Raise your hand if Cosmo gives you heebie jeebies

I went to the basketball game last Wednesday. I was sitting on the front row, meaning I had the luxury of sitting through the whole game and not having to stand up. Part way thru the first half, I turn and there's Cosmo hovering right over me, prodding me to stand up, I guess cuz everyone else was, and apparently you're not a very good fan if you don't. I've never been a Cosmo fan. I think he's weird looking. So he kept touching me and grabbing me to stand up. I finally swatted him and told him to leave me alone and so he did. But during the second half he was back for more. This time he came climbing up the rails right in front of me, tho, so I was more psychologically prepared. Also I was able to cower behind Tim, altho he wasn't much help. In short, I felt officially molested by Cosmo the freakish cougar. I've seen him several times since then and all I can do is scowl and mutter at my new arch enemy.

Eulogy to a Kiss

Today I receive my "repented VLs," a term coined by Stacie meaning that it's been one solid year since I've kissed anyone. She was pretty proud of herself when she got hers. I remember feeling pretty confident that I would never get mine. In fact, in my 5 and a half years of kissing, I've never really even come that close before this, and now I'm not pleased with the situation at all. There have been opportunities to kiss people throughout this last year, believe you me, but they just haven't been right enough, meaning primarily that these boys had not fulfilled my kissing criteria. My kissing criteria is a boundary that I enforced on myself about two and a half years ago when I realized that the older I become, the easier it is to just go kiss some guy just because. Basically, it's to prevent myself from becoming a slut. It seems that my beloved criteria has now perhaps pushed me to the other extreme and made me a nun. I will kiss someone again someday, I think.
But you know what really sickens me? When a person can't even remember the names of all the people they've kissed. I make it a point to remember the FULL name. I could even recite them to you right now, if you like. My kissing criteria has also pretty effectively prevented me from ever becoming someone else's nameless kiss. I suppose maybe that's a small price to pay for a year of prudehood.

Grrr . . .

Ah, man. I typed a nice big post earlier this evening (rockin Fridae nite, lemmie tell ya). The internet conveniently gave out right as I tried to publish it. I was pretty hurt. It reminds me of writing long e mails to people just to have them disappear. How does the internet do that, anyway? Where do the thieved writings go? Are they just floating around in cyberspace somewhere?