with me because he doesn't want to jeopardize our friendship...hmmm) I put myself on that pathetic website where people all over America rate you on one bad photo (my photo is the one in this very blog) called "Hot or Not". Right now I'm rated a 6.8. I am surprised I would get such a high rating. I never thought myself of as "hot"...only as "not." You can also meet people...and many 'fine young men' have made inquiries on if i'll 'meet them.' The strange part is, most of them are in the military. What the fuck! Do I exude military army whorrishness just through my pose and stance? Did Johnny Garrison send out a memo to Fort Drum? True, they are kind of cute...but I think I'm done with Army guys. Well, we'll see what happens...maybe this is telling me something...that Alex is right. Me, Fort Drum, meatloaf in the oven, chatting on the phone, two children shuffling between my high heel shoes.
Anyway...my play is getting into full swing. I don't have a title...but I plan to incorporate my full life...with sub plots (Annie is actually real, living with Col. Havermeyer in California, where Annie is always disturbed how her husband is turning paler everyday and how he looks likes exactly like this young private named Johnny Garrison...) Alex is in it, Jesse, Braden, my therapist, my mother, the men of my past...the ideas of being watched by a character that isn't real...or is it? I plan to make this play the most fucked up thing I've written...I want the audience to see my confusion, my anger in what I'm trying to do...
sound obsessive?
you bet your bottom dollar!

Last night, I was Britney Spears

Last night was...interesting. It was a night of dancing, celebration, of painful realizations, and of strange conversation.
Jesse and I danced last night. He was Michael Jackson, complete with hat over Michael Jackson's mutilated face...and I was Britney Spears, glasses off, hair a mess...prancing around in a t-shirt that was entirely too tiny for me. There was something about last night, I really needed some "action" if I can be polite about my sexual advances. Of course, my boyfriend and I are basically on the sexless side (his inexperience and my fear of intimacy and relationships makes it hard to cross into that hot and heavy barrier)...and after I danced with Jesse, I went over to Braden's room and I told him how I felt. We chatted, with long awkward pauses that symbolize our relationship. We worked things out but it left us again single...and both a little depressed, I left his room and left the suite a sad woman.
The only person online to "cheer me up" was the past Drag Race hook up, the "Doin' somethin stupid" boy himself...Sam. Sam's comin to visit in March and told me he'd gladly "calm my animal urges." Now, I don't really know how I feel about that. I was never one to dive into the sack with anyone (if you don't count Johnny, considering that was a bathroom floor)...but sex with Sam at Farm? What would Nathalie say, considering their relationship was always confusing to me...Oh, I remember last year waking up with the christmas lights still on, knowing Nathalie and Sam were tangled in the same sheets in his bed while I was alone in our smelly room. Man, I miss Nathalie.
Today I was reading the Observer and I flipped to the back page to see my cartoon. There I was, "Adventure in Bardland" being manwiched by two Bard men of my past: Braden and Lenny. It made me feel kind of strange that I had hooked up with all the Observer Cartoonists, it made me feel a little on the whorry side...not that I am...well, I don't know. What do you think?
I figured something out about myself while talking to Alex a few days ago: that every guy that was my "sexual first" has been a complete asshole. My first kiss was Ned, and he was a complete asshole...the first guy that felt me up was John and he was a jerk to me...and the list goes on and on. The only person who I count as not a jerk was Peter...which is good because if I lost my virginity to a jerk, I would never forgive myself.
Well everyone, Emily is single again...hmmm...what am I going to do now?

The Longest Unzipping of My Life

My trip to West Point revealed more about me and Alex than even Indiana could ever tell me. We sat in Schades (ahhh nothing finer than Schades, serving the long grey line for over 40 years, you know) for over two hours, just talking...him in his grey uniform, I in my usual Emily wear of black shirt, jeans, padded bra...And I'm here to explain to you that Alex isn't so bad. It's been the year of backtalk and lashing out because of my confused and sometimes rattled emotions. I could blame myself for everyone's hatred of Alex Raggio, but why blame anything now? But I implore all the readers of my blog to start anew with the boy you hardly know. Sure his political views might seem a little off color for our democratic Bardian ways, but there's nothing wrong with alternative political views. And he does like guns, but we're not perfect. But I learned a lot about Alex that makes me realize why I first started to date him. There is something about Alex...
We had conversations from war to Johnny Garrison. I told him a funny story about something Johnny had told me in my altered state. Johnny leaned in and whispered in my ear, "I would put you in the bathtub, but I don't think Alex would approve of that." I told Alex that statement always made me confused. "You don't want to put me in the bathtub, yet you'll try to sleep with me...I don't think Alex would approve of you sleeping with me either dear Johnny." Alex and I had a good laugh. At least we can laugh at Johnny now.
Alex left me with a handshake, a somewhat odd gesture...but I guess it symbolizes new things to come.
I sped home on i-87 going 90 miles an hour...fast slow, fast fast slow. I was listening to "Hey Pretty" by Poe, the frankly sexual song that always makes me think about Alex. I never liked thinking about Alex in a sexual way, but there was something about the first weekend we spent together, I woke up wearing a white skirt and a white tank top...my arms around a soldier, and not just that, a West Point cadet who claimed me as his own. There was something about that weekend, something that reminded me that I was human, that I was an object of sexual desire, that I was like the girl in the song...
Don't you want to take a ride with me...through my world? And boy, what a ride it has been.
Alex truly was the longest unzipping of my life...in a way you should find the end of the zipper and then everything will be revealed to you. But the zipper just went on and on and Alex never revealed to me but a surprise around everything turn. Even as I, head down in the delta high school parking lot got what was coming to me...I always thought that something good had to be around the corner though I never let anyone know that.
Has the story of Alex ended? Will he just be another name added to the wall among the names of the past: Colin, Jason, Scott, Matt, Josh, Ned, John, Brian, Todd, Peter etc? I really have no idea.
Because Lord only knows what I feel.

Drunk on a tuesday???

Well no, right now I'm drunk on a Friday. I'm pretty drunk...though I have the coherance (spelling?) to actually write in my blog. I thought you'd like to see what it's like to see how Druken Emily writes in her blog.

Jesse dumped out the piss brandy, the symbol of hard times with hottie Alex Raggio...(well not hottie...I still love him to pieces though, yeah I'll admit it, I never stopped loving him except he has this new whore...fuck that shit! What about me!) Wait, I have Braden...I tried to get Braden drunk tonight...man, I am trashed...I'm blasting Tiffany, my mind is a blur. I do like Braden though, he's pretty trashed too...maybe I'll feel the ability to wrap my arms around him (I think we're alone now)...damnit, I hsould change this song...okay, I will...be right back! I would play Poe's, "Hey Pretty" that song always reminds me of the first time Alex and I spent our first weekend together. But I've been listening to that song obsessively since I found out who wrote it. Man, that song is so sexually charged it bothers me. Maybe that's why Alex's frank sexual nature always bothered me or maybe it never did. Anyway, a fitting tribute to Alex Raggio...why am I talking about him so much?
Anyway, the song that's playin right now is paul oakenfold's "starry eyed surprise"
Jeremey says if he started a blog...Jesse should cut his hands off. What the fuck! Peter has magically appeared and I'm trashed, have I mentioned I'm trashed? I'm eager for love and a loss for anything feasble (spelling) Jesse is huggin me. God I love him too...he's my best friend and all that jazz. Man I'm trashed. There's this Poe song, Angry Johnny...and it makes me think about Johnny Garrison..."Johnny...angry Johnny...I want to kill you...I want to blow you (well I already did that) away (haven't done that yet) but I'm over that shit. Johnny is crazy and I'm still sane. So, what's the fucking point!
I want to kill you...I want to blow you away. I wouldn't mind taking johnny off the planet but why sacrifice my life just to get rid of a person that fucked me up. Fuck that shit! I don't care about anything.
Jeremy is talking to me now...something about not being able to spell. Right now I can't spell so great either. He spelled it messed up though. Jahn, what a moron!
Man, I think I need to get laid. Do you know how long it's been...2 years. and it was statutory and all that jazz...fuck that shit. Maybe I should just become a nun...too bad I'm presbyterian and we don't have nuns. Celebacy could be good...or could destroy me. It's destroying me...
I am going to curl up in a corner now...or jump on braden. Jumping on Braden...hahahaha...even when I'm drunk, that makes me laugh...picture me throwing him up against a door...how sexy, how erotic...how...
well, maybe I should give it a whirl...ride the sexaul tilt a whirl. hahahaha, that's funny. I have my period, I can't ride the best amusement ride ever conceived...hahaha what a great pun.
Hmm...I think I need another drink.

help!

This is a public cry...I need to think up a plot for my one act play by next week.
I have three choices I want to do and I need your help, oh awesome readers of my blog!

okay number 1:
four characters sit around in the Reagan Cafe on the 5th year after september 11th. The main character, Miss America...is trying to explain how it wasn't Osama that did it, but the United States used it to replenish the economy (though that doesn't seem the case now, it's a play) and I would fill it with good time political liberal bullshit...I already started to write it actually. It's pretty good.
Here's a sample:
Narrator: We got drunk that night, the fifth anniversary of September 11th. We weren’t celebrating anything, if anything the bar we were at was celebrating something, with balloons and streamers and some patriotic beer. Everyone was there, well everyone we knew and they were all drinking this dyed beer, sort of like the Irish green beer for St. Patrick’s day. The cocktail napkins had little 11’s on them in the shape of the twin towers. I hadn’t forgotten what the twin towers were or what they looked like, if anything they were more prevalent than ever. It seems that every bar, restaurant, pet shop, deli…everyone had a small framed portrait of the two beautiful twins behind the counter. It reminded me a little of the portraits of Mao around China, a large dictating picture with massive appeal that made you want to weep or fight against something. But there we were…in the Reagan Café, around a small high table…with a celebration we were confused about.

Choice 2: I call it "A Second Chance"...a woman is still in love with the man she dated a long time ago but all her friends think he's a total asshole. Her job is the make everyone see that she's right by realizing her faults as a person. In the end, I think she's right all along because he's an ass, but I just want people to see that what you say about one person may not be what you want other people to think about them. Yeah, it sounds like a romantic comedy, but it could have some good "Full House" moments, complete with sappy music.

Choice 3: I battle Annie Viller. Emily Sauter, the playwright...goes head to head with her alter ego in an attempt to regain her life from her inner reality. Characters would include: Annie, Annie's newest thing sexy Colonel Haven Havermeyer of the Irishian (don't ask) forces until excommunicated from his troops by the queen. I don't know who would back me up, maybe Johnny Garrison (yeah like he would back me up that fool, I don't want him in my play), Annie does have a lot of dirt on me. The play would be able not being able to kill something that is so apart of you even though technically, Annie isn't real.

So there we are, three play choices that I am considering. Please help me...I have a monologue due in a week.
Thank you,
Emily

Der West Point or "How the Other Half Lives"

My goal last night was to act as Republican as possible. I did a lot of things I'm not proud of...smiled and thanked the dean of West Point for this great honor of attending this function, toasted the President of the United States in a West Point wine glass, and...for the first time in my life...wore make up. I'm not talking gloss and blush...I'm talkin the whole nine yards. I looked like a texas beauty queen. And while looking in the mirror in the bathroom while eavsdropping on blonde army whores, I got the first good look at myself. My hair was pulled up with blonde curls extending down my face, my make up was applied flawlessly, and my dress was shimmering in the bad bathroom lighting. I looked like just another Army whore in a ladies room reapplying my make up I had bought at the Clinque counter in Macys (let's just say I spent so much money, they gave me a free umbrella and wished me luck while I signed on the expensive dotted line). In the morning, I sat in a row of white republican women all getting manicures, and it made me feel like one of them. I look now at my shining glossy fingertips and think to myself, "Now the real Emily would be against this." But there was something elegant about yesterday that made me realize that maybe I had chosen the wrong path for myself...yes the dirt poor liberal life seemed so grand and wonderful for me, but what about the "other side?" I could get used to dropped 140 bucks at the clinque counter, smiling while i was lead into a ball where all these beautiful women were, wearing expensive dresses and pounds of make up. I have come to terms that in a month's time, I will be 20 and with being 20 comes the idea that maybe it's high time I put the childhood behind me and grow up. Being a woman in America is harder than it looks. And I want to know if I have what it takes to be a "face in the crowd."
West Point at night looks like a concentration camp. "der west point" with the bright lights streaming on you, the wet stone walls of the barracks, the grey on grey on grey atmosphere, the shrill yell of the loudspeaker. I almost caught myself looking for the creamatorium. It's not a happy place to be and I have the feeling that I think I should never go back there again. I say that, but this time I mean it. I'm through with my West Point fascination. The military is no place for Emily Sauter.
I finally saw Maggie in person for the first time. I didn't meet her because I didn't really want to. But I saw her...she's a dainty creature, bland...doesn't seem like she has character. She seems to be the silent American woman...someone Alex can say "That's my girl" to while she cooks dinner and has his children. And good for him, he deserves a pushover like that. We exchanged an awkward conversation. He got new glasses...retro 60's style that make him look like an astronaut. It wasn't nice to see him, there's nothing new about him but a glow of sexual gratification that was disturbing to me.
It makes me sad that when I sat in a room with all these stern identical faces...that these men were the future of America. I couldn't get past the fact that all these boys were going to running our country, getting my tax dollars. I also used the phrase, "When I run for office..." in conversation. I could never run for any office. You hear of an elected official from Bard College? And me, I can't keep my mouth shut about anything.
Now, as I dread going back to Bard where homework and an angry boyfriend await me (well I don't blame him, I'm angry at myself too)...I can't help to think about beautifying myself...letting loose my primitive girlhood and submitting into womanhood. I could be just as attractive as those army whores in the bathroom...as bland as Maggie...as enchanting as the Dean's wife who told me she loved my name, they have a daughter named Emily as well...as horrific and as stupid as the girls on "girls gone wild."
I could be the American girl.
But, with all i've gone through this weekend...would it be worth it?